Page 47 of My Lovely Tragedy
The transformation between its original format and piano is slightly altered but recognizable all the same if Brooklyn’s soft snort is anything to go by.
“Of course, you play my song and make it even better. That’s actually kinda fuckin’ rude,” he adds as an afterthought. And my eyelids never open; the keys splay out in front of me in my mind, fingers a whisper of movement as they drag and lull over each ivory. Brooklyn’s soft breath is the perfect backdrop to such a beautiful soundtrack.
CHAPTERFIFTEEN
BROOKLYN
Time.Such an asinine concept when it ceases to exist within the confines of your own mind.
Slow and tortuous, yet fast as a bullet train as it passes you by.
The first flickers of pressure eased don’t correlate to anything in my brain. In my body. At first, it just feels like the drowsiness of sleep has lessened as my brain makes way for its one point five hours of stimulation every three days.
But it doesn’t go away. Every day, possibly every hour, it lessens a little more.
My muscles, stiff and aching from misuse, feel lighter than I ever remember them feeling. Being awake doesn’t make my brain throb from obvious overuse. My heart beats a little faster than its usual slow, residual thump.
A reminder I’malive.
For the first time in weeks, months,years,I can breathe without the weight of a ton of bricks. Except the bricks are really every tortuous thought I have ever had plaguing me, and yet, they’re nothing at all.
The thoughts are still there, stillso very fucking there.But fuck. The burden is finally not killing me. Suffocating.
Annihilating.
“Hey,” I croak as I push myself up against the arm of the couch. Tobias resides in the chair across from me, laptop ever present on his lap, his leather-bound journal to his right, pen trapped between pages.
He lifts his head, curls dipping past his eyebrows, nearly brushing his eyelashes. His glasses are perched halfway down his nose, the small, rounded wire frames dainty on his masculine visage. “Hello.” He smiles, bright and genuine. “You look like you’re feeling better.”
My face heats with shame despite knowing his comment is entirely innocent. I mean, he’s literally seen me at my worst, and he’s still here. Still smiling at me.
He doesn’t think I’m some freak…does he?
“Uh, yeah.” I rub the back of my neck and grind my molars together, now mad at myself. Now that thesadnessis not all-consuming, I have room to feel literally every-fucking-thing else.
Awesome.
I really missed this part of the whole depressive episode process.
My self-deprecating thoughts nearly make me laugh—or they would if they weren’t so fucking depressing.
I harrumph.Yeah, that one made me laugh.
Tobias eyes me, one dark brow curved in question. I shake my head, dismissing him—and myself.
“I just, uh…” I swallow thickly. Mortification burns white-hot. “Wanted to say I’m?—”
“Do not apologize, Brooklyn.” Tobias’s voice is sharp—demanding. I can’t meet his eyes—not that he’d look me in mine, anyway.
“No, I really should. Everything I’ve put you through…”
“Is nothing I did not ask for,” he answers just as fast, startling me. This time, I force myself to meet his gaze, taken aback when I notice his deep garnet irises already pinned on me. Fierce verity lies within the endless isle of color, leaving no room for question.
Yet, questioning is exactly what I do.
How could I not?
“No, it’s not. I basically infiltrated your entire fucking life. Your home, everything. It’s not okay.”To be weak,I nearly add.
