Play!

LXXII

There he was, standing on stage, all lights on him. The audience a sea of black, faceless people, impossible to read. The conductor raised his baton, making the orchestra behind Brett rustle as the musicians prepared their instruments and with one, deep breath in unison, they went off! Brett lifted his bow to play the first crescending notes, but wait! 

Where was it? 

And where the hell was his violin? 

Shit! His hands! They were empty! The solo line should have come in many bars ago by now, but there was nothing, of course, the orchestra accompanying a mute soloist, a non-existing melody. Brett flailed around, desperately turned to the concertmaster’s chair for help, the seat occupied by Eddy.
“Eddy! Please!”
No reaction. Eddy just blankly stared at the score in front of him, playing robotically. 
“Please!”
Still nothing and that’s when Brett noticed that his voice was gone, mute like his absent violin. He tried to scream, run around, but no one batted an eye.
“Please! Anyone! Please!!!”

“Brett.”
“Please, help! Anyone…”
“Brett! Mate!”
Something nudged his shoulder hard. 
“Please!”, he begged, tears not far away now.
“Brett! Dude, wake up!”
Brett’s heavy eyelids fluttered open, registering nothing but darkness.
“You’re dreaming mate. Wake up!”
Another shoulder jerk and finally, Brett was ripped off that awful stage. He sat up, panting violently while cold sweat ran down his temples. 
“Dude you okay?”
He wasn’t. He felt like puking and for a second, he really thought he was going to. His hands grabbed Cole’s forearms hard, lungs not able to transport oxygen into his bloodstream quick enough.
“You look like shit! Do you need the toilet?”, Cole asked nervously.
“Nah… wait…” 
In, out. In, out. Deep breaths that seemed to take forever and bit by bit, his pulse gracefully slowed down to a safer rate. Brett gulped several times and tried to get rid of the nasty, bitter taste in his mouth with Cole’s concerned gaze on him. 
“You need anything? Water or something?”
“Water would be nice…” And Eddy’s arms, shot through Brett’s mind while bits of him holding Eddy after the taller’s bad dream the night before mingled with what had just tortured him, making his head reel.
“Just a second!”
Brett’s friend shot up and leaped towards the toilet. The sound of running water helped him to further calm down and when Cole returned, a half filled glass in hand, he had his stomach so far under control that he was certain he didn’t have to run for the bowl.
“Thanks”, he breathed, took the glass with shaky hands and quickly downed a few careful sips.
Cole sat down next to him, his frown visible for Brett even without him wearing his glasses.
“Nightmare?”, he asked.
Brett shook his head. “Yeah. Was on stage, trying to play solo without my violin.”
“Ouch!”
“You get my reaction, I reckon?”
“That’s awful”, Cole agreed empathetically and squeezed Brett’s shoulder.
Brett took another sip of the cool liquid, washing away remnants of the horror. “Remind me to take my violin along in the morning, will ya?”
Cole huffed. “Count on me! You better?”
“Yeah, thanks for the water. And sorry for waking you up”, Brett said and put the empty glass on the nightstand. He was still a bit shaky and his limbs were so heavy and tired that lying down seemed to be the only feasible option at the moment. 
“Don’t mention it”, Cole meant, walked over to his bed and got under the blanket himself, “You think you can sleep? We still got a few hours, I think.”
“I’ll try”, Brett yawned, eyelids thankfully falling shut already as the dream drifted into the darkness of the night…

The next morning, when his phone rang an unforgiving alarm, Brett felt like a truck had hit him from both sides, smashing his brain to bits in the process. He groaned loudly, turned to his left side away from the piercing sound and hid under the cover.
“Brett? We kinda need to get up.”
“Hrrnnghh”, Brett growled. Was he really supposed to play in a competition today? Considering his current state, this was going to be an easy game for Eddy.
Cole must have come over because Brett’s phone was finally silenced. And then, his voice rang through the duvet. “Brett? You need painkillers? Should I tell Mr. Thames you’re taking the morning off?”

What a tempting offer! But Brett knew he needed that run-through through all three movements. At the very least, he needed to make sure that he wasn’t going to stand on that fucking stage empty-handed.

So Brett mumbled, “Yes to the painkillers, no to skipping.”
Cole’s hand laid itself on Brett’s blanket and his back. “Alright. You got this Brett! I’ll bring you some water too. Get a liter down your system and you’ll be fine.”
“I sure hope you’re right.”

The two tablets of Ibuprofen Brett took in one go helped and with the bottle of water Cole brought, he felt marginally more like a functional human being again. A musician who was supposed to play Korngold’s first movement in front of a jury tonight after a full day of rehearsals? Brett wasn’t so sure about that. The nightmare from last night didn’t exactly contribute to his condition and Brett had to check the contents of his violin case twice before they could leave the hotel room for a quick breakfast. 
“Got your violin?”, Cole asked nonetheless with a small wink when he closed the door which led to Brett opening his case and taking a look again. Brett was lucky it wasn't Nathan he was sharing a room with. That guy would have had a field day.

Downing food was almost impossible for Brett, but Cole made sure he at least got half a bread roll down his stomach. They saved their coffees for breaktime and soon enough, the boys hurried to the Sydney conservatory under the already relentless scorching sun, Brett’s dream looming over his consciousness like a dark, menacing shadow.