Page 35 of Sin Like the Devil

He doesn’t need his sight to read me like a book. That’s a scary realisation. Even my breathing can betray the lie I live to him. No amount of bravado will stop him from discovering the version of myself that I refuse to let the world see.

“Music room is on your right.” I deliberately don’t stop for him. “Door’s open.”

Entering the art studio—deserted as usual on a Thursday—I’m flustered as I approach my covered canvas from last week which still needs signing and varnishing. I’m gathering my supplies when the sound of a stool scraping against the wooden floor fractures the peace.

After placing his violin case on a workbench, Raine hops up onto the stool and crosses his jean-clad legs at the ankles. He’s facing the window, so I clear my throat and watch his head turn towards me.

“Why are you following me?”

Tilting his body, he repositions himself to face my direction. “We’re supposed to be working on an art project.”

“There is no project.”

“And if your friendly resident stalker returns, looking to continue your conversation?” he counters. “You’re going to need that alibi.”

Slamming down my tin of varnish and brushes, I brace my hands on my hips. “What’s your deal? Did Lennox or Xander put you up to this?”

“Nope.” He pops the P exaggeratedly. “And I doubt they’d approve.”

“Then what’s the motive here?”

“Does there have to be one?” Rolling his lips, Raine looks like he’s fighting laughter. “Sounds like people give you a wide berth. Maybe I just want some peace and quiet.”

Despite by brimming curiosity for this mysterious man, I keep my voice level. “You’re disturbing mine right now.”

“Say no more.” He mimes locking his mouth and tossing the key. “Pretend I’m not here.”

Staring at him incredulously for several seconds, I quickly realise he isn’t going to move. I’m keenly aware of his presence mere metres away as I suppress a growl, turning back to my canvas. I’m not used to sharing my personal space.

Beneath the paint-flecked white sheet, my finished canvas sits untouched. I sign it off with my signature in the bottom right corner then methodically begin varnishing, quickly becoming engrossed in my task.

Not even the sound of Raine unlatching his violin case and setting up his instrument disturbs me. I’m lost to the swirls of oil paint and varnish, sucking me back into the terrifying landscape that poured from my brush.

By the end of the first coat, my body has started to sway along to the muted chords Raine is plucking out as he tunes his violin. It’s a stripped-back rhythm, light and oddly reticent, never quite betraying the raw emotion I heard him perform in private.

I still, laying down my brush. “When did you learn to play?”

“Before I lost my vision. I was around nine.” The plucking continues. “My school’s music program was wildly unpopular. Just like me. I fit right in.”

“You were unpopular?”

“No one likes the junkies’ son. I didn’t have the latest clothes or mobile phone like everyone else. Everyone knew my folks were crackheads.”

Still staring at my canvas, I wrestle with my conflicting emotions. “Why the violin?”

“I stumbled into the classroom one day while running from some bullies and found this ancient, battered violin. The rest is history.”

“How old are you now?”

“What’s with the third degree, guava girl?”

“You’re the one who followed me in here.”

“I guess that’s fair. I’m twenty-three.”

Turning on my stool, I allow myself another glimpse. He’s a year younger than Lennox, while Xander is twenty-six, the same as me. That makes Raine the baby of their friendship group.

“You continued to play after you lost your vision?”

---