Darker Shades of Fear

Darker Shades of Fear

(Installment 33)

You just don't get it
Baby, don't you ask yourself why?
If you don't like the answer...forget it
You know I hate to see you cry
Fortune is random...Fate shoots from the hip
I know you get crazy, but try not to lose your grip
Life is a diamond you turn into dust
Looking for trust, and I know that you just don't get it
You just don't get it

***

What people tend to forget is that everything is based on assumptions. The basic assumptions on which we live our lives and build our societies are nothing more than simple observations integrated into behavioral codes of conduct. Monkey see, monkey do.

Indisputable proof of evolution.

The “groupthink” phenomenon is a perfect example. Ironically, things like religious groups clamoring and rallying against the principle to the idea that prove it to be true. People share systems of morality based on a collection of assumptions. They assume that the information being presented is the truth, and everything after that must follow as well.

A line in a book he’d once read had really said it best, “the great beauty of religious mania is that once you’ve placed your faith in the idea of a higher power, all logic can be happily thrown out the window”.

Stephen King was one brilliant fucker. Well… except for the giant, telepathic spider. That was another matter entirely.

Aside from that, though, Kenny decided the latter was a statement he could justify without making assumptions. He, too, was guilty of making his fair share of assumptions. The only difference was that he usually turned out to be right. Not that he liked to brag, or anything.

Well, that might not be entirely true.

If you looked carefully enough, started to dissect the assumptions in your life, you’d notice how very little there was that you actually knew. Certainty is a very tricky thing. It was one of the reasons Kenny had survived for so long living the life that he did. If he couldn’t tell a memory from a dream, there was no reason to worry about it. How stupid would you feel realizing you’d given yourself cardiac arrest over a nightmare?

The motherfucking boogeyman.

Please. He had been exactly that to so many others, he used to reason, why should something like an insignificant, bad dream bother him? It used to work, back when his memory didn’t. He could turn everything off like there was some kind of switch in his consciousness.

Clap on, clap off.

That switch was broken now. The depraved, unfeeling monster he used to be had degenerated into something entirely unfamiliar. He was still capable of very bad things, such horrible things for which he felt no shame or self-reproach. He just… he was more conscious of it now.

He was more conscious of a lot of things now.

It was a price he had to pay, though, and he’d made his bed and he would have to sleep in it. It was strange, he thought idly, how little that bothered him.

“You look happy.” The bartender said with a smile in his voice.

“At the moment, I can’t say I have any complaints.” Replied the blond customer he’d come to regard as something akin to family. “Just the usual.”

A glass of gin was poured and placed on the bar, “My question is: what would make a man who’s being hunted down by one hell of a mob boss smile?”

Kenny enjoyed the familiar taste of gin before offering responding. “Oh, I’d almost forgotten about that whole mob boss thing. Wow, life sucks again, my mistake. Bleed the bar!” His tone was jokingly sarcastic and emphasized by the slamming of his fist on the counter.

The bartender sighed, “You’re a real piece of work, kid.”

“So you’ve told me.”

“Yeah, well, some things bear repeating.”

Kenny rolled his eyes, “Is this where you tell me I’m reckless and careless and I’m going to end up with the business end of a gun in my mouth if I don’t learn to keep it shut?”

“Nice to see I’ve gotten through that thick skull of yours.”

“And here I thought I was impenetrable. You’ve broken me down. I thought I was a vault.”

The bartender chucked at their banter. “I don’t know what the hell’s gotten into you lately, but you’d better have an explanation.”

Kenny laughed, “I need a reason for being a smartass now?”

The man behind the counter rolled his eyes, “You’re a smartass by nature. You know what I mean. I haven’t seen you like this in God knows how long, and it’s a real relief. Now tell me what’s going on, because it takes long enough for me figure anything about you out and this one is way beyond me.”

“It’s not that big a deal, I’m just slightly more chipper than I was a few weeks ago.”

The bartender crossed his arms. “You were carving your wrist like a Thanksgiving turkey a few weeks ago.” He reminded seriously.

