“Such a big shot,” she says, shaking her head with a small smile on her lips. “Why’d you study Economics?”
I shrug, “Seemed easy. Unlike my brothers who aspire to be obnoxiously good at everything, school was never a big deal to me. Economics was just something I chose because I wasn’t passionate about anything else.”
“At least until you found your love of knives, torture, and murder.”
There’s a certain ease to my conversations with Liliana. She has a way of making me feel relaxed, open. She criticizes my personality, but on some level, I can tell a part of her has also accepted it. She’s not trying to fight who I am, she’s trying to understand it.
It’s scary as fuck but also makes me feel good.
“Exactly,” I smirk. “How about you, darling? Why did you drop out of college the first time?”
She’s a little surprised by the question but she answers it nonetheless.
“My mom was sick. I had to take care of her. She almost died and it was the scariest thing I had ever experienced. She has always been my only family. The only person I was close to,really. I didn’t really have a lot of friends growing up. It was just me and my mom so back then, it wasn’t even a question. As soon as I found out there was something wrong, I dropped everything to be with her. I’d do it all over again.”
“Of course you would, little siren,” I say, my chest feeling tight. “You’re a great daughter.”
She shrugs, “Since she’s gotten better, our relationship feels more like we’re tethering on an edge and some days she wants to kill me and other days I want to do the same to her. But I love her more than anything in the world.”
“Relationships can be complicated.”
“Tell me about it,” she sighs. Her eyes meet mine, “You seem to have a great relationship with your family though. It’s nice.”
I roll my eyes, “Don’t be deceived, Liliana. I can stand those assholes.”
She grins, “Liar.”
“It’s admirable though. That you’re going back to college to finish what you started. Why did you decide on creative writing?”
“To help with my songwriting,” she answers easily. “Writing music has always been my passion. I remember being ten years old and doodling lyrics on napkins and in the back of my notes whenever I was bored. Until a while ago though, I never really considered it an actual career path. But I guess I just want to see how it goes.”
“You’d be amazing at it. You already are,” I say, thinking back to the words on the pages of the notebook.
They were not only seamlessly rhythmical and catchy, but they also made me feel things, despite just being words on a page.
“You really shouldn’t have gone through my song book, Rafaelle. Those were private,” she scolds.
“In my defense, they’re too good to be hidden away from the world. You should be on a stage, signing your heart out and letting people feel everything through your music.”
She only hummed last night and managed to keep away the voices in my head and my nightmares at bay. Her voice is an aphrodisiac, a drug that could easily become an addiction.
Liliana seems genuinely touched by my words, her gaze soft as she looks at me.
“I wouldn’t be on a stage,” she tells me.
“What do you mean?”
“I like singing just fine but I’m not really into the whole singer, popstar thing. I grew up with a shadow of anonymity hanging over me. My mother did that to stay off my father’s radar and I’ve always been pretty comfortable with it. I don’t need large crowds or everyone to know who I am. I want my music to touch people while I remain in my little bubble, in the shadows I’ve always been used to.”
Her cheeks are heated by the end of the explanation. My throat feels dry.
“You like the shadows,” I say softly, intensely.
“Sometimes,” she murmurs, her eyes not meeting mine.
I have no clue what to say to that. I stare at her for a couple of seconds as a combustion of thoughts and feelings push through me.
Eventually, she clears her throat, loudly, “Rafaelle?”
