Page 18 of Storm of Stars
“A guitar.”
I sat on the edge of my bed, guitar in hand, and for the first time in over a decade, I felt whole again. The smooth wood beneath my fingers, the familiar weight, the strings ready to be strummed, it was like finding a part of myself I thought I'd lost forever.
The door creaked open, and I glanced up at Bex, feeling the familiar flutter of warmth in my chest as she entered, a soft smile on her lips. She gently closed the door behind her.
“Hope I’m not interrupting,” she said with that smile that had become my anchor, walking toward me before settling down on the bed beside me. Her presence was a balm to the anxious knots twisting in my stomach. I gave her a gentle smile in return.
“Just trying to remember how to do this,” I said, motioning to the guitar in my hands, feeling the weight of it again after so long. “It’s been a while since I’ve played.”
“I’ve never even seen one of these up close,” she murmured, her eyes studying the instrument with a curiosity that tugged at me. Her fingers traced delicately along the frets, and the motion stirred something in me. Something raw. I swallowed hard, wondering how it would feel if those fingers explored me instead, but pushed the thought away.
“We haven’t had them in Darkbranch in a long time either,” I confessed, feeling the weight of those words settle between us. Her gaze shifted to me, her eyes intense, as though she could see right through me.
“What’s on your mind?” she asked, her voice soft and full of care.
I sighed, letting my fingers hover over the strings before strumming a single, gentle chord. The sound was quiet, almosttentative. “My Pa taught me how to play the guitar. How to sing too,” I replied, my voice quieter now, as if the memories were still fresh enough to sting. She didn’t interrupt, just sat there, her attention unwavering, giving me space to breathe.
“Music was kind of our thing,” I continued, the words flowing now, each one easier than the last. “He worked for an entire year to save up enough to buy me my very own guitar.” My gaze drifted to the instrument in my hands, fingers brushing over the worn wood. I wished it was the one he gave me. But I knew that guitar was long gone, reduced to ash and dust by now.
I tried to play another chord, but my fingers were stiff and unpracticed, and the sound that came out was harsh, dissonant. I winced, feeling the familiar frustration rise in my chest.
“The year after he died, we lost the Entertainment Trial... well, I guess ‘lost’ would imply we still had someone in the race, which we didn’t. Our Challenger was long dead by then,” I said, my voice tinged with bitterness. “They came in the middle of the day. The guards. It was like any other day, except this time, they were there to take it all from us.” My hands tightened around the guitar neck, my thoughts drifting back to that moment. “They tore through our houses, the community buildings... everything we had left to lose. They ripped it all away. Medicine, technology, supplies, things we’d grown accustomed to because our Challengers tended to perform well.”
I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to breathe through the weight of it. “They took the guitar right out of my hands. I cried, I screamed, I almost fought back, but Ma… Ma held me close. Whispered that it was going to be okay.” I could still feel her arms around me, her voice a soft lullaby against the chaos. “I know it’s silly, when you really think about it. Frivolous. Darkbranch lost so much that day, and with the medicine and the life-saving resources at stake, my little guitar didn’t seem like much.” I swallowed, the lump in my throat thickening. “But itmeant everything to me. They stole music from me that day. And then, a few years later, they stole my Ma.”
I swallowed hard, trying to hold the tears at bay, but one slipped down my cheek. Without a word, she reached up, gently brushing it away with her thumb. Her touch was soft, tender, as if she knew that in this moment, it wasn’t just about the guitar. It was everything.
“You want your music back,” she whispered, not a question, but a quiet affirmation. “Because it’ll feel like you have him back. Even for a second.”
I nodded, my throat tight. “I’m not used to people seeing me that clearly. That’s usually my job. Am I that easy to read?”
She smiled, but it was gentle, understanding. “Just to me,” she said, pressing her hand to my cheek. I leaned into her touch, feeling the warmth of her palm spread through me, grounding me in the present.
“You might be the only one of us with a chance of actually placing in this trial,” she said lightly, a teasing edge to her voice that didn’t quite mask the admiration behind it.
I snorted, my mouth curling up into a half-smile. “Not if I don’t remember how to play.”
She shook her head softly, her hand brushing against mine, sending a jolt of heat straight through me. “Music is a part of you, Briar. Anyone who watches you can tell that.” She smiled softly. “You know you hum when you’re thinking.”
“I do?” I asked.
She nodded. “Your eyes sort of glaze over and you look off into nothingness, and you hum. Or if I’m lucky, you’ll sing a little.” She closed her eyes and sighed. “It’s peaceful.”
“It used to come so easily,” I replied softly, looking longingly at the guitar in my hands.
“It’ll come back to you.”
Her hand was warm against mine, and I let my fingers curl around hers instinctively. My pulse quickened, and I found myself leaning into her presence, even if only for a moment, before the reality of the trial came crashing back into my thoughts.
“What are the others planning to do for the show?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from the sudden tension rising between us. I could still hear the muffled voices of the others in the living room, plotting their next moves for the performance.
Bex let out a soft laugh, her eyes dancing with amusement. “Well, Thorne’s going to recite a poem he wrote. One he swore wasn’t explicit or about me.”
I raised an eyebrow. “But it totally is, right?”
She let out a huff of laughter. “He rhymed ‘your deep hole’ with ‘my large pole,’” she said flatly, and I couldn’t help but burst into laughter.
“That definitely sounds like Thorne,” I said, still chuckling.