“Touché. You win that round.” Kenny replied with a half regretful, half amused look.

“You really enjoy driving me crazy, don’t you?”

“Everybody’s got to have a hobby. And this is so much easier than needlepoint.”

The older man put a hand to his face and stifled a laugh. “Kid, the idea of you even trying needlepoint….”

“What? I’m sure I could do it if I wanted to.”

Across the counter the bartender broke into a full fit of laughter.

Kenny slumped in his seat, “It’s not that funny.”

He tried to stop laughing, but every time he saw the man’s face, the ridiculous mental picture came to mind and he would start again.

Kenny had the expression of an annoyed eight-year-old by the time the bartender had calmed down, “You about done?”

"What, so you're the only one who gets to have fun annoying the hell of people?" He asked with a hint of laughter behind his voice.

"Yes," he said, "it is a privilege reserved for me and me alone."

"Well, that hardly seems fair."

He sighed, "Such is life. Get me another drink?"

"I'll give you a drink when you give me an answer." The bartender replied with a grin.

"You’re bribing me with alcohol?" Kenny replied, feigning moral outrage. "What kind of father figure are you?"

"The kind who knows you all too well. Or at least your drinking habits."

Kenny considered this. "That’s true."

"I was just trying to get some conversation out of you. It could be the most boring answer in the world, but you've made such a big deal about not telling me that now I have to know."

Kenny acknowledged this quality in himself, and wondered briefly if maybe he were rubbing off on the bartender. He smiled at this notion, and couldn't help but think that maybe the bartender was rubbing off on him too. "I made a new friend at school, Dad." He said, hanging on the word 'dad' in a playful, uncharacteristic way.

The man behind the bar folded his arms, "How long have I been telling you that you need to get out more?"

"You were right."

“I must be dead or dreaming because I just thought I heard you say you were right."

"Don't get too used to it." Kenny replied, "Where is that alcohol you bribed me with?"

The bartender smiled and refilled his glass as promised. "I'm glad to hear you're doing so well. I mean, under the circumstances. You know, you picked a helluva time for things to start going right."

Kenny shook his head, "I always did have a knack for bad timing. Or so I'm told."

"You'll get your chance, kid, and you'll do something good." Before Kenny could open his mouth to protest he continued, "You've done a lot of good for me, and I know you did good for her. Someday though, you'll really believe it and you'll stop punishing yourself."

Kenny had no response, but his eyes stay fixed on his glass of gin. The bartender had come to acknowledge that this was a typical reaction that indicated he was taking to heart, or at least taking into consideration what you had to say.

"So," he sighed, moving on to more lighthearted matters, "this friend of yours..."

"Her name's Maria," he answered, "she's nice."

"That's all I get? She's nice?"

"She is going to meet me here sometime soon. If you can wait that long, you can find out for yourself."

The bartender eyed him crossly, "You really love being the pain my ass, don't you?"

Kenny couldn't help the small grin that crossed his lips, "Only when it's funny."

"When what's funny?" Asked the new female voice, entering the conversation.

"Him," the man behind the bar gestured with a look toward Kenny, "being a pain in my ass."

"It’s high quality entertainment." Kenny reassured.

"You're lucky I like you." The bartender replied. "Does the lady want anything to drink?" He asked, turning his attention to the female presence in their company.

"The cheapest thing you have." Maria said, as she took a seat at the bar next to Kenny.

"Even though he's a pain in the ass, he drinks for free. That goes for anyone in his company in my bar. Tell you what," he said, "I'll make something up and if you don't like it, you just tell me, and we'll get you something else."

Maria turned to face the man sitting next to her, "Is there something you forgot to tell me?"

Kenny shook his head, the hint of a smile still gracing the corners of his mouth. "I tip well."

"Good tips don't get you free drinks." She said. "Is he the owner?" She asked, motioning toward the man who had taken her order.

"Yeah. This place is his life."

"From the looks of it, it's yours too."

