Or when she’d threatened to cut off all his hair if he didn’t unlock a new color.
Or when he’d woken that one time, in the dead of night, only to find her standing over his bedside watching with glassy eyes. She’d told him she’d come to get him for practice and had forced him up and down to that room where she’d locked him in until he’d been a crying, shaking mess.
December Trace was a monster, and the one thing that could keep her in check, could keep those monstrous tendencies of hers from leaking out and poisoning the air around her, was music. There’d been little doubt in Rabbit’s mind that if he hadn’t been born gifted enough to play the beiska, she would have tossed him onto the streets long ago and washed her hands of him entirely.
But this…Hurting him was one thing. Hurting him allowed her to purge those inner demons and keep the mask firmly intact. Rabbit wasn’t the only one good at lying to himself, after all, he’d picked the skill up from her just as he had everything else.
December didn’t just fool the world into thinking she was the caring, sophisticated musician and mother, she’d also fooled herself into believing it. She thought with every fiber of her being she was molding Rabbit into a perfect masterpiece, a musician who’d one day be skilled enough to stand on stage next to her and draw even more attention her way.
Her way. Not Rabbit’s. Because even she hadn’t managed to manipulate herself enough to believe any of this was actually for his benefit. She’d always known it was for her own. Rabbit could tell. He could see the fact of that written on her face and in her greedy expression whenever a news reporter asked her questions about when the two of them would be seen on stage together. When they complimented her for raising such an exemplary student. When they flattered her by saying she looked young enough to be his sister.
The reason everyone said those things to her was because she was a master of disguise. She’d perfected her character and presented it to the rest of the universe flawlessly.
Until now.
Oli grabbed his hand and squeezed when Rabbit reached for him, stopping him before he could touch his brutalized face.
Rabbit’s music teacher had always been like sunshine incarnate, bright, and bubbly. He could find a silver lining amid the darkest storms and had the uncanny ability to make Rabbit want to do the same. He’d always admired the dimples on his cheeks and the fine arch of his golden brows, but now everything was caked in dried blood, and the fact that his mother was the reason for it made him want to both throw-up and beg for forgiveness.
“I should have stayed away.” He tried to pull his hand free, but Oli’s grip tightened, keeping him captive as panic swept across the older man’s expression.
“Come with me,” he blurted, casting his eyes toward the dark, looming house. The single porch light illuminated them only enough to make them visible to one another while standing this close, less than three feet apart. “Let’s leave, Rabbit. We can go and never look back. You can be free.”
“What—” He tried to take Oli’s other hand, gasping when that had him crying out.
Oli Easton, the best musician on this side of the planet aside from December Trace, had three broken fingers.
“No.” Rabbit shook his head and stepped back, yanking himself free from that hold. That cowardly voice returned tenfold despite his earlier thoughts. His mother was a controlling nightmare tohim, sure, but music was her God. She would never… “You need to get to a hospital!” He forgot all about the need to be quiet, grabbing onto his elbow to tug him toward the other side of the house.
They only made it a few steps before Oli dug his heels in.
“That’s not important right now,” Oli said, but Rabbit didn’t agree.
“If you don’t get this checked you’ll never play again!”
“I don’t care.”
“How can you say that?” Rabbit had only met Oli because of their shared love for the beiska. There was no way his teacher would willingly give that up, and for what? His ex-student with the overbearing mother? It didn’t make sense.
It wasn’t worth it.
“I’ll call you a cab,” Rabbit lifted his multi-slate and started doing just that. “They’ll bring you directly to the hospital. Take my account info, I have enough to cover—”
“I don’t want your money, Rabbit,” Oli stated, sounding slightly offended, but mostly just harried.
“Then,” even knowing he shouldn’t ask it, that he should insist Oli go immediately, Rabbit hesitated, “What do you want, Oli?”
“She’s a monster,” he told him. “She isn’t safe to be around. You need to leave before—”
There was a hard crashing sound and Oli instantly stopped talking. For a moment, Rabbit didn’t understand why or what was going on, frowning over at the older man.
And then a trickle of blood rolled over Oli’s forehead, dripping down the long bridge of his nose. His light blue eyes were wide and frozen, a dash of fear shimmering in those irises that had always reminded Rabbit of sweet summer skies.
He watched, frozen in horror, as that light winked and then dimmed and went out completely.
It had to have only been seconds, half a minute at most, but time seemed to stretch and move in slow motion from Rabbit’s perspective, and the moment when Oli had been talking to him and the one where his body collapsed in a lifeless heap seemed to have years spanning between them.
Oli’s head struck the ground right between Rabbit’s feet, him having been unable to move away from that falling body, the shock holding him in place.
