Page 71 of Serenade Me

The problem with darkness is that it’s the perfect canvas for thoughts.

Memories of the night before come crashing back.

Me, frozen on stage, the entire panel looking up at me, waiting, judging, finding me wanting even before I’ve played a note. Here, in Nice, of all places.

He said that I was a star.

He said they weren’t ready for me.

Maybe what he meant all along is that I’m not good enough for anyone.

“My angel, angela, what did I tell you? You should only ever play for me. No one else deserves you. No one else understands your talent.”

His words creep along the insides of my veins and I can’t block it out.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow I will quit the music program and go home. I tell myself, I promise myself.

The promise brings me relief and I pull the blanket against my face to catch the tears.

But it doesn’t stop the thoughts. I’m a failure. I’ve failed. I will never be able to face Jez again. I will never be able to tell Mommy and Daddy that I did it. I was a good girl after all.

***

“You have no one to blame but yourself, Anca. You insisted on performing without my approval, without my consent, and what happened? Do you think I tell you these things to hurt you? No! No, my girl, I tell you these things to protect you.”

I sit at my harp, hands in my lap, and all I can feel are his words filling my brain like acid.

I shouldn’t have gone against his advice. He was right.

“I thought I was good enough…” I whisper.

“But you are not. Not yet.”

“Maybe I never will be.”

“You will be if you listen to me. And only me.”

“I just want to perform. I want to share my music.”

“But only for those who deserve it, Anca. And they don’t. They will only laugh.”

He comes up and runs his hand over my head, cradling the back of my neck as I lean against him, the tears streaming down my face.

“Shhh, quiet, little one. Come away with me, and we will create our music together. Music that only we can appreciate, that only we can understand.”

“JUST WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK YOU”RE DOING?” the door slams open and before I can react, I feel a hand wrap around my arm and yank me to my feet.

“Jez!”

He ignores me and spins around to the older man, backing away against the harp. “You stay away from her, you talentless, perverted hack!”

“JEZ!” I try to pull my arm out of his hold. He just tightens his fingers around my wrist. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Young man, I think you should leave.” The Maestro says, that voice, that voice that scratches along the inside of your brain.

“You’re not going to think I’m so young when I’m done with you,” Jez growls at him.