He kicked the thought around in his mind for a moment. "Never thought about it that way." But it was pretty true. He had spent a great deal of his time in this bar, in this seat, and usually under the same circumstances. This was really the only venture that hadn't followed the predictable chain of events. He wasn't sure what to make of it, if there were anything at all to make. He once prided himself on his unpredictability, his shifty and elusive nature, his ability to be here one moment and gone the next. He knew that if he chose to, he could leave this place. He could do what he always did and find a train or an airport or a bus and board it without bothering to look at the destination. He could just as easily find another shitty motel, another bad bar, and another grudge he was sure he left behind.

Yes, he could do that.

But for some reason, he liked this place. Everything seemed to be urging him to get out, but for once, he had no desire to go. His entire life, or what he could remember of it, had always been transitory. Always a blur with no distinctive edges. There were no beginnings no endings and certainly no middles. There was no existence, not in any meaningful kind of sense. While what he had here wasn't exactly the textbook definition of meaningful, it was something; and that was more than he ever had, as far as he could remember. He had a father figure, and Maria, who was slowly becoming a steadfast presence in his life. Deeper than that still, he had Leah. Roots that tied him to this place firmly planted six feet beneath the soil that reached up from below and stretched toward the sky, a presence that consumed him when he took the time to notice. It wasn't an anchor holding him here, or a circumstance that prevented him from living his life. It was, however, another reason to stay. In a strange and unintentional way, he had made a family. A history. Amidst the chaos and violence of his existence and his time spent here, wherever here was, he had established some sort of peace. He wasn't quite sure how that happened, granted he was a psychotic and violent criminal, but he was grateful for it nonetheless.

"He's a good guy," Kenny said, "we take care of each other."

She eyed him suspiciously. "You are probably the strangest person I've ever met."

"Hey, it's first place in something." He remarked, downing the last of his gin.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes and the bartender placed her drink on the counter.

"Try, and tell me if you like it."

It was an orange colored liquid in a tall glass that smelled like fruit punch. Whatever it was, she decided, it was pretty damn good. "This is great." She said. She didn’t really care how Kenny had gotten to know this guy. The drink was amazing and classy and she wasn’t paying. It made her feel strangely important.

Kenny introduced them properly. There was a firm handshake, and a nod of approval from the bartender. They talked amongst themselves until the bar got too busy to ignore. Kenny and Maria played a few rounds of pool, and Maria was pleasantly surprised that by betting on Kenny she had made a nice chunk of change.

"You never told me played pool." She said, thumbing through the wad of cash in her hand.

"It's actually called billiards. And you never asked."

She rolled her eyes, something she frequently did in his presence. "Sometimes, I just don't know what to do with you."

"Well, I don't know what to do with me, either." He replied, handing his cue to the next person in line to play.

"I take a small comfort in knowing that the bartender shares my sentiments concerning you."

"Now that's not very nice." He said.

She sighed. "At this rate, I'm going to need a stronger drink."

"Fine, I'll stop being a pain in the ass." He retorted dramatically.

She laughed. "I don't think you could if you tried."

"You know, I think I'm actually offended."

"Oh, get over yourself." She said, laughing.

"Now that was uncalled for."

"You can't help it, but lucky for you, being a pain in the ass is part of your charm."

"Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?" He asked, reclaiming his seat at the bar.

"That's what I intended." She said, taking the empty seat beside him.

"So I'm a charming pain in the ass, according to your logic." He feigned confusion, "Did they teach that before or after I dropped out of school because I must've missed that day."

She smacked his arm with her small clutch purse in response.

"I think I might bruise."

She smacked his arm again, this time with more force.

"Hey!" He shouted, shielding himself in the event of another attack, "you hit me with the metal part!"

Maria smiled in satisfaction.

"That was just mean."

"What’s going on over here?" The bartender intervened, now that more people were working the bar and the crowd was taken care of.

"She hit me with her purse!" Kenny replied, still nursing the wounding area on his upper arm.

"He was being a smartass." She said in her defense.

The bartender rolled his eyes and sighed. "How the hell is it that you two don't kill each other every time you're together?"

