But I’m still on a strange high after Ellenor’s ridiculous messages. And he may as well know what he’s in for.
Lily-Anne:Boarded. See you on the other side!
Then I send a GIF of an over the top slow-motion pour of latte art using colourful food dye. A swirling rainbow masterpiece of deliciousness.
His response comes a minute later.
Brandon:Christ. Is this what you’re expecting?
Lily-Anne:Not necessarily Jesus Christ, any historical figure will do, religious or otherwise. Just make it pretty
Brandon:Understood
Grinning, I set my phone to flight mode and lean back in my seat, exhaling a long breath as we wait for take-off.
The roar of engines is unmistakable now.
We safety brief. We taxi. We soar.
Outside, clouds blur past, the plane climbing higher and higher. Tension drains from my shoulders, and for a moment, I’m giddy with weightlessness. I stare down at the shrinking city below, relief rushing through me. I’m leaving it all behind.
When the drink cart comes round, I order that glass of champagne.
Sipping, I consider the music options on my in-flight screen.
Classical…nope.
Jazz…nope.
Hard no to Frank Sinatra.
My teeth clench. I used to love this stuff, but now, I can’t listen to any of it without feeling caged.
Dean Martin’sThat’s Amorewas my favourite. Was it truly love when Toby serenaded me with it? I felt so special. So cared for.
My grip tightens on the glass stem.
I’d needed someone desperately. We’d only just buried Dad, and I was a mess, drifting from one class to another like a ghost, failing all my practicals. I was on the verge of dropping out when Toby found me crying in a dark lecture hall.
He listened as I spoke through my tears about how my world was falling apart.
Then, after lending me his handkerchief, he provided answers. All I had to do was follow his lead. With my family reeling after losing Dad, his certainty was magnetic.
It crept in slowly. The control. The little criticisms. The twisting of words until I didn’t even know what I was apologising for, or why I was crying.
I’d been miserable for a long time, but he finally pushed me past my breaking point when he tried to convince me to sell my guitar—in front of the whole ensemble, no less.
It felt like a betrayal.
HeknewDad had bought me the Cole Clark for my birthday.
Heknewwhat it meant to me.
Yet he still tried to take it away.
I hadn’t realised he was capable of hurting me like that.
Something in me snapped in that moment, the haze finally lifting, and I stood and left him and the ensemble behind. No tears, no shouting, noexplanation—I simply packed my guitar, told him it was over, and walked out, leaving him and the other musicians gaping after me.
