Page 91 of Haunt Me

“It’s a long story.”

“A girl?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh wow.”

“Thegirl.” My voice breaks. I don’t think I have said these words out loud since the last time I said them to her. In a different life.

“Zay.” My brother sounds freaked out.

‘Who has Beethoven’s 5th as their song?’

‘We do.’

The memories come flooding back and I quickly hung up on my brother, because I’m about to throw up. But I don’t, so I dial his number again, my chest going concave with pain.

“What,” James answers on the first ring. He sounds annoyed, but he also sounds scared for me. As he should be.

“Wedid,” I say. “We did. We don’t anymore.”

Silence for a bit.

“Then, what’s the song going to be about? Is it going to be about me?” my brother asks. He has this delusion that everyone thinks he is the next Beethoven. He probably is, but there’s no need for him to know that.

“Sure,” I say and I hung up on him again before he can ask any more questions.

He sends me the melody before noon. It’s simple and catchy and sad. It starts on the piano, the same notes as the 5th. Those notes she loved; she said they sounded like stars on an empty black sky. And then I put words to it.

And that becomes my next single,Beethoven.

It climbs the charts within hours, and reaches the top within less than ten days after being released. And it stays there.

…

I have forbidden myself from thinking about her, from remembering.

And yet all I do is remember. And want.

All I do is write about her,forher. As if she would ever in a million years hear these words, these songs. But I can’t do anything else with the memory of her. I can’t mourn her loss; I can’t let myself feel the pain.

Because whenever I think of her, the same question destroys me again and again:

Did she do this to me?

Did she and her dad call my school and straight up lie? Impossible. Did her dad accuse me of doing these things to her? Was she the ‘sixteen-year-old’ girl I was supposed to have hurt?

No. Absolutely not.

It’s not possible. There is just no way… No. Just no.

I refuse to entertain the thought, and even if I did, it would be ridiculous.

And yet… Her father was a rich patron of the school—she had threatened them with his patronage in front of my eyes. She had been fifteen years old when I’d first met her. I didn’t even kiss her until she was sixteen, I barely even touched her, but… Why did she completely disappear the day the accusations were made? The day after she had broken up with me in such a weird, robotic way? As if she had been taught what to say.

In what universe is that a coincidence?

The question eats at me like poison, the doubts won’t let me breathe.

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