Page 180 of Composed
He looks unsure, his movements timid, yet his melody ismagnificent.
It’s perfect in every way. Not a single note missed, no chords out of place. It’s as if he’s spent every day of his life with that instrument strapped to his chest.
I retreat before he can see me, unwilling to be the silence that steals his song again.
ROCK STAR
Missing you, Rixie Moore.
My gaze follows the flickering lightbulb as it sways gently from the breeze coasting through the cracked window. I trail my fingers along the cardboard boxes littering my floor.
Everything is done. No more bags to pack, no more drawers to clear. My taxi is due in an hour and then I’m gone.
Tears prick my eyes but I blink them away.
What’s the point in mourning the life I never had in this house?
I draw in a slow breath, force myself to stand, and grab my Hummingbird from its open case. I perch on the edge of my bed, nestling the guitar into my lap as the opening notes fromHeart Tornswirl through my mind.
The song isn’t close to being finished yet.
Cole and I don’t exactly get a lot of time to write together anymore. Not that we’ve really tried, either. A few lyrics sent through texts, some melodies strummed over Skype when we found the time between my lectures and his shows. But otherwise, our creative partnership is on pause while he tours.
Eyes fluttering closed, I pluck the strings.
I pour everything into the song, the pain, the fear, the hope that it isn’t the end even though I know it is.
My life changed irrevocably the day I moved into this house.
I met a boy, fell in love, and found a family.
Now they’re all gone, chasing our dreams.
And I’m here, alone, wondering where I go next.
The bed dips at my side.
I still my fingers, silencing the music when the scent of stale cigarettes and aged whiskey whips around me.
My dad says nothing, his foot bouncing off the floor.
I fight the urge to look at him, but it’s futile.
A pink and white stick sits between his fingertips.
I blink. “Where did you find that?”
“It fell out of the bin.” His voice is gruff, low, angry. “I didn’t realise you were so fucking stupid.”
Bile crawls up my throat. I choke it down, shaking my head.
“It’s not—” A sharp breath catchesin my lungs. “I’m not—”
A bitter laugh escapes him. “You just can’t let people live their dreams, can you?”
He doesn’t need to say Cole’s name for me to know who he’s talking about.
“He is living his dreams.” I jump up, my grip tight around the neck of my guitar as tears gather on my lashes. “Ourdreams. It’s not like I planned any of this. We made a mistake once, and I panicked. But I’m not pregnant, I neverwantto be pregnant.”
