Prologue
Sittinginthehardbackchair by the window in the informal lounge of my home, I tilt my head back solemnly, enjoying the rich musical notes successfully taming my emotions. Not much does these last few weeks. Which is why I’mhere. This room, painstakingly designed to be my oasis, feels like the only happy place I have anymore.
Because they say sun is important, and it is, the cream, floor-to-ceiling length drapes are wide open as it sets, affording me an admittedly stunning view of the back yard and my koi pond.
I close my eyes, relaxed, and dare I say it,sereneas my fingers fly over the strings of my cello. Shadows begin to shift across the floor as the music swells and wanes around me, and I lose myself to it completely. Reverently. Lost in the beauty of my simple creation, my toes lift off the floor and settle back in perfect rhythm as my bow glides smoothly across the strings.
I rock in my seat as I let the music sweep over me…own me…and breathe deeply with my arms firmly in a familiar hold around my instrument.
A sound startles me out of my calm, forcing my eyes to open in irritation. The calm dissipates as my phone lights with a text. The momentary brightness effectively disturbs the serene peaceful state that envelopes me. I readjust my hold on my instrument and lean forward to grab it, beating back hope it’s my son, Tyler, who was supposed to call me at four.
My shoulders droop when I see it’s not.
Veronica [5:02p]: Hi, Alexander. Are you picking me up at six to go to dinner?
It crosses my mind to reply back and cancel our date; however, manners prevent me. I put my bow down on the side table, maneuvering further around my cello. The curved maple and spruce wood instrument gleams in the light of the setting sun. Its dissipating rays cast the room in a beautiful orange and pink glow.
I reply back, even though I’m reluctant to part with the peace my music is giving me.
Alexander [5:04p]: Hello. I apologize, but no, I will not be picking you up tonight. Will you please meet me at the restaurant at six-thirty? I can send you an Uber if you wish.
Veronica [5:04p]: Yes, please. That would be so great. Am I coming home with you tonight?
Alexander [5:05p]: Not tonight. I’m sorry, but we only just started dating four weeks ago. I’d like to take you out a few more times before I bring you home…Please don’t be offended.
Please don’t be offended…The words stare back at me. Weak. Flagging me as a target.
All the nasty words my ex-wife has called me over the years fill my head and make all the peace I’d just had drift away as if it’d never happened. My trauma being dredged up by a simple text. Perspiration dampens my forehead, and I clench my jaw at the raw need inside me swelling up–demanding I protect myself. My finger hovers for a moment over the send button, fighting to not erase the entire text and cancel the dinner, before erasing just the last sentiment.ThenI hit send.
I press my lips together, tightening my fingers on the handle. The cello rests against my thigh, waiting.
Veronica [5:05p]: Ok,Alexander. See you at dinner then.
Swiping out of our text thread, I quickly check to see if I have any communication from my son before setting my phone back down and picking my bow back up. Taking advantage of the hour of time left before I have to leave out for my and Veronica’s date.
My features soften as I begin to play again, trying to find the serene peace I was so close to achieving before I was interrupted.
I replay the conversation repeatedly in my head, wondering if I should have relented to picking her up despite my gut telling me not to. Overthinking, as usual. A horrible, weak trait of mine: always incessantly worried about how I'm coming across to others. I play furiously as my inner thoughts begin to overtake me inch by fucked-up inch. My skin dots with goosebumps, feeling the cold that everyone laments is trapped inside me, vying to be let free, and I rock a little harder as the music once more infiltrates the lonely and unfulfilled spaces of my mind.
My cello wails, emulating a woman's voice. In a desperate bid to distract myself from these encroaching thoughts, I let my imagination free, daydreaming that she's crying for me. In my heart I swear I hear it as I work vigorously at getting her tone and pitch perfect, responding to her somber yearning. Someone heroic, and worthy.
Not weak.
I shake my head minutely with feeling as I play. My lips tilt at the corner when I finally get the note I'd been working on perfect, but yet, the longing for something more is still there. Leaving me unsatisfied. And as I sway, my heart jerks uncomfortably, letting my emotions run rampant.
Wishing to beenough,when it's time. If it were ever time. If I could just stop being so cold.
God, I so desperately want to be warm.
Alexander and Sarah by Anastasia Donets
Chapter one
Unethical
"No!"
I gasp as my head snaps violently to the side, and red-hot pain washes over my face in waves as my boyfriend's fist connectswith my cheek. The sound reverberates out, echoing in the small space, and it stuns me, driving home just how desolate the situation I'm in is.
