Melody

It's bright. So goddamn bright. I squint as I slowly peel my stinging eyes open, and the translucent white canopy above my bed comes into focus. Even the tiniest of movements send pounding waves of pain through my head. My aching muscles protest as I crawl out of bed, and I manage to stand up for a couple of seconds before the contents of my stomach decide to evict themselves.

I find myself slumped against the bathroom sink's cabinet, sitting on the cool tile floor next to my reliable friend, the toilet. I groan as I pull myself up, tightly gripping onto the counter. Avoiding looking at my disastrous appearance in the mirror, I rinse my mouth and take a pain reliever before hopping into a warm shower. If this is what I missed out on as part of the, "college experience," I don't have any regrets.

Along with the water, a wash of dread rushes over me as the previous night's events replay in my head. I groan and squeeze my eyes shut, resting my forehead against the smooth tiled wall. I was such an idiot in front of Cole.

Another thought bothers me though, why do I care so much about what he thinks?

-----

"Good afternoon Ms. Aria." Mr. Carter glances up at me from his newspaper.

"Hi," I mumble, trudging into the living room. I squint a bit, the floor to ceiling windows let in way too much light.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice something by the fireplace. It's big and rectangular, and thickly wrapped in bubble wrap and Styrofoam.

I can tell Mr. Carter's trying to hide a smile. I warily raise an eyebrow and gesture towards it. "You were online shopping last night on the drive back," he explains. "Your mother called this morning and was not very happy about the charge she saw on the credit card."

As if today could get any worse. My splitting headache pounds in my ears as I cautiously head over to the package. I furrow my brows and carefully start peeling off the layers of protection. My eyes widen when I've peeled off the last layer of plastic.

"I bought a piano?!"

He chuckles. "Yes, you even paid extra for one day delivery."

"Why didn't you stop me?" I groan and collapse onto the soft leather armchair across from him. I guess it could be worse, at least it's an upright piano and not a grand.

"Well, you threatened to bite me if I took your phone away," he laughs. "Do you know what you want to do with it?"

I place my elbow on the armrest and rest my chin on my palm. I'm definitely not going to pack it up and mail it back to California - I already have three unnecessarily lavish pianos at home. Two of which have been collecting dust for years. Metaphorically speaking, of course. The cleaners keep it polished and spotless. I only ever use the one in my room where I can work alone in peace.

"I don't want to go through the hassle of returning it. Maybe I could donate it to a local music school?" I suggest.

Mr. Carter gives me a proud smile. "That's a wonderful idea Ms. Aria. Anyways, I'll help reheat your lunch now." He stands up and folds his newspaper, laying it neatly back down on top of a stack of magazines. He looks at his watch and pauses. "Err, or dinner I suppose."

-----

"Oh my god," I groan, burying my face in my hand. I drop my spoon back into my bowl of chicken noodle soup again with a loud clank. I want the ground to open up and swallow me, as Mr. Carter recalls how pleasant I was on the way home last night.

"I had to turn the child lock on so you'd stop threatening to hop out too," he sighs, tiredly running his hand through his thick brown hair and shakes his head.

"Ok, ok I'm done," I grumble, quickly getting up and sticking my bowl in the dishwasher before he can continue.

I return to the living room and head over to the piano. It's a sleek and shiny jet black with polished gold pedals that gleam under the setting sun. I might as well get some practice in, I'm definitely not in the mood to leave the apartment. I unbox the bench as well and take a seat. I play a couple chords and scales, getting myself used to the feel of the new keys. It definitely doesn't have the same deep, rich tone grand pianos do, but it'll suffice.

After a couple failed attempts to work on an original piece, I play Rachmaninoff's Moment Musicaux Op. 16 No. 4 instead. It's quite an accurate portrayal of how I'm feeling. A chaotic and confusing mess of emotions sits low in my gut. I made myself look pathetic and unloaded so much onto a poor, unsuspecting Cole. All it took was some alcohol to let years of frustration and resentment spill out that I didn't even know were still inside me.

How did I even end up here? I constantly wonder how things would've turned out if my favourite person in the world hadn't died that night. The one who would always be by my side to defend me when mom pushed too hard. The one who wanted a normal life for me. Would dad be ashamed of how I turned out?

The irony of grief and loss is cruel. Most of the time, the one causing the grief is the only one who'd be able to make it go away. But they can't, and they never will. I try to think about what dad would say if I asked him for help today. He would always say, "follow your heart," but if your heart is shattered into a million pieces, which piece do you follow?

The storm of painful and invasive thoughts swirl in my mind, distorting my ability to even think properly. I barely notice the feeling of wetness staining my cheeks, as the heavy feeling in my chest begins making it difficult to breathe.

The tears in my eyes blur the keyboard. My fingers stumble, and I miss some notes but I keep going, pressing so hard on the keys that my fingertips begin stinging. I finally finish and slump in my seat, quickly brushing the tears away with my sleeve. Deep breaths Melody.

I can't for the life of me remember the last time I cried. I've always absolutely hated the feeling of it. The vulnerability and loss of control terrifies me.

"Wow," I hear a quiet murmur behind me.

I gasp and turn around. Cole is standing by the entryway of the living room, leaning against the wall. His eyebrows are knitted together in concern. "That's an...intense song. You...ok?"

I nod wordlessly and slowly turn back towards the piano. Soft footsteps approach and Cole sits down next to me. "Mr. Carter let me in," he mumbles. I nod again without looking at him, trying to hide my wet eyes and stained cheeks. "Do you...want to talk?"

"Not really, just...reminiscing," I whisper. I don't need to talk to anyone, I've handled all of my problems on my own just fine for more than half of my life now.

At this point, I don't think I even know how to talk about my feelings anymore. I get an unsettling and sick feeling in my stomach when I try to communicate any of this stuff. Last night made that painfully clear.

I feel another tear build up and slip out, and I quickly brush it away. To my own surprise, I slightly tip my head and rest it against Cole's shoulder. It feels strong and firm, but warm and comfy. I feel the protective walls I've built up around myself begin to fracture. They don't break though, they've firmly stood there for years without fault.

He lightly rests his arm around me. "Whatever you need," he murmurs.

We sit in peaceful silence for a moment. I take in deep breaths, letting my heartbeat and shallow breathing calm down. I squeeze my stinging eyes shut. The painful thoughts slowly drift away as I focus on the weight of Cole's arm on my shoulder. Once I've calmed down, I sit back up, clearing my throat and rubbing my eyes, getting the last of the tears out.

I look up at him through watery lashes. "Um, what did you come over for?"

"I just wanted to check up on you," he says and gives me a slight smile. "You had a bit of a rough night."

I grimace as the night's events flood through my mind again. "I'm ok... thanks for helping me out last night...I'm sorry for being such a nuisance."

He quickly shakes his head. "Don't worry about it, everyone has those embarrassing drunk nights at some point - I sure have." He winces a bit and runs his hand through his hair. "I've definitely had to take care of friends who were in much worse states before."

"I can imagine," I mumble.

Though most of my memory is fuzzy, I recall just gawking in disbelief at some of the sights I saw last night. Guys endlessly chugging cups and cups and cups of beer, people smoking using pipes made out of the most random objects, crude things happening inside and outside bedrooms, and things I will never be able to un-see. Then Chris, I'm afraid to think about what might've happened if Cole hadn't been there.

"Also...since when did you have a piano?" He suddenly furrows his brows, as if he just noticed the giant hunk of wood in the middle of the living room.

"Don't ask," I groan and bury my face into his shoulder. "It's been a rough day."

"Well, maybe I could make it better."

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Sounds...promising? 🤔

Thanks for reading! :)