Page 103 of Love Sick

Her innuendo has Alanna paling because it hits a little too close to home, which is exactly the reason Luna said it.

She loops her arm through Alanna’s. “Shall we?”

Alanna grins, appearing genuinely happy. I can’t help but feel sorry for her.

Luna doesn’t, however, and both women leave the room.

This is a clusterfuck waiting to happen.

I hear a microphone tapping and the sounds of an excited audience quietening.

It’s showtime.

Some man does a boring introductory speech, trying to be funny and dropping terrible medical puns throughout. I stretch my fingers, and that’s as far as a warm-up goes.

The redhead reappears, talking into her headset and gesturing that I’m to follow her.

I walk behind her, suddenly feeling agoraphobic. I’ve been cooped up in Parkfields, tied to a bed in wherever I was after the hospital, and then locked inside a haunted mansion. Being out here in the open is suddenly too much.

“Are you all right?” I vaguely hear the redhead ask because her voice soon morphs into a thousand snarling dogs.

This isn’t my normal anymore. I’ve not been around people in so long, I feel as though I’ve forgotten how to be human.

“Shit.” That’s what I hear, and hands touching my forehead because I’ve slid down the wall and on the floor.

The redhead is barking orders, but I block out the chaos and focus on the one anchor which has always been present.

His heart…

Funny, I accepted it as mine, but now I feel I should acknowledge that it’s because of Misha that I’m still alive.

The poor kid was caught in a web of deceit and greed, but his death wasn’t in vain. I’m proof of that. There’s no silver lining in this circumstance because Luna lost her son, but I will do this for him.

“I’m fine,” I say, coming to a stand.

The redhead touches the headset in relief. “Keep him talking. Two minutes.”

I focus on the sounds around me and the strong beating of my heart. The universe speaks to me, and I plan on speaking back.

We walk down the corridor and then up three steps, where the redhead peeks out through the part in the curtain, awaiting our cue.

This amphitheater is beautiful. It’s been a dream of mine to play here. I just never imagined my dream to be a fucking nightmare.

“Please put your hands together in welcoming to the stage, Dutch Atwood!”

The redhead shoves me toward the curtain, shooing me onto the stage. Once I step out, I see just how many people are really here. I didn’t ask Alanna for details because I never thought I would play as I figured she or Daddy would kill me first.

But here I am.

I see Luna sitting in the first row. She is the only muse I need.

The white Steinway grand piano with its red inner lid sits in the middle of the stage. It’s every pianist’s dream to play, not only because it’s beautiful, but because it sounds almost unholy. The room is so quiet, you can hear my shoes on the stage floor.

I take a seat on the red stool and place my fingers on the smooth keys. That familiar ache burns in my belly. This is coming home to a familiar friend. I’m not nervous. I never am when I play. I’m not being arrogant. What I mean is that playing music for me is far more comfortable than conversing because song is my voice.

And now, I need this audience to hear what I have to say.

I skim my fingers against the keys, starting the piece off with memories of the moment I knew piano was my true love. I close my eyes and lose myself to the music which is gentle and slow. This time in my life was one of simplicity.

---