Page 128 of Crescendo

“I do. I have music. And I have you two. I do love both of you, a lot.”

Natália gave me a dissatisfiedhmm.“That’s not the same. I don’t want to make it a throuple with you, that would be weird.”

“Trust me that I don’t either. Okay, move along now. You’ve got a girlfriend to dote on.”

She gave me puppy-dog eyes when she stood up. “Don’t overwork yourself, okay?”

“I’ll just be in here a little longer.”

“If you don’t treat yourself right, then I’ll start withholding brigadeiros, and nobody wants that.”

Damn. Guess I’d have to figure out how to make my own. “It’s just a bit longer,” I insisted, which was, of course, completely a lie—I kept going until two in the morning, until it felt like my body was collapsing, deep aches in all my muscles, my chest hurting like it had been crushed. I at least managed to change out of my day clothes this time before I got to bed.

And at least there was something, because when I woke up in the morning, I had another message from Ella—the first part of her new arrangement, already. My heart jumped into my mouth at the sight, and I shot out of bed to get my headphones from the music room, sitting to listen to it, a beautiful piece that started off with this incredible string section, billowing outwards with a feeling like flying. And maybe that meant something—that I’d given her a running start while I was in London, and now she could fly without me.

I gushed praise to her, sparing no detail of which parts I loved the most about it, and I gave her a few samples of the pieces I was working on overhauling, too—all we were now, music partners. So distant, and yet at the same time, it was intensely intimate without the words for it, because of how much we did both pour ourselves into the music.

Except, I thought, once we’d both promised to get back to work and left our conversation at that, maybe it was worse that way. Maybe all that meant was that I’d get a front-row emotional seat to Ella moving on without me.

I made some damn music. Threw myself back into it, skipping breakfast, taking the world’s fastest shower just to get back to the music room, and Natália was livid when she found me again, grilling me about how long I’d been up working last night.

Didn’t matter, though. I kept at the music, and eventually, she relented and joined me. I didn’t tell her I’d skipped breakfast and last night’s dinner too, because she would have dragged me away to force-feed me, but she made sure I ate lunch anyway, even though my body protested weakly at suddenly trying to feed it and I could barely get any of it down. I finished about half of it before I was back at the music, the end finally in sight, and not a moment too soon—just a bit more, was the mantra I told myself as the sun crept across the sky and down over the horizon, and when Natália was wrapping up for the day, she scowled hard at me.

“Pleasedo notkeep going until morning this time!” she said. “Meli and I are so worried about you. We think you’re killing yourself with work because you don’t have—”

“Please don’t finish that sentence.”

She faltered, face falling. “We just want you to be happy,” she said softly, and I smiled thinly at her.

“Just gotta get through this. Then I can rest, I can relax.”

She crumpled, stepping forward and pulling me into a hug. “You’re scaring me, Lydia,” she said. “Don’t do this to yourselforus.”

“I won’t,” I said softly. “I’ll go to bed earlier tonight.”

I wasn’t sure if I meant it at the time, but it folded like paper anyway, the second she was gone. I pushed myself into it, on and on into the evening, until the score started to blur together, and the only thing looming was the main piece, the money piece, the throne scene. We weresoclose. Everything wasstarting to come together. It just needed one last… adjustment. One honing factor to get it to come together.

I shouldn’t have touched the scotch, but I’d tried coffee, I’d tried tea, I’d tried protein snacks and I’d tried sugar, tried anything I could put in my body to clear out the haze in my head, and I tried scotch too. One shot turned into two, and then I made the same mistake I had in this music room what felt like forever ago—I took a third shot, just the right amount to remind myself I was a lightweight.

And so it was that Melinda and Natália found me on the floor in the music room, surrounded with scraps of paper, pen in hand writing into a notebook, probably almost midnight, and Natália just about screamed at me.

“Lydia!” she shouted, dropping down to the floor in front of me. “You told me you wouldn’t do this!”

“I’m so close,” I groaned. “I just… I’m just trying to figure out the words. It’s all I need. The throne scene. March to the throne. Death march. That’s what it feels like I need… march me off to my self-imposed destruction. Look at me! I’m Hedson.” I went to write on the page again, and Melinda took the pen from my hand.

“That’s more than enough, dude,” she said, a hand on my back. “C’mon. We’re getting you food and water and a shit-ton of sleep.”

“Notnow,Melinda,” I sighed. “Can’t you see? I’m going to finish it. It’s going to be beautiful. The world will love me.”

“You’re going to finish yourself off at this rate,” Melinda said.

“All the better.”

“Notall the better. Listen to yourself. Jesus Christ, dude.”

Natália spoke quietly, looking at the notebook. “Lydia… did you write these?”

“Huh?” I took the notebook, squinting at the words.I Only Meant Well.Lyrics aboutcradling the bodies of promises I made, doves with broken wings as their heartbeats start to fade, blood and memories dripping through my fingers… “Oh,” I managed. “Oh, no, I plagiarized all that. Shit.”

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