Page 97 of Serenade Me

Chapter Thirty-five

Anca

I open my eyes, and it’s just as dark as it was before I opened them.

But there’s something about your other senses becoming more sensitive, because, just from the scents I can smell, the sounds I can hear, I know exactly where I am.

It’s the last place I want to be right now with the very last person I want to be with.

I try to stand, but something stops me, my hands are free, but my legs are tied down, my waist in some sort of restraint.

I don’t struggle. I know there’s no point.

I’m at the complete mercy of him.

Of the Maestro.

As if on cue, his voice creeps out of the darkness and crawls into my ears. “Anca. Don’t worry, I’m not going to hurt you. I could never hurt you.”

My hands instantly come up to cover the sides of my head. That voice. It’s so much worse than I remember. Even through the fogginess of my head right now, it cuts right through, like aural cyanide in my veins.

I feel my arms pulled away and held to my sides and his voice so much closer than it was before. “No, no. You need to hear me,” he rasps right by my ear, inside my brain. “You’ve been away from me so long, you’ve forgotten all the lessons I taught you.”

“You didn’t teach me anything.”

“Didn’t I? Didn’t I tell you… that you are not made to play in front of crowds… like a performing monkey? And what happened tonight?”

The thought that he was out there, witnessing my failure tonight makes my chest crumble. I can hardly breathe at the thought that everything he’s ever said about me has been true.

“Rubbish. Such rubbish you’re been playing. What a waste, what a waste of your talent, Anca!”

“What talent, you’re always telling me that people are only going to laugh at me!” I exclaim, throwing his own words back at him.

“Yes, Anca! Because they do not understand what true music is! And you... you go out there, pandering to their mediocrity. No, I had to come and remind you of what you’re really capable.”

He takes my hands in his and I struggle, trying to rip them away, his touch making every cell in my skin crawl, trying to shrink away from his clammy fingers.

He holds tight though, and pushes my hands forward, and I can feel smooth wood under my fingertips.

Oh. My harp. My old harp.

The years fade away, and I’m in his music studio all over again.

I run my fingers over the curve of the neck and the tears spring to my eyes. I lean forward and rest my head against it, its faint scent permeating my brain. Anyone who’s ever learned an instrument and loved their instrument know that it’s an extension of their self.

As much as it is a reminder of some of the darkest times in my life, the memories of all those hours I spent learning, creating, living and dying while playing this harp come rushing back.

“She missed you too, Anca. She missed your soul. It’s time to come back. Play, Anca, play. Play as you are meant to. Play as I taught you.”

Under the blindfold, I feel my eyes close and my fingers run down the length of the strings, muscle memory springing to life, the end of my fingertips twitching, aching to play.

“See? You’re not freezing right now, are you? It’s because here is where you’re meant to be, Anca. With me. Play.”

A few solo notes break the salty air as he plucks the strings.

“No!” I yell out, wrapping my arms around her, as far as they can reach. I don’t want him touching her, tainting her. “Get away from her!”

He knows what I mean, of course. He’s always known, hasn’t he? “Okay, Anca! Okay. I’m stepping away. But you can’t let a beauty like her to go to waste. Play. Here. Where you’re not afraid, not even of me.”