1
CHASE
I’m not a good person. I’m selfish. A rich prick, some would say. But I don’t give a flying fuck what they think. My life is just the way I want it. Full of girls, money, and my music. I attend one of the finest schools on the east coast, getting the education that’s going to make me the best musicians in the world. That’s why I’m so bent out of shape when my father drops this bomb on me. Apparently, he’s married someone. And not only has he decided to bring this stranger into our lives unexpectedly, but this woman has a daughter as well. A daughter he expressly wants me to look out for, because he’s arranged to send her here. To my school. My haven. My escape from the life back home —Langford School of the Arts. To sharemyfucking room. He’s out of his mind.
“Chase. For the sake of our family, you’ll do what I say,” he screams through the phone.
I know better than to argue with him, but I can find my own way around his demands.
It's hard as hell to get into Langford, but with as much money as my family donates, I’m sure all it took was one phone call and a sizable donation to get her accepted. Which means he’s dead serious about whoever this new woman is.
Well, he has another thing coming to him if he thinks I’m going to play nice.
This new stepsister of mine will wish she was never born by the time I’m done with her.
“You understand me, son?” My dad asks, his tone loud and clear. I’m to fall in line as usual. One thing he’s been sure to teach me, is what my place in this world is —at his feet, doing whatever he says without question.
“Yes sir,” I answer out of habit.
The dial tone fills the other end of the phone as irritation coats my skin.
All he’s sent is the girl’s name, claiming that he’s too busy enjoying his honeymoon to bother giving me any more information.
Melody Wessex.
A prissy little name if I’ve ever heard one.
“What’s with the sour face, Milford?” James asks, rousing me from the rising anger the phone call from my father brought me.
“Nothing,” I say, trying to shrug it off.
“Nah, I know that face. Something’s up,” he presses. James lives across the hall and is one of my best friends. He likes to crash at my place when his roommate is busy hooking up and uses my gaming system. I don’t mind. For the last two years we’ve been through hell and back together finding our footing in this prestigious school. But now, we own this place.
“Family shit.”
I can feel my jaw clenching and teeth grinding together in frustration. Thankfully, James picks up on my ‘fuck off’ mood and does just that. He knows just how much of a jerk my dad can be. We have that in common because James’s dad isn’t much better.
He quickly returns to his game, while I continue to work on the assignment from my music teacher. We’re supposed to hand in a fully composed piece by Monday, and I’ve hardly started. But I know what I’m doing. I can write it in my sleep. Some might call me arrogant for that, but it’s just honest. I know my worth and my talent.
The music takes on a life of its own while I jot down the notes as I see them in my head. I don’t need to hear it played aloud to know it works because I can hear it clearly in my mind. The strings crescendo as the percussion builds into a torrential assault before ending with a sharp blast of horns.
It might be one of the best I’ve come up with so far.
Losing myself in my music is the only place I feel safe to let go. A place free of judgement and expectation. I can justbe.Alone with the notes I’ve known as closely as a friend my whole life.
I can’t say I know the exact moment I became aware of my talent. It’s something that’s been a part of me for as long as I can remember. A gnawing need to create. To immerse myself in a melody is the closest I’ll ever get to heaven.
A knock interrupts my serenity, and a rush of anger fills my chest as the notes drop like rain out of my head.
“WHAT?” I roar. I’m so close to being done with this assignment.
“Delivery.”
“I didn’t order anything,” I shout through the door, not making a move to open up.
“Come on man, I was told to drop off this mattress to this room. I’m just doing my job.”
The hair on the back of neck raises at hearing the word mattress.Over my dead body, I think, standing in a huff. I yank open the door and see a scrawny sweaty man with a receding hairline wearing a gray maintenance uniform propping up a twin mattress that’s been wrapped in plastic.