They exchanged glances and shrugged their shoulders, meditating on the question that had just been asked.

"I don't know." Maria said, "I think it'd be awful messy."

"Yeah," Kenny added, "and then I’d have no one to hang out with." He knew that Maria's response had been a joke, and with the dynamic they had, Kenny had to force himself to play off of it. Even though he knew literal death had nothing to do with the situation at hand, the suggestion of it made him uncomfortable. Maria hadn't believed him when he told her he was an assassin of sorts, a criminal, and he was pretty sure that their interaction would become a lot less playful, a lot more tense, and a lot less frequent if she were to find out. He would tell her if she asked, but no sooner than that. She was just as secretive about herself as he was, though he knew without being told that it was for different reasons. He had no idea how long he'd known her. Long enough to banter like eight year olds, but not long enough to exchange confidences.

He remembered how long it had taken with Leah, and they shared a history and an unspoken relationship. Maria knew nothing of his life before this strange amnesia, and there was no clear delineation of the boundaries marking the extent of their interpersonal connection. There was a delicate balance between them, and though her secrets nagged at him, he could not afford to let curiosity get the better of him.

The bartender recognized that solemn, thoughtful look creeping over Kenny's features and knew exactly what was wrong, and exactly what would happen without intervention. He quickly and loudly placed glass of gin on the bar, the sound startling his customer out of his thoughts. He mixed another drink for Maria before she could even ask, or even taken note of the change in Kenny's mood.

He downed the clear liquid in a matter of seconds, but the bartender spoke before he could ask for another.

"You show her the piano yet?" He asked, knowing full well that Kenny hadn't. He turned his attention to Maria, "Has he played for you?"

"No," she replied, with curiosity and interest in her voice, "he hasn't."

"He may be stubborn, and he may be a pain, but this man can play the hell out of the piano. Like nothing I ever heard before." He looked at Kenny, who seemed to have just been reminded that the instrument existed, "You ought to play something for her. It’s not doing anything in that room besides collecting dust."

Kenny smiled. "I forgot you still had it," he admitted, "I figured you'd have gotten rid of it by now."

There was a hint of pride behind his words, "You love that thing, and you’ve got talent. It makes you happy. I don’t think I’ll ever get rid of it.”

Kenny raised an eyebrow, “Why? When I’m not here anymore there won’t be any sense in keeping it.”

He sighed, “Some other time, kid. Go play something for the girl, already!”

“Alright, alright! We’re going!”

The bartender shook his head and took another drink order.

The bartender hadn’t been kidding when he told Kenny that the piano had become a dust-collector. Kenny grabbed a worn cloth that had been sitting on top of the instrument and it produced a cloud of dust.

“Ok, I’m used to living in filth but that’s just unpleasant.”

Maria laughed lightly, and asked if she should open the window.

He’d never noticed it before. In the top corner of the wall opposite the door was a small window that appeared to be in desperate need of repair. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.”

She took a folding chair didn’t they used to play poker here? from against the wall and opened it that feels like it was a lifetime ago so she could stand on it. She pushed it open and stepped down, taking the chair with her. “You’re gonna have to close that, because I can’t reach it now.”

He laughed a little, “I can handle it.” He said, before dusting off the neglected instrument.

“What kind of stuff do you play?” She asked.

“I don’t know. Jazz, mostly. I guess it’s jazz. I don’t really know what to call it, to be honest.”

Maria’s confused expression would have been noticed, if his back were not toward her. “What do you mean?”

He turned his head to face her, “I just… play. And whatever sound comes out, comes out. I guess I could play other things, but I just like this way better.”

“You’re the musician, so I’ll take your word for it.”

He finished cleaning off the bench and sat down, letting his fingers decide where to settle on the keys. “I’m not a musician. I don’t even know how I learned to play.”

There was a moment of silence, and then the beginnings of a soft melody took its place. It became more aggressive in time, somehow though, maintaining the same grace that the opening high notes had introduced. Crescendos boomed, but harmonized with that unmistakable delicate softness underneath.

