UNCHAINED MELODY

Chapter 8

ALBANY'S P.O.V

Two weeks. Two straight weeks in the hospital. I hate the color white right now. That's all I saw no matter how far my sight was. I've been too long in here that I have known a secret way up to the rooftop balcony. I did that all the time, every 10 AM and 5 PM, before and after visit hours. My parents got back to their work. Nobody actually was here for me. I listened to my own voice.

I've missed playing piano.

"Doctor, when will I come home?"

"Soon enough, sweetheart." He checked my wrapped hands. "Soon."

"Define it." I looked away.

"I know you're upset about this all. I know you have a lot works to do."

"Then you must know how crazy these two weeks been to me."

"I can't do anything to fast the heal except you help it, Albany." He sat on my bed. "You have to have that eagerness to heal yourself."

"I do! But it helps nothing! I can't feel my fingers!"

The storm mocked me. It's probably rainy today. Yes, even the weather mocked my stupid life. You see? I lost some photo shoot contracts. Those teen magazines who used to call me 5 times in a day just to confirm our schedule last week. I supposed to do a photo shoot. Two photo shoots. Five freaking magazine photo shoots. Now I'm more likely an 18-year-old half-dead girl. You know what those interviewers do when they couldn't find me?

They replaced people. Easily.

"I want to come home. Tell my Mom I want to come home."

"Albany..."

"Doctor!"

He sighed. I'm sorry. Yes I'm stubborn for myself. Bear with me.

"Okay. Okay deal you're coming home tomorrow. But don't use your fingers yet. Don't play piano. Not yet. We'll have appointment again in a week. We'll see from there."

And blah blah blah I didn't listen. I wanted to be in my room so badly right now. I wanted to just lock myself down with music, in my own not-white bed. I hate white.

I hate myself.

"Honey..." Mom knocked the door. "You sleeping?"

"No." I fixed the pillow behind me.

"How's it going?"

"What is going?"

Mom smiled in tears. She knew any question she asked would be so wrong now. "You feel much better?"

"Still the same answer I told you 10 days ago. I want to come home."

"I know. I met Doctor Adrian on the way here."

"Good. Release me, Mom. I can't be here anymore."

"Absolutely sweetheart. Your father is working on the paper at the cashier. We'll be going home tomorrow morning."

"Wonderful."

Mom swept my tears away. It's hard lately for our family to deal with too many things. The hardest part was it's Mom who answered those phone calls from people who dismissed my contracts. She's tough. But what's more heartbreaking than seeing your only daughter losing her life piece by piece? I ask you, what's more heartbreaking than seeing all the walls you've built for yourself crashed down that easily?

"Done." Dad brought up some paper. "We're going home."

"Tomorrow, right?" Mom asked.

"Better. In an hour." He smiled at me. "You like that idea?"

For the very first time after two weeks, I smiled. Almost smiled. "Yes."

"Let's prepare yourself. I'll take the stuff and be waiting at the lobby. You got this?"

"Let me help her." Mom nodded excitedly. "Careful."

"Okay."

With all the power left in me, I changed myself in the bathroom. Still with wrapped fingers. I felt like they're amputated. The fear of not be able to use it anymore kept eating me from within. I couldn't sleep thinking from where again I should start this all. Or how bad it's been that I should lose it all.

An hour later, hospital officially released me. Dad drove us back home. I sat on the back seat, alone, with my mind full of if's. I'm afraid I wouldn't still be able to sleep tonight.

She's got a heart like California, and a smile like a Hollywood dream... She's like a sunset back in Florida, and a top down summer breeze...

"Please turn that off." I cleared my throat.

"Hmm?" Dad checked me through the rear view mirror.

"It's Before You Exit." Mom whispered but I heard it clearly.

Dad immediately turned the volume down. But heck. In the middle of quiet ride, how could you not hear even the smallest sound? That radio Dad put on was Jeffrey's. They played the song I wish not to hear. That dominant sound of the guy I might miss the most. Or might not.

Riley.

"Do you...uh, try to call him or something, Ban?" Mom grabbed my cold wrapped hands and squeezed it.

"For what?"

"For a little hello."

"It wouldn't do any justice anyway." I stared off to the street light.

"He might help you."

"By doing what, Mom? I don't want to meet him! Or anyone! I'm too pathetic!"

My voice was echoed, followed by the sound of deep cry, straight from my cut throat. I groaned. But nothing was coming out. Too bad. I'm unworthy.