See (18 page)

“
Since when is your apartment under construction?” I asked shortly.

“
What?!” she asked, surprised.

“
My mom’s housekeeper tried to take some stuff of yours to you, but no luck – under construction.”

“
Rosa’s lost her marbles. I’ll go by there today,” she said in a flat tone.

“
My mom was looking for your dad ,too.”

“
Really?” she said, trying to hold the excitement out of her voice. “She changed her mind – Cancun, do I hear you calling Charlie’s name?”

“
No… not at all. I think she wanted to ask about the case – is that true? How did that work out? You said you gave that stuff to us.”

“
Charlie, Charlie, my sweet Charlie. What I gave you should have just relaxed you – not sent you into some kind of wicked trip. That was legit - that delivery guy had bad intentions, for sure.”

“
Lucky you,” I said as I started to make my bed up.

“
Good alibi, anyways. I still can’t believe she sent you to your sister’s – a little overprotective of you, don’t you think?”

“
It’s not so bad.”

“
Then why are you telling me to stay away? Do you not love me anymore? Sad, sad,” she teased.

“
Not bad for me – for you, yes. I can entertain myself without a sea of department stores,” I rebutted.

“
I’m sure whatever you’re up to will be fun; interesting, at least.”

I didn’t say anything; I just threw the last pillow on my bed and sat on the edge.

“
Why didn’t you tell me about your dad?” she asked softly.

“
What about him?” I asked, feeling my cheeks blush.

“
Who he was? How he died?”

“
How do you know about that?” I asked shortly, knowing I’d never said anything to her about my father.

“
I Googled your name and Salem so I could see how close the house Britain had was to you – you have his name… Charlie Myers, adored musician, taken in a tragic accident, survived by his beautiful wife, Nichole Myers, and their unborn child.”

Tears glassed over my eyes. I’d read the article she’d found before. It went on to say how he touched countless lives with his divine gift of music. It was obvious that the writer was a devoted fan to each member of my father’s band - he described them all so perfectly, you felt like you knew them.

“
It’s not something that comes up in passing conversation,” I answered quietly.

“
Charlie, I don’t make many close friends – you know that. It hurts when you don’t let me in.”

The only close friend I knew of her having was Britain. They said they’d been friends since they were kids, and you could feel an odd bond between them. It was hard to say who was the most dominant one out of the two of them; my gut was telling me it was Britain, but that didn’t balance with the emotion I had to protect him.

“
Listen...I need space – I just wanna be alone.”

“
Because I’m your friend, I’m not gonna let you be alone; if anything, I should be around you more – I was the one that messed you up, apparently – therefore, I should un ‘mess’ you up,” she said in a bleak tone.

“
Bianca...”

“
We’ll just talk about it when I get there tomorrow,” she said calmly.

Her words infuriated me. How could I possibly be clearer?

“
My mom is coming here then, too – seriously, it’s not a good idea.”

“
We’ll figure it out. You have a car now. Just tell her you’re going on a drive.”

“
I can’t see you,” I said firmly.

I could hear Kara talking to someone downstairs, and warm goosebumps covered my body; I was sure Draven was here by now. “I gotta go.”

I didn’t say goodbye; I just hung up the phone. I then looked to the table at Britain’s phone, sure he would text me any second; they always seemed to follow conversations with me closely, as if to make their presence more defined. I stood and reached for it.

The last text he sent was around three this morning. It just said: ‘go to sleep, my sleeping beauty’.

I hit the ‘Sleep’ button and turned it face down. I heard a gentle knock and turned to see Draven standing at the top of my stairs. I lost the ability to breathe for a second. He was wearing dark jeans with worn holes in the pockets, and his black T-shirt seemed to amplify his emerald green eyes. I smiled shyly and told myself to calm down; I couldn’t feel this way about him –it was too dangerous right now.

“
Are you alright?” he asked, looking over me.

I nodded and tried to smile.

“
Did you dream?” he asked, looking at my made bed.

I shook my head no. “I forgot to hold fast to the one I never had, but that was a good line. Is it in a song?” I asked.

“
Not yet,” he said as a nervous smile came across his face.

I nodded, knowing that musicians are always writing, even when they’re nowhere near their instruments.

“
Um...we have to go up one more,” I said, walking to the short staircase on the other side of my room.

He started to follow me. As I stepped on the first step, I heard the phone on the table vibrate. The feeling of being suffocated - almost trapped - by Bianca and Britain started to move through me.

“
You wannna get that?” Draven asked, looking intently down at me.

“
I don’t hear anything,” I answered holding my arm out for him to go up the stairs.

A confident smile spread across his face as he started to climb them. I clinched the rail, wanting just to run, from him, from them, from everything that was weighing down on me. The sound of the guitar grew louder as it echoed around me…I found my breath, then found the courage to follow him into my father’s studio.

As I reached the top of the stairs, I could see him across the room, staring out the window, moving perfectly with the sound I was hearing. My whole body felt numb...so numb...weightless. I didn’t understand the sound; it didn’t make sense that he could hear it, but Kara and Madison couldn’t.

He looked over his shoulder and smiled shyly, then motioned for me to come to him. I walked past the guitar stand and the black leather couch and went to his side. He smiled slightly and pointed out the window. My eyes followed in the direction he was pointing, and in the distance I could clearly see the top floor of his house. It was facing mine; it almost looked like what I could see was the side of it. It sat below mine and was surrounded by trees. The oval peaks of the house that gave the castle element to it were in clear view from here.

