His Dark Beauty (BWWM)

Chapter 8: My Anchor

I wake up alone. I stretch, feeling the cold wrap around me. I slip on my shoes, getting up to turn on the dim room light before going to the closet. I take off my robe and gown to put on a pair of sweatpants and a long sleeved shirt, putting my note from E in my bra. I bring my robe and gown to the bed, I'm not sure where to put them, my dirty clothes seem to always disappear by themselves.

I look over at the table, there's food, which wasn't there when I turned on the light earlier. I walk over to it, taking a sip of the tea before lifting up the cover. It's chicken mozzarella pasta, I sit down, my mouth watering. I eat slowly, my eyes on the chair across the room. My viola is hidden in my black case, mocking me.

Twelve years of playing, of devotion, but still not good enough. The long rainy nights spent playing in the dark, forcing myself to learn her completely. The ache of my wrist from trying to learn how to vibrato in the most perfect way. Feeling second best to those who played better and for more years than me. Using that as fuel to work harder, to figure out how to bring out her velvet rich tones, to learn her so well that we become one, that she became my voice.

I spoke myself with her that night. Revealed the darkness that surrounded me, that I've lived with for the past 22 years. Released it so it could leave me, dispersing itself to connect and live among the other shadowy crevices like it. It felt good, but it wasn't good enough. My darkness wasn't good enough for the world, it was sent back to me, and now viola sits here, mocking me. I wasn't able to make my voice strong enough through her, I wasn't able to play the passion of my pain well enough.

I walk over to my viola and yank it out of the case, I grab my bow and reach for my sheet music. I walk into the dark hallway. I look both ways, I don't know where to go. I choose the right, jogging down the hall. It leads to a three pronged fork, I turn left this time, walking in the dim cold. I go up two flights of stairs. There's another hall, the same as before, I walk, not knowing where I'm going but knowing what I'm looking for.

I finally come to a door. The room has dim shadows dancing across the walls. Bookcases extend to the high ceilings, lined with hundreds of books. It's a library. I turn and smile at the burning fireplace, a leather couch and table in front of it. I grunt as I move the heavy couch back, then the table. I sit in front of the fireplace, taking comfort in its heat.

I set my viola down carefully in front of me, laying my bow next to it. She's been with me the last four and a half years, the one before her eight. She's lived a short life, but she's no longer of any use to me. She didn't fail me, I failed her, just like I failed my grandma. I look at the piece that took me two years to write, that I cried on, labored over, scratched out and rewrote until I thought it was perfect.

I look at the title, Une Vie D'Obscurité, A Life of Darkness. That's how it's always been. But I came to prefer the dark, I wanted to find comfort and happiness there. I thought this piece would finally lead to that, by giving me the thing I always wanted. But I failed. I open my binder and take the music out, I pause then put it back in, might as well throw the whole thing into the fire. I trace my fingers over my carved initials, L.M. Layla Monroe. I scoot closer to the fire.

"No," I hear a whisper from behind. I jump, it's E. I don't turn around, I eye the fire. I want to destroy my viola, my music. I don't want to be reminded of my failure. "I'm going to burn it all," I say into the dark. "Layla, you do not want to do that. You will regret it."

"The only thing I regret is picking up this viola twelve years ago, the only thing I regret is writing this trash for two years thinking something good would come out of it," I snap, turning around. E's behind me, a dark mist by the couch, my heart speeds up, a shiver of terror runs through me.

"You do not mean that my love, music saved you," he whispers, floating over the couch so he's by the table now. "No, music anchored me in the dark, but it wasn't heavy enough to give me happiness," I whisper to, leaning my book into the fire.

Darkness and heat shrouds me, I can't see anything, I feel my sheet music pulled from my hands, back from the fire, I smell burning paper and leather. I feel around the ground for my viola and my bow, trying to toss them into the dark where I know the fireplace is, they are pulled from my hands also. I curl on the ground and squeeze my eyes shut. I feel sick, my failures are going to haunt me until I die. A hand strokes the side of my head, a body curls into mine on the floor.

"I am sorry my love," E says, his voice voice no longer a whisper. I open my eyes, looking at the fire that burns in front of me. I reach my hand out to it, wanting to distract myself from the pain inside. E's hand wraps around my wrist, pulling my arm back, it's quiet.

"Let me go," I say finally, shifting and stretching my legs out. He hesitates, still keeping me in his embrace. I pull against him until he lets me go, siting up. He stays on the floor as I get up, I can tell he's on edge, ready to stop me if needed. My viola and music are on the table. The upper corner of my leather case is burned, but I know the music isn't ruined. I pick up my bow and viola. I hold it, looking at the fire.

E shifts, I look at him, his black eyes are examining me, he's trying to figure out what I will do next. His face is hard and beautiful, I look away, my heart beating fast. I exhale and put my viola up to my shoulder, looking at the fire. I bring my bow across, doing a quick high tune as I watch the flame wick and dance. It's eerie, on the brink of a screech, I imagine I'm playing for the flames. I bring my bow down hard, causing a trembling choke.

I look into the darkness around me as I continue to play choked tortured sounds. I play what I feel inside, the swirling emotions of my heart. I play my failure, my anger, my lonely, my pain, my death. I walk around the library, watching as the flames dance on the books. I'm aware of E watching me. I don't care, I play for myself. I feel tears in my eyes as I play slower. Into the dark I play my passion, my dying passion.

I think about my grandma. Her face, her smile. How she would listen to me play all morning on the weekends without getting annoyed. The way she encouraged me to keep going every time I thought about quitting the viola. She told me that my viola was an extension of me. That giving up on it is the same as giving up on myself. And that true failure is when you give up.

I grip my bow harder, starting to feel a rumble within me. My bones tremble with the sound of the strings, the sound of my voice. I play faster, this my voice, my anchor in the dark, I can't give her up. My grandma wouldn't want that.

I close my eyes, playing without sight. My wrist moves quickly, pushing out vibrato. I sniffle as my tears fall faster. I was going to throw her into the fire. Leave myself swimming in a sea of darkness, no longer held down by what anchored me to its lonely waters. I was going to let go of the greatest passion that my grandma encouraged and helped me to cultivate.

I stop abruptly, breathing hard as my hands drop to my side. I open my eyes and look around. E is leaning against the back of the couch, his arms crossed, watching me. His expression is unreadable.

I look at his strong biceps, I want them around me. I walk over to him, carefully laying my viola and bow on the couch. I stand against his legs, pulling at his crossed arms. I wrap them around me and bury my face in his chest, inhaling his scent as my tears dry against him. He holds me tight, his cheek against the top of my head.

"Thanks for stopping me," I whisper against his chest.

"Your viola is your voice, the music you make with it is one of the most beautiful things about you my love," E says from above me.

My heart beats faster. I don't know who he is, I don't even know what he is. But I know that I'm starting to feel a deep connection to him. He's here in the darkness just like I am. Trying to live and find meaning within it, preferring it to the light. I squeeze tighter against him, yawning as fatigue sweeps over me yet again. E picks me up and takes me through the halls while I drift to sleep.