Surviving the Andersen Brothers

Vincent Andersen

The rain pounded heavily against the windows in the kitchen, confirming that it was Saturday, the day we played epic Frisbee. I was in the kitchen when I decided to call Charlotte to reaffirm her participation in the day’s activities. She said she would be meeting us at the park after her weekly chores were finished.

            I checked the time: 12:25 P.M. We weren’t supposed to meet at the park until 1:30—I still had over an hour. Walter and Zach were out running a few errands and Lucas, Jacob, and Caleb were all at the book store, leaving Vincent, Michael, and Lilly the only ones home; James was still away on business.

What to do? What to do? The kitchen was spotless, my weekend homework was complete, my brain was fried of video games—actually, my brain was just fried in general—my room was clean, and my bathroom was immaculate. I had nothing to do.

I suppose I could go find Vincent—but a bathroom stop first, I drank too much water this morning.

I opened the door to the bathroom to find Lilly on the ground next to the toilet, her blonde hair pulled back.

“Oh, sorry,” I said.

“That’s okay,” she told me. “I think I am still sick.”

Lilly’s head reeled and I closed the door before I could witness her vomiting. She just couldn’t catch a break. I felt bad for her, maybe I could make her some soup tonight. The sound of liquid hitting liquid was heard and I ran from the area.

After my bathroom break I found myself on the second floor of the Andersen estate. I already checked Vincent’s room to find that he was not there. I stood there in silence trying to think of another place he could be when Michael walked from his room to see me.

He looked down the hall in the direction I was, trying to see something that wasn’t there. “Um, Jazz, what are you doing?” Michael questioned.

My brows furrowed. “Trying to think of where Vincent might be,” I told him.

He nodded. “Did you try his bedroom?”

“Yes.”

“The Library?”

“Yes.”

“The Music Room?”

“Ye—the Music Room?”

Michael laughed at me. “Yes, the Music Room. It’s between the twin’s rooms. Vincent and Lucas basically live in there.”

“Mm. Thanks.” I eyed the door to the Music Room before walking to it.

Michael watched me for a second before heading downstairs.

At the Music Room door I could faintly hear the steady sound of a piano—a beautiful piece playing. I opened the door, slowly and quietly, to find Vincent sitting at the piano. His fingers skimmed easily over the keys, pressing them down to create another sound—Vincent was playing the piano.

I stood there in silence listening to Vincent play the number, slowly stepping closer to him and the bench. I watched his face in the reflection of the window on the other side of the piano.

Vincent looked up then, meeting my gaze in the window, he hit the wrong key and the music paused for a second before he looked away and continued playing. The song didn’t last much longer after that.

Vincent turned to face me when he was finished. “Miss Clark,” he greeted.

I didn’t say anything right away, wondering why he only ever called me Miss Clark—yeah, he did call me Jasmine once but that was when I was injured, when I wouldn’t listen to him. I opened my mouth to question why that was but a greeting came instead.

“I hadn’t noticed that you came in,” Vincent admitted.

“I didn’t want to disturb you—you play very well,” I told him.

He smiled at me. “I know,” he said politely.

It was quiet for a moment as I tried to think of how to respond. Most people just would have said thank you—Vincent was not most people though, as I was quickly discovering. “How long have you been playing the piano?”

“Since I was very little. My mom says that I was always so fascinated with the one at our grandparent’s house so she bought me this one.” He gestured to the piano he sat at.

I looked around the Music Room, taking notice of all the different instruments available.

“Do you play anything other than the piano?” I wondered, picking up the violin.

Vincent perked up a bit, curious to know if I could play the violin. It took him a moment to answer—he was waiting for me to play something. I let him wait. “I play everything in this room, some better than others. The piano is my favorite.”

“And your second favorite?” I asked, placing the violin in the crook of my neck, grabbing the bow with my free hand.

Another long pause. “The violin,” he admitted.

The piece Pachelbel’s Canon came to mind. I smiled, an evil smile. I pulled the bow across the strings, producing a loud screeching noise. Vincent covered his ears. I continued playing what I knew of the number, slowly allowing my playing to become better until it was nearly flawless. I played the piece all the way through, allowing my mind to go completely blank—if I let myself think about the last time I played the violin, I would cry.

By the end of the piece, Vincent was awestruck. He just stared at me.

“You play very well,” he complimented.

I smirked. “I know,” I said, though I didn’t believe it. “It’s been a while since I have played.”

“When did you start?”

“When I was very little.”

“Why did you stop?”

It was time for me to hesitate on answering. I put the violin down and propped the bow against it. I looked at Vincent to see that he was still expecting an answer.

“My dad died.”

My eyes welled with tears and I bit my lower lip to try to keep them from flowing. Vincent stood from the piano bench and closed the distance between us. He raised both of his arms to wrap me in a hug but he thought twice and dropped them to his side. He settled on placing a hand on my head, pulling me until my head met with his chest. Vincent stood there awkwardly holding me with one arm while two salty drops fell from my eyes on to his shirt.

I was too shocked to actually cry—the two that fell were as a result of the movement. My eyes were wide and confused. This didn’t make sense in my head. Why was he being this way?

“I am so sorry,” he whispered. “Jas—”

Just then the door to the Music Room opened. Before I even turned to see him, I knew who the intruder was. Vincent jumped away from me and I turned to see Lucas standing in the doorway, the handle from the door still in his hands. His eyes narrowed at me, turning almost hateful.

Every time Vincent and I would get close, Lucas always showed up to set the lines back. It was guaranteed. It was frustrating.

It kept me from surviving Vincent Andersen.