Page 26 of Requiem

Three rows back, someone hisses at me, startling me so badly that my eyes fly open. Shit. I hadn’t realized I was talking out loud. I slouch down into the curve of the seat, willing the darkness to close in even tighter, to swallow me up. I need to be more careful. People really will start to think that I’m crazy if they hear me—

The thought dies, half formed, in my mind.

Up on the stage, Theo Merchant arches his body over the cello, sawing the bow at the strings. He plays like a creature possessed. The thick waves of his hair still hide his eyes, but I can see the line of his jaw perfectly well, and it’s clenched, the muscles ticking as the music spills out of him.

It is sonorous and deep now—a raw vibration that floods the auditorium and doesn’t even seem to come out of the cello anymore. It comes from withinme, from the pit of my chest, from my soul, like it’s the sound of the blood singing in my veins. I can’t stand to watch, but it’s impossible to look away.

This feels like an awakening, and Theo…Theo is something out of a dream. Half demon, half angel, he is a beautiful night terror, and I am haunted by the sight of him.

His teeth press into the flesh of his lower lip as the music reaches its crescendo, and his skin blanches bone white. If I could hate myself any more than I already do, then I would, because Theo Merchant is breathtaking, and I’m too awestruck by the vision of him playing up on that stage to deny it anymore.

It's inexplicable, this need in me. Powerful and strong.

I want things that I shouldn’t want.

I want his body curved aroundme.

I want his hands on my skin.

I want his teeth bitingmylip.

Oh.

Oh god, I—

I launch out of my seat, rushing back up the stairs toward the exit. I try to duck down, to avoid detection by any of the other students sitting in the audience, but I instantly regret it; bending double only intensifies the nausea rolling through me. Reaching the doors at the back of the auditorium, I fling them open, hurrying out into the lit hallway, and the sound of Theo’s playing comes to a discordant end, the sustaining note that he was holding abruptly cutting off with a screech of his bow.

Fuck.

Fuck, fuck, fuck. He saw. He sawme.

“Miss Voss? Where do you think you’re going?”

I spin around, clutching my stomach, to find Principal Ford stalking toward me. “I’m sorry. I—I think I’m going to—”

Her face creases with concern. “Good lord, you’re sweating. What’s wrong?”

“I’m gonna be sick.” I grit my teeth against another tight pinch of pain in my stomach. My mouth fills with saliva. I want to swallow it, but my gag reflex is working overdrive, and I can’t.

“I can see that. Let’s get you to a bathroom.” Principal Ford flusters around me, ushering me along; she rests a hand on my shoulder, the other in my lower back as she guides me quickly down the hall to the closest restroom. As soon as I’m in a stall, I sink to my knees and heave into the toilet bowl, retching and gasping as that fucking chicken piccata I wolfed down in the dining hall makes a reappearance. Principal Ford stands behind me, rubbing my back, and guilt slams into me out of nowhere. I should have raised my hand when she told us to before, back in the auditorium. She does care about her students. The only reason she’s being so hard on us now is because she cares about us and our wellbeing. I can see that. And here I am, about to make her life infinitely harder. The woman shows me more compassion than I deserve.

“Shhh. It’s okay, Sorrell. That’s it. Get it all up. Gosh, you really are sick, aren’t you?”

Tears stream down my face as I heave again and again, and I can’t tell if it’s because of the sting of the bile rushing up my throat, or because I’m actually crying; the catastrophic sense of shame I felt back there, watching Theo play, is certainly enough to turn me into a sobbing mess.

“Okay. Okay, sweetheart. That’s it. Breathe. Take it easy and breathe now.”

I stack my forearms on the toilet seat and rest my forehead against them, doing as I’m told. The foul taste of vomit coats my tongue, my mouth filling with saliva again. I spit into the toilet bowl, sniffing hard and then regretting it as a chunk of chicken that wedged itself up my nose comes loose and I nearly choke on it. Once I’ve spatthatinto the toilet, I drag down another ragged breath. “Urgh.Fuck.”

“Fuck indeed,” Principal Ford agrees. “I’ll allow the language this time. I hate throwing up. I’m actually a sympathetic puker.”

I wince at her; she’s holding the back of her hand to her mouth, grimacing down at the toilet bowl like she’s about to join me on her knees and add to the mess I’ve made.

“It’s okay. You can...” I shudder, “…wait outside now. I’ll be all right. I think…I’m done.”

I can tell she wants to stay and take care of me, but she’s also relieved that I’m letting her off the hook. “You’re sure?”

I nod.

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