Page 86 of Kadra: The Unfeeling

Feeling a bit self-conscious, I straightened into my seat. “I, ah.” I clear my throat again. “I taught myself.” I don’t miss the way he raises his eyebrows in surprise. He wasn’t expecting that answer. I guess no one does. Everyone looks at someone with a name like mine and thinks of privilege but they don’t give much thought to what that privilege has cost me. How much it hurt. “My mother she ah… she had a cello that she never played. She just had it in her room as if it were a trophy of some sort or just a memento. I used to sneak into her room where she kept it and played with it not really knowing anything about the instrument. Until one day I heard a melody and my fingers just had a life of their own. You could say. Next thing I know. I spent night and day practicing until I got better.” I whisper, getting lost in the memory of the first time I ever played my cello. How lovely it sounded and how it quiet the noise in my head. It lessens the pain too.

“Prodigy.” He says in awe.

My heart slows beating steadily.

“What?” I focus my gaze on him.

“I know someone like that. Someone who never took any type of lesson and plays the piano beautifully. He’s a prodigy.”

I shrug.

“Does anyone else in your family play any instruments?”

I think about that but come up empty. “Not that I know of. Just me.”

“That’s odd.” He tilts his head as if he’s trying to figure something out. Figure me out. Good luck, Russian.

“And what about you, Solonik?” I bring the glass to my face and take a last sip looking at Vitali over the rim.

“What about me, love?” He leans back and throws his arm over the empty chair next to him looking casually and relaxed as if he’s enjoying himself.

I must confess I am too.

It feels… nice.

Having someone to talk to.

“Do you play any instruments or have any hobbies?”

“Instruments? No. Was never into music until I heard you play and by that time I was already a man. Had no time to learn anything.” Thump. Thump. Thump. This man. A mischievous look crosses over his eyes before he speaks again. “And as for hobbies. Aside from stalking your pretty little ass, no.”

I laughed out loud, surprising not only him but myself. I didn’t even notice I’m smiling when my face started to hurt and Vitali’s eyes turned dark. “What?” I stop smiling, feeling the atmosphere changing from light to a little too intense.

“I like the sound of your laugh. What you feel while you play your cello…” he takes a pause, his eyes boring into me. “That overwhelming feeling that feels as if you’re transported to another place. A place where nothing hurts. Somewhere safe. That’s what I feel here.” He taps his chest lightly. “It makes it hurt less. Your laugh.”

And there goes what was left of my broken heart. Right into this man’s lap.

“Vitali…” I whisper, feeling my chest start to ache and my eyes burning. I look away trying to compose myself. Not here. Don’t cry. Hold it together.

“One more question, love?” His stone turns softer, and I will myself to meet his gaze. Feeling as if I’m losing all control, I sigh and give in. “What?”

“You built your sister’s dream garden and library. You made sure your other sister got away from a horrible fate and that in turn led her to a man who clearly made all her dreams come true…” he pauses and it makes me wonder how he knows about Arianna. About the life she was expected to live if it were up to Gabriele. Then I remember that this man has always been in the shadows not only of my kind and heart but of my world. Of course, he knows. “But what about you?”

“What about me?” I’m almost too scared to ask but I do. My heart is beating so loud I swear I can hear it.

“Do you dream?”

“No.” I don’t know why I lie. I guess I’m too damn scared to admit to him what I dream about. To him and I. Dreaming got us nowhere. That’s a hard lesson life taught me.

“I do.” He says so softly I almost miss it. It’s crazy how we’re surrounded by people yet all I can see and hear is him. “I didn’t dream when I was a boy. It was meaningless until I grew older and found beauty in dreaming.”

Beauty in dreaming.

“What changed?” I ask, wanting— no needing to know the answer. A long moment of silence passes between us when we’re just looking at one another without saying anything. But then he breaks the silence. “If you could go back in time to the child you once were, what would you dream about? What would be one of your heart wishes?”

Why is he doing this? What’s the point? There is no going back, just forward. Such is life as sad as that may be at times.

“It doesn’t matter.”

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