“
That’s where we write,” he whispered, then smiled slightly. “When I play – it doesn’t matter if it’s the dead of night or the middle of the day; I always seem to look in this direction, at this floor. I know it’s good if the lights in this room turn on, and then off.”

I looked up at him like he was crazy. I knew his house was far enough away that even if Kara was up here, she wouldn’t be able to hear it. Beyond that, I was more than positive that she only really used two rooms in this house: hers and the kitchen.

I rubbed my hands slowly across my arms. “You’re giving me chills,” I said quietly, wishing I’d put one of my hoodies on so I could hide behind it.

“
I’m sorry…right now…it’s hard for me to judge what you see.” He turned to me, and as he looked into my eyes I could see he was searching for words. “I want to show you how to see…but I don’t think you’re ready.”

I bit my bottom lip, looking for a way to let him see me, who I really was somewhere deep inside. “You’re my teacher,” I said, turning to walk to the couch his guitar was on. It was a second or two before I heard his footsteps following me.

As I reached for his guitar, his hand rested on mine as if to stop me. I dared to look into his eyes, which were just inches from my face. “I’ll use this one,” he said, nodding in the direction of the guitar stand. I swallowed and held my breath as I moved my hand from beneath his. I then walked to the stand and reached for the guitar I’d played yesterday. “Not that one,” he said quietly.

I looked back. He followed me to the stand, then carefully reached for one of the electric ones; it was dark gray with smoky black lines running across the body. To say the least, this guitar looked intimidating, like only a skilled musician could handle it.

“
I don’t think I’m ready for this one – beginner, remember,” I said in the most confident tone I could manage.

“
Well,” he said, reaching to hand it to me, “don’t think like that.”

I angled my eyes up at him and let the sly smile I always hid behind come across my lips. As I reached for the neck, I swear I could feel the vibration coming from it, like what’s being played on stage in front of thousands of screaming people; the guitar sound around us seemed to echo what this instrument was capable of. “See,” Draven said, trying to suppress a confident smile.

“
Tell me you how you hear that,” I said, letting my smile fall.

“
Just listen to what the music is saying, and you’ll hear what you need to…when you need to,” he said quietly.

I looked down at the guitar in my hand, then let my fingers grip the neck, feeling the audacity of playing such a beautiful instrument come over me. “If I play this – will you show me what you see? Do you see more than I do in this room?” I asked timidly.

He didn’t answer me; he just smiled tenderly, then leaned down, took the cord from the amp, and led it to the couch. He took his guitar out of the case and moved it so I could sit next him. As I watched him put the strap around himself and adjust his fingers against the strings, I lost the ability to breathe again. I had no idea what I’d do if he decided to sing; at this point, I think my heart would finally succumb to the stress I was putting on it - and I’d just die.

I walked slowly to him, sliding the strap of my guitar around myself. I then sat down at his side and gripped the neck, feeling a hum of energy soar through me. Draven reached in his pocket and pulled out a black pick, then handed it to me. I tried to hold my hand steady as I reached for it, but a tremble managed to escape. He smiled as I plugged in my guitar, then he looked down at the guitar in his hands.

As he arched his fingers around the neck, I recognized the chord he was preparing to play.

“
C?” I said, asking if that was what I was supposed to do.

He nodded. “C is always first – at least in my book.”

I arched my fingers around the neck to get my fingers to line up on the strings. I saw him shake his head no. I knew what I was doing was wrong; my fingers weren’t bent the right way, and I was deadening other strings by pressing against them. I raised my fingers, only letting my fingertips touch the strings. I felt a burning sensation and the slicing pain of the chord as I tried to hold it in place. I then let the pick strum across the body.

I released my fingers before the sound had a chance to end.

“
Listen,” Draven said, playing the chord.

One chord; that was all he played, and it was beautiful. It sounded like a perfect beginning, the onset to a beautiful song that could go in any direction.

All at once, memories of me playing…playing with him, started to invade my mind. I closed my eyes and tried to focus on them, but they vanished. I let out a jagged breath.

“
Are you OK?” he asked quietly.

I shook my head no as I looked down at the guitar across my lap. “I think I’m going crazy,” I mumbled.

“
You’re not crazy…just lost,” he said tenderly.

I slowly looked to my side at him to see anger trying to hide behind his calm expression.

“
Why do I make you so mad?” I asked timidly.

His face flushed as he stared into my eyes. “I’m not mad at you…I promise.”

A numbing calm came over me. It was if I’d craved to hear those words. I moved my head from side to side and said, “I don’t believe you.”

We stared at each other for countless seconds, both trying to understand the other. “Play for me…” he finally said, letting his eyes fall to the guitar in my lap.

I looked down, then arched my fingers again, squinting with the pain. My fingers fell, deadening the strings just as I went to play the chord. I felt an embarrassing frustration come over me. It was just one chord - how hard could it really be? I tried again, only to find one of my fingers falling again. I stretched my fingers out, ready to just stop trying - at least in front of Draven, anyway.

At that moment, I felt a warm sensation come through my arms and into my hands, then a gentle pressure closed my hand around the neck. My fingertips lined up across the fret, and I played the chord, but I didn’t stop there; my fingertips moved on to D, and then E. My fingers flew through those three chords at least five times in random order before the sensation left my hand. I managed to play C and E before I fumbled again.

I looked nervously up at Draven. In his eyes, I could see an immense amount of respect and sorrow, but most of all understanding.

“
How did that feel?” he asked.

“
That was a fluke - not me. I don’t – I don’t know how I did that,” I said, looking down at my guitar and hoping I hadn’t just imagined that.

“
Feel the music and let your fingers play,” he said, nodding to the guitar.