The final notes seemed to float out of earshot and into the walls, unseen and inaudible but somehow still present. It felt as if the room had absorbed the music, become so saturated and rich with sound that even the following silence seemed to prolong the melody.

They sat there, suspended in space and time bathed in silvery-blue silence; the flood of moonlight spilling through the only window in the tiny, forgotten room casting soft shadows until Maria spoke.

"Your friend wasn't joking when he said you could play. You taught yourself?"

Kenny shrugged. "I don't remember how I learned. I ended up in a room with a piano a while back, and just kind of knew what to do." He remembered the smooth, glossy service of the beautiful Baby Grand piano, the sensation of his fingertips glancing across unused ivory keys. Clear and finely tuned sounds spilling from the instrument played in his memory, the smell of Cuban cigars and the taste of imported whiskey. He recalled the echo of unexpected applause and a strange sense of modesty; the dark, obscure library and Italian marble walls; fresh playing cards and a Fur Elise door chime. He remembered Isabel - her hardened, sad eyes and beaded cocktail dress that matched the delicate piano keys, and how there was nothing delicate about her.

Days?

Months?

Years?

A lifetime?

"Kenny... Hey, Kenny? You all right?"

He shook himself out of the memory and into the present. He needed to stop doing that. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just thinking."

"You looked a little lost for a minute there."

"Aren't we all?" He asked with a light quality in his voice one wouldn't have expected to hear.

She considered this and nodded in agreement. "Yeah," she smiled, "I guess we are."

He smiled back and held her gaze for a moment. "So why didn’t you finish college?"

She looked almost startled for a moment, the expression giving way to a shy sort of discomfort. "It's not important."

"Then why won't you tell me?"

"Why do you want to know so badly?"

"Because you don't want to tell me."

“You're such a fucking sadist, sometimes, I swear to god."

"I get that a lot."

"Ever think there might be something to it?"

"I know there’s something to it. Thing is, I'm not trying to hurt you."

"Why won't you let it go?" She sighed desperately.

"Because it was something you really loved, and for whatever reason, you had to give it up, or it got taken away, or something… and I want to understand what it is that makes you so scared to tell me the truth.”

"Look who's talking about honesty! I don't even know what you do for a living!"

He sighed and frustration, "You don't believe I told you the truth about what I do for a living. I'm a horrible person, Maria! I can barely remember my life, and those memories are only bits and pieces. I don’t know where I was born, I don’t know the names of either of my parents, I don’t know where I went to school, why I dropped out, or where I went after! I don’t know my height, weight, or if I’m allergic to anything! I don’t even know my fucking birthday! What I do know is that I'm the worst thing that'll ever happen to you, and I’m trying to do something good for you before I drag you down with me!"

Uncomfortable, foreign silence passed between them. They were both treading in unfamiliar waters, and blindly at best.

"What are you talking about?" She asked. Her tone was softer, but very much confused.

He sighed with his head in his hands, "Maria, I'm about as lucky as a pair of cement shoes, which is probably what I’ll be fitted with in a few weeks. I'm arranging things to make sure that the few people I like are taken care of when that happens. I've paid to renew the contract for this place and took out an insurance policy in the bartender’s name, because he knows me and still treats me like a son. I've hired a landscaper to maintain Leah’s grave for the next five years. I need to know that if I paid the full four years tuition now, you'd go back to school."

The room was so silent Kenny swore he could hear the particles of dust floating through the air. He knew she wouldn’t understand, but he hadn't been prepared to force an answer so soon. He didn’t want to force anything from her at all. Timing, unfortunately, didn’t align with his agenda so he was doing the best he could not to pressure her, but to still get a response.

"Kenny, you're scaring me." Her expression conveyed that well enough, "are you ok?"

"In the physical sense of the word, yes. Right now, I'm fairly all right mentally as well."

"So you're making plans for the post-mortem world but you're not dying?"

"It's not up to me, but I'm going to die and most likely, soon. I knocked on the wrong door and going to face the consequences eventually. I'm going to do my best to prolong the inevitable, but this guy is dangerous and there are no words for how screwed I am."

