Page 7 of We Are Yours
Am I?
My legs burned.
My lungs ached.
My body yearned to give up. Maybe I’d lost too much blood.
None of those ailments stopped the agonizing questions screaming in my head. I pushed myself to keep going, one tormented step after another, and I ran toward safety. With the fresh air filling my lungs like a lifeline, I didn’t halt until I burst through the main entrance of the subway station and found a secluded wall to lean against.
I was still badly bleeding, staring at the graffiti, seeing if it would tell me what to do, where to go, and how to get there. My mind was a never-ending scramble, each thought more confusing than the last. And just as hopelessness threatened to devour me whole, a soft, faint sound of comfort sailed through the chaos.
* * *
The melody of a piano saved me from myself.
Chapter
Three
Isla
The hypnotizing melody of Ludovico Einaudi’s masterpiece “Experience” eloquently flowed through the subway. Each perfectly executed note from the piano solo slowly steadied my heart rate. With each note, the alluring tune drew me closer to an overpowering and immediate feeling of refuge. Outside of listening to my MP3 player, I couldn’t remember the last time I felt this way.
I didn’t know it then, but this precise moment was an invisible, gravitational pull—a force so strong that it would realign the stars in the sky, shifting my journey onto a path from which there would be no return. Whatever I thought, whatever I learned, whatever happened next, I had absolutely no control over.
I never believed in destiny.
To me, it was this made-up illusion that people told themselves to find hope in something—to feel like everything had a purpose, a reason. Especially when horrific situations made no sense and caused an enormous amount of pain that was ultimately inevitable, since fate seemed to take over.
It seemed like an excuse, and I refused to be a victim of luck.
Except that evening, the music didn’t only save my life, it also caused my damnation. You see, it wasn’t merely the song luring me in. If that were the case, this would have been easier. I would have been able to walk away. Perhaps even run. Instead, this fleeting moment was destined to become a permanent memory in my new life, and I had no idea how much influence it’d hold over me.
I couldn’t feel the fear in the pit of my stomach or the cuts all over my skin.
I couldn’t see anything but the melody.
Him.
The dim fluorescent lighting of the wide-open space did little to hide the breath that suddenly caught in my chest.
One minute, I stood by the graffitied wall, and the next, my star-eyed gaze collided with two bright, infectious Caribbean-blue eyes that were just as wide-eyed. It was this strong, all-consuming stare where there was no mistaking the instant connection we shared.
It felt dangerously familiar in ways that didn’t make any sense. It was this palpable surge of energy as his gaze stayed fixated on mine the entire time. His eyes brimmed with untold secrets and unspoken truths while his fingers bled across the piano keys in such a devastatingly haunting way.
It was breathtakingly beautiful.
He was breathtakingly beautiful.
I immediately recognized the lone wolf in him, reflecting my own spirit animal.
His jet-black hair and bright blue eyes were contrasting traits that he wore like a striking paradox. His defined facial features were almost as prominent as his piercing gaze. I couldn’t look away, mesmerized by his dominant presence and what was so obviously his natural-born talent.
I stayed there captivated with no intention of taking my eyes off him. Now, where the piano had calmed my mind, the violin, which had abruptly started playing flawlessly on cue, consumed that peace with the sharp bite of its bow against the strings. My attention didn’t just shift to the violin player. It was snatched toward him. Purposely.
Instantly, my gaze locked with enchanting, dark forest-green eyes. His hair might have been blond, but his strong facial structure and equally dominant demeanor mirrored the guy playing the piano. I’d be a fool not to realize they were brothers. For that reason alone, it seemed as if this undeniable force stole every last breath from my lungs.
I watched him play his violin with such fierce execution, utterly oblivious to the strangers around him. It was only him and me, and I understood each note. It was this raw, dark, and desperate cry pouring off his strings and bow, triggering this sensation of a history we once shared, which was impossible. How I could embrace these emotions for these two boys I’d only just met was crazy and so unlike me.
