Page 87 of Stutter

Someone calls Sabrina’s name, and her attention goes to them. “We’ll talk later, Raven, okay?”

What can I say? I nod and watch them walk away. It’s like watching a Kane Corso and a Chihuahua walking together. Seriously. How tall is that man? He beats Jonas by an inch atleast. Broad in the shoulders, looks menacing. I mean, he’s definitely her type. She ever wanted a nice boy. Kind, yes. Nice? She used to tell meniceguys were the ones that ended up as a docuseries on Netflix.

“You’re drooling.” Jonas singsongs.

I laugh softly and keep my hands low.No, I’m trying to figure out how they’re going to have sex. He’s a giant.

Jonas dips his chin and laughs out loud, causing Axel’s attention to turn to us from across the room. There are so many people now, but I can see him between the shoulders of others and the person he’s talking to also decides to slowly turn and look at us.

Why do I know him?

Howdo I know him?

It’s low… so fucking low when it starts… the other part to my symphony. My Death Lullaby. The melancholy song coats my spine like warm wax from my atlas to my coccyx, and slowly receding back up into my skull, settling in and spreading through my grey matter, smoothing out the wrinkles. Fuck. I shiver, keeping my eyes on the man, dirty blonde. Clean shaven. Chameleon eyes like Axel’s.

How do I know him?

“Excuse me, everyone?” I almost growl when I hear John’s voice, booming to be heard over the chatter and music, which both die down. His smile is wide and lizard-like, and that sends chills down my spine. Jonas must have felt my tiny shiver because he rubs little circles on my lower back with his thumb, soothing me from the outside in. “We have a special treat foryou, our daughter, Raven, is going to play for us.” He points to my cello waiting for me by the stage they made for the instrumentalists.

What the actual fuck.

All eyes are on me as applause erupts from partygoers. I grab a flute from a passing tray and gulp it down quickly. Okay. I can play this game. I was a party trick once. I can do it again. But if I’m going to play, I’m going to do itmyway. Really shake them up. I turn to Jonas and tip up on my toes for a kiss on his cheek where I whisper to him to tell the crowd I’ll be right back when he leans down. I then speed-walk to Axel and make a motion with my arms for him to grab his guitar and amp upstairs.

“You want me to play with you?”

I grin, nodding my head.

The surprise on his face is warm and ecstatic, almost child-like that I want to do this with him. We run upstairs together like we did when we were children - him to his room, me to mine, and grab my black binder full of sheet music from where it’s always been. It’s the only majestic Christmas carol we’ve ever played together, that we mastered for a string quartet plus a guitar during my unfinished second year at RMU for my Music Composition class. Which was supposed to be played by the string quartet I was in during the RMU Holiday Concerto, accompanied by the man himself, Axel Monroe.

Darting back downstairs, in my three-inch heels no less, my leg biting at me, (I really should go back to physical therapy) a little sweaty, I see Axel is already setting up and the string quartet is pushing their chairs back to make room for him and the celloist is rising and making a getaway to the restroom. Yeah, I remember those days. Playing for hours without a bathroom break.

I pass my men, all standing together, smirks on their faces in encouragement, and pass out the sheets of music to the violinists, the violist and take my seat, bending to pull my cello from the stand where she sits, beautiful and shiny. Settled, I look at Axel, electric guitar strapped and ready to play.

And give him a nod.

He begins, plucking the strings of our version ofCarol of The Bellsas if four years have never gone by. The violinists pluck at theirs, before readying their bows and I lift mine, eyes on my men, not needing the sheet music. This song is already in my memory. In my soul.

My fingers touch my strings and…

There goes Simon Hoover.

My lips lift at the corners of my mouth as he sets one glass of wine down on a server’s tray and picks up another, throwing it back like a shot. His wife hangs on his arm, beautiful and definitely sober. But he looks annoyed. A little red in the face, even.

The guitar crescendos as does the viola, one violin is playing the harmonic, higher pitches, the other, the lower and me, my fingers almost cramp at how tightly I’m playing, concentrated, watching, never wavering, as Simon tilts his head to the side and tugs on his pristine white shirt collar with one finger. All eyes are on me, and that includes Simon’s.

His upper lip curls back in what might be disgust but I only smile when he grabs another drink.

But God, I want to laugh.

Axel holds his note, letting it linger in the air, where one thinks the song would stop, it loops back to what would be the chorus if a choir had accompanied us. I can hear it in my mind, the need to dance, to sing, to clap and twirl around. It’s everything.Everything. My arms tremble, my fingers and wrists ache – but it feels so goddamn good to hurt. To feel so alive again.

“Ding dong… ding dong…”

He breaks our eye contact, grabbing his wife by the wrist.

“Ding dong… ding… dong…”

He says something, and she shrugs at him.

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