And then he stood up, gathered his books, and walked out.Exactly like he had been for a while now.
The front door shut with a dull click that echoed through the house.
I sat there, staring at the empty space where he’d been, telling myself I was fine with it, that this was exactly what I wanted.That it was easier this way.
But the chasm that opened up in my chest said otherwise.
Seth came through the front door shortly after, glancing behind him toward the driveway with a deep frown.Finally, he looked at me.“What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly.
“I didn’t know nothing looked like Paxon looking like he was ready to drive his car through a wall.”
I snapped before I could stop myself.“Maybe he should then.”
Seth’s eyebrows drew together.“Cadence—”
“Forget it,” I said sharply, grabbing my bag.“I’m going to go work.”
He didn’t try to stop me.Just watched as I brushed past him, out the front door, across the yard, and to my house.
Once I was safely inside, I locked the door, kicked off my shoes, and went straight to my studio.The air smelled faintly like coffee.There was some familiarity to my house now that it actually felt comfortable.I practically ran upstairs to my piano, sinking onto the bench.I pressed the first key I could reach.The sound rang out too loud in the quiet room, but I didn’t stop.
I played until my fingers hurt.
Until the ache in my chest dulled enough to feel like silence again.
It wasn’t anything structured at first.Simply a jumble of angry chords, heavy and dissonant.My hands struck too hard, the vibrations echoing in my bones.The sound filled the room, wild and uneven, and I didn’t care that it wasn’t beautiful.
It was loud.Ugly.It was all me and everything that I was at the moment.
Every hit of a key felt like throwing something.Every crash of sound, another thing I couldn’t say to Paxon, another thing I couldn’t stop feeling.My hair fell over my face, my breathing uneven.The piano rattled under my hands, but I didn’t stop.
Somewhere in the chaos, something shifted.
The fury bled into something quieter, more fragile.The next notes came slower, unsteady.I softened my touch, coaxing an actual melody from the wreckage I’d made.
It wasn’t a song I knew.It was something forming itself, tender and sad, the kind of tune that trembled between apology and goodbye.By the time I realized I was crying, the notes had already turned into a whisper, a humming lullaby trying to comfort.
I kept playing until my arms ached and my vision blurred.Until my hands burned and slipped over the keys like they no longer remembered where to go.The music slowed, faltered, and then finally faded altogether once my hands cramped so hard I had to curl them into fists.When silence finally settled back into the room, it felt heavy but clean, like the air after a storm.
I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cool wood of the piano.My pulse was still uneven, but I could breathe again.The ache was still there, deep and familiar, but the music had drawn the sharpness out of it, leaving something tired and small.For tonight, that was enough.
