Page 52 of Love Sick

And once again, I hate that it seems to be her which stirs this inspiration within.

I stab at the keys one final time, slumping forward and allowing my long hair to shroud my face so I can hide my shame at finding myself here once more.

Alanna doesn’t need to fill in the silence with how wonderful my playing is. She just lets what she heard sink in before standing and leaving me alone.

I lower my chin, tempted to slam my head onto the top of the piano, hoping to knock some sense into myself.

What am I doing?

Yes, the music is the best thing I’ve written in, well…ever, but I hate that Alanna seems to be the reason for it.

My love for music is clearly as unhinged as Alanna’s love for Jonathan because I had the opportunity to end it all, but I didn’t take it. And I hate myself for it.

But when the music continues humming in my mind just how it once did, I begin to understand Alanna’s simple reply of doing all of this for love.

So the question is—what’s greater, my love for music? Or my love for Luna?

Once upon a time, the answer would be simple. But I know what it feels like to be without music. The memories linger and the silence threatens to drag me under once again. I can’t go back. I won’t survive.

Slamming the piano lid down, I grit my teeth in frustration. This shouldn’t be hard…but it is.

Tiny footsteps behind me have me pulling my shit together.

“Hey, kiddo,” I say, turning around to see Bobby standing timidly in the doorway. “It’s okay. I won’t hurt you.”

His hair is wet like he just had a bath. I’m thankful Alanna is at least looking after him as he looks showered and fed. I still have to wonder just who he is.

“Are you feeling okay?”

He bites his lip, nodding.

I have no idea how to talk to a little kid. It’s been so long since I was one, and even when I was, I hardly fit the stereotype because instead of playing with friends my age, I was BFFs with Mozart and Beethoven. But I won’t let Alanna’s insanity destroy Bobby’s innocence because the shit he’s seen, it’s enough to mess a kid up for life.

“Do you want to show me your room?”

He quickly casts his eyes downward.

In this moment, I promise myself that I’ll be here for Bobby and try my best to be the kind of role model a kid his age needs.

I stand, not wanting to make a big deal of things. “I’m going to check out the rest of the house. Wanna come?”

I don’t wait for him to reply, but instead position myself onto the crutches and hobble from the room. When I hear him tiptoeing behind me, I smile in secret because it’s nice to have a friend—even if it’s a kid.

I have no idea where I’m going, so I venture around downstairs, peering into rooms which are gutted shambles that have seen better days. The farther I venture, the more apparent it is that this was once a squatter’s den.

There’s faded graffiti on the walls, tags of people who once roamed these empty halls. The faded red carpet is soggy and when I peer upward, I see that a section of the roof has caved in. The fluttering of feathers echoes among the beams as birds take flight from their perches.

The place is filled with squalor and should have been torn down years ago. I wonder how Alanna knew about it and why the hell it’s operational.

Lost in the what-ifs, I feel a tug on my arm and peer down to see Bobby with a red ball in his hands.

“You wanna play ball?”

He nods.

“Sure, we can do that. I’ll try my best anyway.”

He runs down the hallway, ball under his arm, and stops when he is a few feet away. He drops the ball and lines it up before kicking it my way. I hobble toward it and manage to balance on one crutch and use the other to stop the ball.

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