Page 6 of Never Enough

Alone, I gather the shattered pieces of myself scattered on the sidewalk, feeling every single jagged edge. My hands shake as I straighten.

“I-idiot,”I hiss at myself, leaning against the cold brick wall for support. I close my eyes, letting the darkness cradle me for a moment—a brief respite from the glaring light of day that exposes too much. I’m in public, but for just a few seconds, I need to compose myself as if I’m alone.

“Alexandru Whitmore,” I hiss, the name a bitter taste on my tongue. A poisoned chalice I’m forced to drink from. Trapped in a gilded cage bearing my own name, I suffocate under the weight of it. In a twisted moment of clarity, I crave the oblivion of those beneath the soil, sheltered from a world that seems to derive pleasure from my torment.

Why me? Of all the countless souls on this planet, why does the universe hate me most? The lie they tell that things will eventually get better if you just hold on? It’s a true mantra for the rest of the world perhaps, but not for me. It won’t get better. It can’t.

I am the exception.

Something is irrevocably broken within me.

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. The world is a grotesque, mocking caricature, and I’m the punchline. A lifetime of being different, of being wrong, has etched itself into my bones—a constant, aching reminder of my inadequacy. I’ve tried to be strong, to wear indifference like a shield, but it’s cracked under the relentless barrage of their cruelty.

I.

Am.

Alone.

“P-p-pathetic,” I breathe out, the word a blade cutting into the soft underbelly of my soul. With nothing left but the echo of self-contempt, I push away from the wall. Of course, I can’t see shit because my glasses are still broken on the sidewalk.

Inside, the music floats, untouchable and pure. It’s a cruel contrast to the cacophony within me. Yet I can’t get myself to fetch my glasses and go inside. I’m still reeling from their scorn when a hand suddenly thrusts into my blurry vision. “Don’t listen to them,” a voice snaps, fierce and melodic at once.

Gravel digs into my palms as I swipe my glasses from the sidewalk then pull myself up with the smashed remains of my glasses in my other hand. The world swims, out of focus and distorted, but her shape is clear enough. My breath catches in my throat at her hazy outline. She’s so beautiful.

“Here, let me help you with those,” she says, taking the fractured spectacles from me with a tenderness that stings more than the bruises forming beneath my muscles. There’s something about her voice, her scent, and her kindness that vibrates against my skin.

“Thank you,” I manage, my voice a whisper of sound. Pretty, even through the haze. A delicate halo of wavy, dark hair frames her face, and her eyes glimmer with emotion.

“Daphne,” she introduces herself, her hand warm against mine as we stand side by side. I feel a strange pull towards her.

“Alexandru,” I reply in my usual shy murmur. Silently, I berate myself. This perfect girl caught me near my weakest. There’s no way she’ll speak to me after this.

We walk into the studio together. Forever being myself, I wish everyone would assume I’m here with Daphne. But it would never be believable. Her hips sway with a sort of confidence I’ll never have, and her smile is too bright for the type of person I’d attract.

Immediately, polished wood and resin hit us in the face as we head upstairs.

As soon as we enter the large studio, Daphne slips away to the harp section. The room packs with music students, but still I keep a watchful gaze on my angel.

Her ass plops in the first seat, the one I think is First Chair. Wonder how Victoria feels about that. The thought is fleeting because Daphne’s delicate fingers graze the harp’s strings in front of her like she’s meeting an old friend. It’s obvious how much she appreciates her art. Everything falls away as I watch her. There are fifty kids in here, but there may as well only be her.

I barely noticethe teacher start class.

The first note Daphne coaxes forth is pure perfection. I lean against the wall, a silent observer to the beauty she creates amidst the chaos of my thoughts. Each intricate melodic note she plucks is both gentle and assured. Each pluck, each chord, speaks of a sorrowful grace that mirrors the turmoil I fight to keep hidden. My chest tightens as I watch her play, her hazel eyes closed in concentration and lashes casting delicate shadows on her cheeks.

The music fills the room and wraps around me, offering a comfort I hadn’t known I was seeking. It tells me stories of her own struggles, whispered between the harmonies. It’s an echo of pain that rivals my own. It’s then that I realize Daphne is a kindred spirit; her soul bares in every played note.

As the final chords fade into silence, leaving a haunting resonance in their wake, I’m left with an ache for something I cannot name. It’s not pain or longing, or family. It’s an ache that, for once, isn’t born from self-loathing but from a longing to connect with the girl who sees beyond the broken glasses and greasy hair. The girl who stands before me now, unaware of the depth of feeling she’s stirred within a boy who’s too accustomed to hiding in the shadows.

The last note shivers into silence, and I push off the wall, my heart a tight knot in my chest. Daphne’s fingers linger on the strings, her own heart seemingly caught in the web of music she’s just spun. As theother students pack up, I make my way over, ready to drown in her presence, to thank her for defending me outside.

“Hey,” I murmur as I approach, but the words snag in my throat when Celeste’s voice, laced with condescension, cuts through the quiet hum of the room. It’s directed at me, but she’s talking with my sister.

“Alex would be kinda cute if he lost the dweeb look, don’t you think?” she says, flicking her gaze over me like I’m some project, some before picture in a teen makeover show.

Victoria giggles, her eyes pinpricks under the fluorescent lights. “Ohmigod, you could be my sister-in-law!”

Rolling my eyes, I try to shake off their words, but they cling like tar, heavy and dark. I’m steps away from Daphne now, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her hazel eyes. Close enough to speak.

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