Page 25 of My Lovely Tragedy
A lost, fractured entity searching for reason. For a purpose. For traction in such a slippery, uncertain world where individuality means nothing.
Tobias could end up hating me. Loathing me and everything I stand for. The darkness buried so far beneath, even I can’t remember its outline. Afterall, I hide the shape of me because even I can’t stand who I am, but it doesn’t matter.
Because, this time, I can walk away none the wiser. Back turned, chin lifted indignantly toward the sky as I shove it all back inside, having felt more vulnerable than ever before, but I canhideit.
I can go back to pretending. To surviving.
And knowing I’ll be leaving someone behind who finally saw me for who I really am… Well, it’s not the worst thought in the world. Every disgusting, vile thought laid bare andseen.
Acceptance is a whole other story—but I never asked for that, let alone want it.
But I can do this. At least for a little while. Stuck in this little bubble of snow and ice, melodic notes of Tobias’s long fingers over the keys, and the warmth from a crackling fire.
There are worse ways to exist.
There’s a lull in the music, only a split second as he morphs into a new song, but it’s enough to garner my attention. I don’t lift my head from the sofa, but I shift my gaze from the dark ceiling to where Tobias sits on the bench in front of his sleek, black grand piano. It takes up a vast amount of space without being too domineering. Like it belongs exactly where it is—and from the way he plays, it feels right.
My eyes catch his for a fraction of time before his are back on the blank music rack. He’s playing from memory alone, and that’s enough to have me in awe. I know from personal experience how fucking hard that can be—and howeasyit can be to fuck up.
He plays effortlessly. Fluidly. Like it’s as easy as breathing.
Enamored with his side profile, I rest my hands over my stomach, feeling the harmony in my veins.
The sun has long since set, and the room is cast in shadows made even darker by the licking illumination of the flames. The first day of the new year, over in an uneven wave.
Tobias’s curly, dark brown hair looks nearly black. A few of the longer strands hang in front of his eyes, surely obscuring his view, and my fingers twitch with the desire to brush them away. To clear his sight.
I swallow down the annoying impulse with venom.
His face is rough with stubble, indicating he hasn’t shaved recently, and it’s easy to imagine the rough scrape against my skin. The contrast to his soft clothes, made of the finest material. Costly.
I don’t think he’s some millionaire—or at least isn’t as far as I fucking know—but he’s got money. That much is clear. Though, I can’t say much about it when I do, too—I just don’t care about it. I never have.
I learned long ago from having been both stomach-eating-itself-alive poor to dining at five-star Michelin restaurants that money only makes the acts of survivingeasier.It doesn’t actually fix a fuckin’ thing. Much to my dismay. It was actually a pretty rude discovery.
My eyelids close as the music washes over me. My brain works to marry words to the notes. Just a few lyrics here and there, but they don’t feel like they fit.
Tobias was right.
This is the kind of music best left as it was meant to be.
I fall into a trance-like state for minutes on end. Hell, it could even be hours for all I know. Time loses meaning as sound morphs into tranquility and repose.
The notes fall deeper, slowing gradually before one final note reverberates, leaving the air vibrating and heavy.
It’s almost drugging. I feel leaden and lethargic, my body filled with its lingering effects. “Do you sing?” I murmur, my voice barely audible to my own ears.
“I have, on occasion,” Tobias answers after a moment, still across the room from me. The space between us feels safe. Untouched.Easier.
“Why don’t you sing more?”
“It’s not exactly my…” His tongue clicks. “How do I say this?”
“Not your bag?” He laughs at my idiom, carefree and wholesome.
“I was going to say forte, but yes, I suppose that is a good way of putting it.”
“But I’ve seen you writing stuff in that journal or whatever it is. I thought they were songs or something.” Tobias shakes his head, and his glasses slip further down his nose, small wire frames peeking out from behind a mass of dark curls.
