This new man is older, gray streaking the sides of his dark hair, hazel eyes stern, and he’s frowning at me. Yes, I probably seem ridiculous. I get it. But at least he got that man to give me my violin.
The man with the gun tilts his head like he can see the change in me. And something sparks in the way he looks at me now. I can’t say why, but I know he’s not going to shoot me.
He smirks, and I struggle against the way it blooms a dangerous heat in my belly. The same kind I had when Grant looked at me in my wedding dress for the first time.
This can’t be good.
He gestures to the way I protect my violin. “That the only thing on you?”
“Y-Yes.”
His head tilts. “Don’t even have shoes on.”
I shake my head.
More men pour out of the door around the man in charge. Or the most in charge so far. Something about the older man screams leader but not the top. I must not be too much of a threat then.
I hope that works in my favor.
“Are you some kind of spoiled princess? Run away from a ball like Cinderella? Couldn’t even be bothered to find your shoes?”
He hits that nail on the head, even if he doesn’t understand the circumstances. He doesn’t need to. I’m as much a damsel as she was. There’s no point in splitting hairs.
A chorus of chatter fills the silence, comments on my ruined dress, my smudged mascara, the state of my feet, and the helpless way I cling to my instrument.
The older man gestures to the one who’s finished picking through my case. “Hand her the bow.”
I teeter forward and snatch it away from his outstretched hand. He doesn’t laugh at me, and he might be the only one.
“I bet she’s got no phone and no wallet either,” the man next to the leader says, running his hands through his dark hair as he monitors me.
“How will we make her repay us for helping her?” A nasty grin flashes, and it’s all too much.
The teasing. The threats. The innuendos.
Tucking my violin under my chin, I raise my bow to the strings and play one long, resonating note that seems to silence most of the chatter. It ripples through them on a delay from how the sound becomes a part of me.
Fingers moving, pressing, creating vibrato, my other arm moves slower in long heavy strokes. I play with my soul, letting the notes slice me open and bare everything I’ve kept trapped inside of me.
I wail through my violin, scramble through my pain and fear, linger in the triumph of making a decision that benefits only me. Survival quickens the pace, growing and reaching. Higher and higher.
I’m consumed by freeing myself from what my life has been. The cage I’ve been trapped in. As pretty as it was, it would have eventually killed me. Every dismissal. Every mask. Every joke at my expense. Every unwanted touch I endured. Every bit of my autonomy stripped away.
I took it back, scraped every piece with my nails. I can’t leave anything behind.
There’s not enough to spare.
When I finally use every last scrap of myself, I’m left with a hollowed out feeling in my chest, echoing in my final note.
But I feel lighter. Moremethan I ever have before.
If this were the last performance of my life and my fate sealed itself the moment I ran, I can be okay with that.
My bow arm drops to my side, and the violin slips from my shoulder to rest against my tulle-clad thigh.
I’m truly empty as the weight of a dozen gazes finally registers. The men are silent, watching me like I’m a creature they’ve never seen before.
The older man nods at me and gestures me forward. “Come on. Let’s get you inside. It’s time to tell us why you’re here.”
