Am I cursed to only get moments of happiness?
I never thought Mika would completely change and not give a damn about the reason we could never be together. And like the greedy, masochistic woman I am, I allowed myself to be swept into the dream of us, ignoring the clock suspended above our heads ticking down to our impending doom.
“Your brother will understand.”
“No, he won’t,” I cry, the sound broken like my heart.
“What happened?” she asks softly.
I want to open my mouth and confess, but I am terrified she would see him in a different light. I am also protecting her from what my father did. The secret is my burden to carry. And the reason I will never find happiness.
I don’t know how long we stay like that, but her embrace soothes me until my cries subside.
My piano calls to me, and I stand up as if in a trance.
I lock myself in my music room, and my hands tremble with the need to purge the demons out. They mock me by whispering in my ear. Selfish. Bad. Doomed.
Sitting down, I play, giving it my all in the quest to free myself from the shackles of agony, but the iron cuffs don’t break, biting into my skin until they reach bone.
Hours or an eternity later, I can’t play anymore. My fingertips ache, my arms going limp. Exhausted. Numb.
Glancing at my watch, I see it’s three in the morning, and he hasn’t returned.
I pick up my phone, type a text, then delete it.
For the first time, I don’t know what to say. But my need to check on him takes over.
Are you okay?
Yes, go to bed.
Simple. Concise. I look for some secret clues, but there aren’t any.
When will you return?
He doesn’t reply, and I drag my heavy heart with me. My feet feel like cement blocks as I heave them up the stairs.
Inside my bathroom, I drop on my ass, letting the water cascade over me to soothe what won’t heal. I scrub at my skin, swallowing the hiss and welcoming the pain.
After showering, I head to my walk-in closet, not done punishing myself. The space overflows with his presents, and tears stream down my face. I fall in a heap, sobbing again, drowning in my despair. Rocking myself, I try to slip into a dream of him holding me and never letting me go. Inside this shrine of his devotion to me, I feel him close to me.
Rolling into the fetal position, I close my eyes and fall asleep, only to wake up with a stiff neck and numb limbs. I massage my sore muscles and crack my neck to ease the tension. Weak in my knees, I need two attempts to stand.
Dressed in a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, I channel the old me, who has pined for her brother’s best friend from afar. That girl and not the confident woman who went after what she wanted.
I single-handedly broke what we had after all the years I’ve tried to make him see me. Really see me.
Break. I can’t believe I asked for that. I can’t believe I was the one to end us. I can’t believe I was the one responsible for hurting him when all I’ve ever wished for was a chance to love him. But I’d rather suffer all my life than have something happen to him. I could not survive knowing I was the one responsible for his demise.
Tonight is the concert, and I should practice and make sure everything goes smoothly, but I can’t find it in me. My discipline is gone. I trust my playing and the routine. I will manage tonight.
Slipping out of my room, I poke my head in his, but he’s not inside. An invisible fist thrusts into my chest and twists my heart, tossing the battered organ in a corner. The bed is unmade. He was here but woke up before me and left.
This is the logical thing to do, but his avoiding me kills me. Slowly. Agonizingly.
I fight the tears that threaten to make a mess of my face. After taking a deep breath, I square my shoulders.
Remember why you’re doing this.