"Someone's trying to kill you?"

"It’s a lot less interesting than that." He explained, "I saw a guy about some information I wanted. Turned out, the guy I met with is a massive, former-drug king who, for some reason, I didn't remember ratting out something like ten years ago."

"Who?"

"What?"

"Who? Who is your ex-drug guy?"

"What difference does it make?"

"If I can call in a favor, it's worth a try. He’s got to be wealthy, so he probably uses a girl from one of the agencies in my network."

"I don't want you to involve yourself. This is my mess."

"Please. Just give me his name. If you don't I’ll get it from the bartender, because I'm sure he knows."

Kenny frowned. "His name is Joe Pezziano."

"Shit, you're kidding."

"No, why?"

"… His girl, the one he uses… we’re pretty close. Take your time of those plans, ok?"

He wasn’t interested in her response, but he pretended to consider it thoughtfully. He didn’t want to be rude or incite an argument. After a pause of what he determined was an appropriate length, he reopened conversation. "You gonna tell me what happened with college or what?"

She sighed. “It’s not that I think you’ll use it against me, or that I don’t have some basic trust in you. It’s not about you at all. I’m just… I can’t. Not right now. I know how it sounds, but I’m not ready to go through it again.”

“That’s not what I asked you to do.”

“I really don’t get you.”

“Maria, even I don’t get me.”

“That makes two of us. I’m still not talking. Isn’t it enough to know how it ended?”

“The Devil’s in the details, Maria.”

“You have no idea how right you are.”

“I would if you’d just tell me.”

“You can’t fix it, Kenny. It’s not something you can buy, erase, or kill. If you care at all, you’ll stop because the only way to deal with it is by forgetting it ever happened.”

“I’m all too familiar with that technique. I can’t say it’s done me any good.”

“Well, you know what they say: ‘misery loves company’.”

“And here I was all this time, thinking: ‘always look on the bright side of life’.” He replied jokingly.

“I think that’s from a Monty Python musical, Ken.”

“Oh,” he said, “my mistake.”

Maria sighed, a tired expression on her face, “What if this is the bright side? As good as it gets, to be cliché. What if nothing ever gets actually better? Say everything after right now is just plateaus and valleys that fall far short of this. What if things don’t ever get better, for either of us?”

He was tempted to respond that he’d been waiting his whole life, however long that actually was, for things to show a sign of improvement, and that the few glimpses of happiness he’d caught had been immediate precursors to tragedy and pain – but he kept his mouth closed and thought better of it. He could imagine Leah’s voice accusing him of nihilism as she playfully smacked him or something.

He knew he’d said something similar once, and the answer he’d gotten hadn’t been satisfactory enough at the time. Now though, words buried deep and long forgotten rushed through his mind. Only now did he understand their weight and worth.

He sighed, offering a small smile. “So what if it is?”

She responded with the same let-down expression he must’ve shown when he was on her end of this conversation.

“It’s really all about how you chose to see things. This might be the rest of your life, but you’ll have some decent moments in spite of it. And you’ll have what good memories – no matter how few they are – that you’ve made, if you’re smart enough to keep them. It might never get better, but why think about it that way?”

“Christ, remind me not to go to you when I need optimism.” She sounded angry, almost as if he’d offended her.

“You hardly ever like what I have to say, Maria, and you never get like this about it. What did I say that pissed you off?”

She made a string of frustrated sounds, half-words that weren’t quite what she had in mind but couldn’t stop herself from starting. “Forget it, okay? Just fucking forget it.”

“Don’t pull this female-psychology read-my-mind bullshit with me. Just own up to it and tell me why you’re upset.”

“Yeah, that sounds great; you want me to sit here and spill my guts, reliving every remotely painful experience, just for you, while you sit there and say, ‘wow, you’re shit out of luck’. Sounds like a wonderful idea, but I think I’m gonna pass.”

“Do you want me to lie to you? Tell you that everything is going to be sunshine and rainbows when we both know it’s not?”

