Page 39 of Love Sick

When we descend the last step, I count four entryways extending from the foyer. Alanna heads for the first door to the left of which has red curtains draped over it and we enter what I guess may have been a sitting room.

Two red marbled columns frame three bay windows which has a settee underneath.

Lifting my chin, I see the ceiling is high and painted on them are cherubs playing harps and other musical instruments as they sit among the clouds. The cracks in the plaster only make this sight even more beautiful as I feel like I’ve stepped back in time.

There’s a fire crackling in the fireplace, the smell comforting me and replacing the anger with calm. There are hundreds of candles, burned down to almost the wick. This is what provides the light as there isn’t any electricity.

But what I see in the middle of the room is the true beauty.

A black piano calls my name and the popping of the fire soon transports into notes I can see those tiny cherubs play. Music fills my body and I close my eyes, helpless to the sounds.

I hear it again; the only thing before Luna which made life worth living—music. How I’ve missed her.

A temptress to my soul, the music pulsates in time to the beating of my heart; the one thing that once stopped the flow. But now, in this forsaken mansion, it doesn’t stop. It rushes from every pore of my body and I see it—it’s white light.

However, that is soon replaced with darkness because I suddenly feel guilty for experiencing such a rush when it was delivered by the hand of the devil. But is that why I can feel it again? Every artist uses their pain, their sorrow, to express themselves, to expel the demons which are feeding on their souls.

Is Alanna in fact a muse of darkness? While Luna is the light?

I don’t want to accept this as truth because what does that say about me if I use Alanna as anything other than a piñata?

The wheels of my chair crunch over rubble and the sound almost winds me because I hear it as musical notes; I can taste the music on my tongue. This hasn’t happened in a very long time. It did with Luna, but this with Alanna is different…and it scares me.

I’ve been chasing this feeling since the moment I awoke, and to feel it here, now, I question what I must sacrifice to silence the monsters lingering in the dark. The music is their forage, and now, they are ravenous after being starved for so long.

I don’t have to open my eyes as Alanna puts me in front of the piano. Touch is enough as I place my fingers onto the keys. An electrical shock renders me breathless. It’s like coming home to a lover; your first love whose curves you’ve memorized with your tongue.

I take a moment to remember this moment because I need to revisit it if I ever get dragged to the abyss again.

I don’t even think twice as my fingers work over the keys without sound. I want to take my time. I need to relish the touch which is akin to none. Music has always been my mistress and when I met Luna, she filled the void, but now that I am here, I realize no one can ever comfort me how music does.

The only song which seems to be the soundtrack of my life fills the room—Moonlight Sonata. But this rendition is different because I play it how I’ve never played it before.

The same feelings I felt when I watched Alanna rip out Joy’s heart overwhelm me and animate me in ways I am ashamed for.

Once again, I hear the blood pulsating through Joy’s veins and arteries, giving her life, a life which was snuffed out by Alanna…and by me.

Does bloodshed and violence now feed me? Is that why I can play?

Luna was the angel dust I needed, but with her gone, Alanna’s venom seems to nourish me in ways I don’t understand.

Ashamed, I pry open my eyes and yank my hands from the keys. I will not be that person.

But as I lock eyes with Alanna who sits on the settee with tears streaming down her cheeks, I realize a part of me will sacrifice anything and everything to feel the music again.

Alanna’s nipples are straining against the thin material of her white cotton T-shirt and when she licks a fallen tear from her pink mouth, my dicks stirs—and I want to cut it off for doing so.

I’m disgusted with myself because I don’t know who this man is. How can I react to her this way after everything she’s done? Feelings of shame and guilt swarm in my belly and the only response I can make sense of is that I want to play.

The more sordid I feel, the louder the music. I fight it, but as Alanna flicks her long hair over her shoulder, notes crash into me and I am a prisoner to the blackened melody which will consume me whole.

I’ve never felt this before.

I don’t understand.

I hate it.

But I don’t.

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