Page 36 of Only the Small Bones
“You live your life like you’re waiting for something, or for someone. Like you can’ttrulylive until whatever or whoever it is arrives. I’m done living the same way, William. I’m done waiting for you.”
“I never asked you to.” My voice sounded small, lining up with the way I felt.
“No, you didn’t,” he confirmed, “but you loved it all the same.” He allowed me to digest that truth for a minute before hitting me with his parting words on his way out. “I can’t work with you anymore. I quit.”
Reentering the control room, I made my way over to Ryan, admiring the way his long lashes fanned out across his cheeks. Sweat dotted his nose. I reached over to the thermostat, turning the air on.
Despite being cramped on the love seat, he seemed peaceful and sweet. His missing scowl did wonders for his natural beauty.
I thought about waking him, but I couldn’t bear losing this version of him yet. I considered carrying him to bed, but couldn’t risk him having a violent outburst because I’d touched him without his consent. Whose bed would I have taken him to anyway? The voices in my head replied:“Mine.”
Maybe Xavier’s unadulterated truth had cut through some of my denial, because for once I agreed with the voices. My bed would’ve been the preferred option.
Unwilling to leave him here alone, I settled onto the floor with my back against the loveseat, scooting down until my head rested on the edge of the cushion.
I wouldn’t let myself believe Ryan had feelings for me. Perhaps Xavier’s jealousy caused him to misinterpret things on that front, to see non-existent things.
I did, however, allow myself the deconstruction of one lie. I had feelings for Ryan. The inappropriate kind. I could be brave enough to admit it to myself. Taking it a step further, I didn’t blame my sleep deprived brain on the admission.
I have feelings for Ryan.The man I promised to protect until he was strong enough to reacclimate into the world. I refused to contemplate what type of monster that made me. Refusedto think about when those feelings began. The answer to both would be too incriminating.
William
I woke in the dark, disoriented and with a crick in my neck. It took a minute or two for my vision to adjust. The frame of the loveseat dug into my back, and the blanket covering me slipped past my shoulders, settling in my lap. Ryan must have covered me with it.
“He takes care of you.”
I remembered another instance where Ryan draped a throw over me. I’d seen the gesture as a form of care, or perhaps an act of kindness, but now Xavier’s opinions filled my head. I didn’t know what to think.
The faint squeak of a stringed instrument caught my attention. I strained my ears toward the sound, trying to pick up the familiar melody. “Mary Had a Little Lamb.” The song most violinists learned to master first.
It wasn’t the playing of a complete novice I listened to, speechless. Ryan played like someone who hadn’t played in years but had only mastered the basics. He played like someone being reacquainted with an old love, testing the waters.
It made me emotional and unable to move under the phantom boulder crushing my chest. The reasons why weren’t unfamiliar to me.
He could’ve used help with his pitch, and guidance in depressing the correct strings at the right intervals. Call me biased, but it was still the most beautiful piece I’d ever heard.
The live room door could be stubborn sometimes. It tended to need a good hard push to seal all the way. Ryan likely believed he couldn’t be heard from this side of the insulated room.
Getting to my feet and groaning as I rubbed the kink out of my lower back, I followed the music.
Ryan played with his back to me. A blessing. It meant I got to observe him from a place of honesty. A pleasure I’d lose the moment he saw me and shyness—or anger—set in. He took it from the top. I wanted to tell him he’d started in the wrong key, but I wanted to remain inconspicuous even more. At least for a while longer.
He clicked his tongue, surprising me. Other than his trapped screams fighting for freedom while he slept—or the morning he cut himself—I’d never heard him utter a sound.
I tried to gauge the timber of his voice from the small molecule of sound. Would it be high pitched like a tenor, or contain the warmth and depth of a baritone? Would it be low and rich, capable of sending chills down my spine? Or maybe soft and breathless. My body began to warm at the idea of the latter, and for once I didn’t stop the heat from spreading.
Ryan whirled around at the sound of my rough exhale, nearly dropping the violin in his surprise. He panted, eyes wide, trembling.
“Sorry. I could hear you from the control room. I’ve been meaning to get the door fixed.” I pointed a thumb over my shoulder. He considered the instrument in his hand, then its stand, as if contemplating setting it down.
“You need to start with the second finger on the D string,” I instructed. “Can I?” I moved closer with my hand out. His brows dipped. Either my request for permission seemed odd to him, or he wasn’t convinced I could play. He handed the violin and bow over, then waited.
Holding it by the neck, I sat the body along my collarbone before gently resting my jaw on the chinrest. I kept my movements slow enough for him to study them. Next, I aligned my index finger over the first stop on the fingerboard while the remaining digits hovered over each successive note in the major scale.
This particular violin hadn’t been crafted by a master luthier from the finest of woods, but it held sentimental value to me. I’d had it restored and upgraded to produce the best quality sound possible while not making it unrecognizable. I wanted to maintain what made it special in the first place. It was the violin I exclusively played. It was well loved by me.
Ryan watched me closer as I ran the bow back and forth over the freshly tuned strings. I ran through the nursery rhyme twice—calling out each note shift—before closing my eyes and getting carried away by a haunting number that never failed to crush me. A song about loss and finding salvation.