“Maybe after everything I’ve been through,” she choked, “I need someone to tell me that it’s alright?” She was on her feet now, yelling down to where he sat on the piano bench.

“Maybe after everything you’ve been through, you should know by now that it might not?”

She looked like she’d been punched in the stomach for a moment. Her whole body shook and she was crying silently. Kenny wasn’t sure if she was aware of either.

“Stop, Kenny; please just stop,” she pleaded desperately, “I… I… can’t c-c-can’t do this….” She was hiccupping breathlessly and looked as if she might collapse at any given moment. “Why… why won’t y-you just stop?”

He sighed, “Because if you spend your life waiting for it to get better and it doesn’t, you die alone and miserable. If you acknowledge both the good and the bad, you can hope for the best and plan for the worst. I’m not saying you’re doomed to a life of suffering and loneliness. What you must have gone through was painful, Maria, I don’t deny you that.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? You’re not in a place to accept or deny me anything! Go stand on a fucking soapbox and preach to someone else.”

“I’m preaching.? That’s funny, considering where you’re standing.”

“Fuck you!”

“Tell me something, what does it take to be in a position to accept or deny someone’s suffering?”

“Fuck you!”

“I mean, you’ve obviously accomplished whatever this task is… do you mind sharing how you reach this enlightenment? Walking on hot coals, maybe? Ah, it would figure, I never could do the hot coals. Bed of nails, no problem, but those coals….” He was taunting her now, out of sheer frustration. One of them had to break here, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to.

“You’re a heartless fucking bastard.”

He sighed, “Just go.”

“…What?”

“I’m tired of this. Just go home, Maria.” His voice drained of inflection.

She stood there a moment before turning to leave, “I don’t know how she did it.” She sighed, “It’s a good thing your dead girlfriend finally has some fucking peace.”

A moment of white-hot fury consumed him, blinding his eyes and pulsing in his veins. Before he was conscious of his body’s actions, he stood up and grabbed Maria’s wrist. His grip wasn’t hard, but it was solid enough to disable her exit.

“You don’t get to fucking talk about her!” He yelled, unaware of the volume of his voice. “You don’t know shit about her, and you sure as hell don’t know shit about me.”

“You’ve given me so many versions of your story it’s hard to keep them all straight, so forgive me for not getting it right.”

“I’ll set it straight for you, just to clear things up. I got the living shit kicked out of me for the first seventeen years of my life. Not just simple things, like black eyes and bruises. The only memory I have of my father is from the day he pressed my hand to the stove and I waited for two days, in agony with third-degree burns before I could go to the school nurse and hospital. My best friend killed somebody and I helped him keep it a secret. I ran away, and nobody even listed me as missing. I’ve almost killed myself twice, routinely slashed my wrists open, and watched my only friend waste away on heroin. I’ve lost god knows how many years that I can count; lost my mind entirely for a considerable period of time, and killed people I don’t recall. I’ve recently tried to burn myself to death by setting a shed doused in kerosene on fire while inside it, and very recently just stopped fighting with a very irritating voice in my head.

“I’m the target of a very unpleasant man with no good graces to get in and the only way out is feet-first in a body bag. The only time I’ve ever been happy was with Leah. I loved her, I could have spent my life with her and never had a single regret or a bad fucking day. I’d give everything I have for three minutes with her again. I came to her a mess, and she still loved me, and now she’s dead. I miss her so much, Maria, you have no idea how much it hurts to miss her, I don’t have much I can say I’ve been blessed with, but she was something.” He released his hold on her wrist and his hand fell to his side. He didn’t look at her; instead he turned around and walked back to the piano.

“The offer’s still open.” He reminded quietly. He knew he’d said a lot, and he knew it would take some time for it all to set in, if she decided she’d ever speak to him again. “About college. You can think on it, I know it’s a lot to swallow all at once. I won’t bother you unless you’re all right with it.” And with that, he found himself lost in the graceful harmony he created with his hands. He heard her close the door on her way out, leaving him half illuminated in the silvery floods of moonlight.