Page 53 of Safety Net
I wanted him to stay with me, but he pulled away again. He was fortifying his walls as soon as I was curious to understand what was behind them.
"Let's get out of here," he said before I could probe a second longer. "The arena's eerie this time of year. Too empty, too quiet."
He waited till I cleared the stairs before starting toward the exit. I followed, my thoughts racing a mile a minute as I thought of ways to touch someone who was just out of reach.
Lincoln made an excuse to go to the playhouse early. Apparently, the set needed immediate attention, and Jack wasn't going to do it right without him. So, we left campus, the air between us heavy with the strange concoction that was our kiss and his withdrawal.
I put my ruminations about self-sabotage and the gentleness of Lincoln's kiss on the back burner once I was with everyone else. They knew their lines, and for the first time, I had a complete recording of the music.
We ran through each scene; everyone hit their marks. Halle made a small mistake on one of her lines, but she recovered in time to meet Ellis at center stage. Thank God for a figure skater's stamina and grace.
It was all coming together like the final strokes of a painting. The only thing lacking was the structure of the finale. I couldn't figure out how to make it land with grace in exchange for its current screeching halt finish. I'd spent most of the week revising, taking things apart, and putting them back together. The songs had been edited sixteen times since the last meeting.
"It's perfect." Lincoln rested his elbows on the piano, smiling down at me. His mood lightened when he was around everyone. I was happy for him, but there was a string of sadness coiled inside my stomach because I couldn't do that for him.
"I…sure," I mumbled as I undid everything we'd just done with an aggressive scrub of my eraser. I got rid of last night's revision as easily as new wiper blades cut through rain. “Almost.”
"Celeste?" he asked.
The others remained on the far end of the stage, lost in conversation and the joy of being done for tonight. Envy clawed at my throat as they made plans to go to some party. I wasn’t just jealous of their social competence, but their ability to step into their next moment of the day without so much as the need to reflect. Without the incessant pull to nitpick every little decision they’d made with a fine-tooth comb until their soul bled.
"It's perfect," Lincoln repeated, firmer. He tried to catch my gaze, but I only had the capacity to digest my writing.
"It's missing something." I shook my head and scribbled notes into the margins.
Lincoln joined me on the bench, stacking the array pages I wasn’t working on back into my binder. He knew the exact order I wanted each sheet to be in and placed a crease in the corner of the middle page because he'd seen me do it countless times.
"You have changed this over and over again. Every new addition is no more or less brilliant than the last."
"That's…" I sighed. "Easy for you to say."
"And why's that?"
"Because you don't have an ear for this stuff," I whispered, trying not to come off rude or cruel. But he didn't. Lincoln didn't know the ins and outs of composition. He didn't know how to use notes to evoke that tiny feeling I got in my stomach when I felt my world caving in and crushing me in the process. He didn't understand that not all of us could be naturally talented, do the bare minimum, and still have adoring friends, fans, and a lovely future laid ahead of us.
"I may not have an ear for it," he said. "But I do have emotions. And just because I'm into you doesn't mean I'm pretending when I say what you've written is moving. You have done something incredible, and you keep trampling over it like it's nothing. It's infuriating to watch, you know? Someone with so much talent and drive is getting in their own way simply because they can't see themselves clearly, due to a warped perspective. Do you realize how fortunate you are to possess both talent and drive? I'd give anything to be able to do half of what you've done. Anything to be brave enough to give it my all."
My hand paused. Heat traveled across my cheeks as I tried to digest his compliment and the contrasting frustration in his tone.
"You can tell me," I said gently. "You know you can. You know I'm not going to judge you for whatever's going on with you."
"I did hold back," he confessed, voice dropping in volume even though our cast was too loud to notice this new shift in Lincoln's persona. "At the arena. You were right. I self-sabotaged."
I lowered my pencil, giving him my undivided attention.
"I hate that you noticed." He laughed a little, nerves lacing throughout the sound.
"I hate that you notice me, too."
We shared a smile. Some of the rising frustration simmered.
"I don't put one hundred percent into anything," Lincoln said. "I don't believe I ever could. I don't feel like it'd be enough. And if I did try… I'd finally have tangible proof whatever I do will never quite work out."
My chest was heavy, honored he trusted me with a peek behind the curtain. I pressed my shoulder against his. "I get it."
He smiled, leaning into me, and we stayed that way, supported by one another for a moment. When I brushed myfingers against the back of Lincoln's hand, he opened his palm. I entwined my fingers with his without a second thought.
I loved how my hand fit into his, how his secured my fingers in his grasp. I love how it felt like neither of us would ever let go, no matter what direction the other could pull us in? I wanted to be linked with him like this indefinitely. The thought of returning to an existence where there was a gulf in between us sent a gut-wrenching ache through my belly. Lincoln Hill was the only person I wanted to share my chaotic, concerning, and saddening honesty with. He was the one person I knew could keep my confessions safe while challenging me enough to question my beliefs.
