I sighed, shaking my head like it wasn’t possible, but my heart swelled a bit at the thought. Maybe I could call her, apologize, let her in on what happened.
My stomach twisted.
“Or,” Mom said after a while. “Maybe, you could open up to Mr. Walker.”
I stopped breathing at that.
“Hear me out,” she said, as if she could see my freakout through the airwaves. “I know he’s your teacher, and he’s a man, and he’s older. But, I also know he’s earned a lot of your trust over the past couple of months. You’ve worked with him so much, and he’s proved to you that he cares about your wellbeing and your music. Maybe, if you open up to him about what happened at Bramlock, it would help you tackle the vulnerability aspect in your playing. I know you said that’s something he’s been asking of you.”
I blinked, processing her words as I propped myself up more in the pillows.
“Do you think he would listen, if you told him what happened?”
“Without a doubt,” I said softly. “I just don’t know if I could tell him. Manman, I’m not sure I can ever tell anyone.”
“I know,” she said on a sigh. “I know. And I wish I could crawl into that head of yours. I wish I could comfort you without you telling me a thing. I just… I think we might be past that, mwen chouchou. I think you might be at a very critical point in your journey of healing, where no matter how much it hurts, you have to talk to someone about what happened in order to keep moving forward.”
I brought my hand to my mouth, closing my eyes at the touch as her words settled in. The thought of opening that mouth my fingers touched, of letting the words that held my truth tumble out of them nearly paralyzed me. I couldn’t imagine being able to get through the whole thing, and I definitely couldn’t fathom feeling better once the words were out.
Still, I felt it in my heart when my mother spoke those words that they were true. It was in the way that bruised, broken thing kicked to life at the prospect, at the thought of someone else knowing, someone else being able to understand.
At that someone being Reese.
“You don’t need to answer me or make a decision today,” Mom said. “Just… think about it. Okay?”
I nodded. “Okay.” Then, a long, sigh of a breath left my chest. “I miss you so much it hurts sometimes.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Mom sniffed. “I miss you, too. But if you ever need me — ever — you just say the word and I’ll be on the first flight up to Pennsylvania.”
“I know. Thank you, Manman. I love you.”
“And I love you, mwen chouchou.”
Reese
Sweat dripped from my hairline, little drops splattering the concrete at my feet as I curled the weight, my bicep screaming. Rojo was sprawled out just a few feet away, a lazy smile on her face as she soaked up the afternoon sun. She didn’t seem fazed at all by my grunting and panting, though I imagined she was probably used to it by now.
I gritted against the urge to stop, reveling in the feel of physical pain as opposed to the internal pain that had been gutting me since Sunday night. Four days had passed in a sort of daze, a numb transcendence of work and piano during the day, smoking and drinking at night.
It wasn’t the routine I wanted, the one I’d found so much solace in over the summer. I longed for my lessons with Sarah, for the balance she’d brought into my life. But I hadn’t seen her since that night, since she ran away from me like I’d burned her, like I’d hurt her.
My stomach twisted again at the thought that I truly had.
I dropped the weight with a grunt, stretching out the arm I’d been working before switching to the other. I was sore — probably too sore to work out the way I was — but I needed a release. I needed to do something, anything, to keep my mind off what I’d done.
I thought it was impossible to feel like a bigger piece of shit than I already did, but it turned out that, just like with everything else in my life, I’d been wrong.
I shook my head, guilt crawling its way back up my spine like a sticky acid as I curled the weight in my left hand now. I couldn’t verbally abuse myself enough for what I’d done, for making a move on a student — a student who had trusted me, who I had taken under my wing. It was the absolute worst betrayal, to have Sarah open up to me as much as she had and take advantage of her.
It made me sick to think about — so physically ill that I’d actually forfeited my dinner into the toilet Sunday night. It’d been nearly impossible to stomach food since then. How could I? Sarah had been there for me on a night I thought I wanted no one around. She’d listened, all judgment gone as I broke down like a fucking child in her arms. And more than that — she shared the same pain. She didn’t look at me with pity in her eyes, but with understanding.
I didn’t realize how much I craved that connection until I had it.
And because I’m a stupid fucking man, I acted on it. I let those feelings, that vulnerability rule me, like all self control had been blasted out the fucking window. And in the process, I’d hurt the first person I’d felt close to since Charlie.
Fucked-Up Midas, turning everything to shit again.
The weight fell from my hand with a clink as I sighed, brain more exhausted than my muscles. I just wanted to stop thinking — even if just for a single minute. I couldn’t escape what I’d done, not even when I was sleeping. Sarah’s wide, terrified eyes haunted me even in my dreams.
All I wanted was to apologize to her, to look her in the eyes when I told her I truly was sorry, that I would never do anything to hurt her, and that I would swear on my life and hers to never do that again — even if I wanted to.
But I didn’t have the chance.
She’d cancelled our lessons both Monday and Tuesday, Wednesday was our day off, and I hadn’t heard from her yet today. I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from her again. I wondered if her uncle was telling me she was sick to stave me off, if she was actually packing and getting ready to fly back to Georgia.
If she was leaving, she certainly hadn’t told her uncle what happened between us. He didn’t sound like anything other than his normal, joyful self when he’d called.
Still, it was her I wanted to talk to, her voice I wanted to hear.
It was her eyes I wanted to look into when I apologized.
Sweat rolled down my neck, my chest as I made my way back inside the house, Rojo trotting along behind me. She made her way to her favorite spot on the couch as I rounded into the kitchen, pouring a tall glass of cold water. I drained it all before refilling it again. Every muscle in my body screamed from the torture I’d put it through, the physical challenges I’d given myself to distract from the mental ones.
I needed a shower, and maybe some ibuprofen.
Although, a beer sounded better.
Abandoning my glass on the counter by the sink, I weaved through the kitchen, the piano room, stripping off my soaked t-shirt and tossing it in the pile of laundry that needed my attention before turning into my bathroom. I reached behind the shower curtain for the faucet, but before I could turn the handle, my doorbell rang.
Rojo sprang into action, barks echoing through the house as I stood frozen in place, my hand still hovering over the knob as my heart kicked into my throat. Somehow, I knew it was her. Maybe it was an energy, a subliminal buzzing that I couldn’t fully comprehend. Whatever the reason, every nerve was alive with awareness of her as I crossed my house, breaths shallow and muted, like they were in someone else’s body altogether. The apology I’d practiced a thousand times in my head stirred to life, too, like a carousel of I’m sorry’s. I didn’t know if she’d hear me out, if she’d even be able to look at me. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why when I opened my front door and saw her standing there, an unearned relief washed over me.