Babysitting the Bad Boy's Brother

I'm sorry that people have been treating you so poorly, you deserve worse

"So how was he?" Mrs. Hirst questions as she stands across the kitchen from me and digs through her purse.
How was it, you ask?
Awful.
Dreadful.
Nightmarish.
"Fine." I tell her, my hand itches for the money I earned (and I damn well earned it) so I can get away from here as soon as possible and never come back.
She smiles, clearly pleased with my answer. "I knew he would be. He's such a sweet boy." She beams with pride.

Lady, you don't know the half of it.
She hands me my well deserved money and I take it eagerly, grateful that the dreadful night is finally over.

You did this for the strings, Claire. It'll all be worth it after you get your new strings.

After bidding her goodnight, I head out the front door and walk over to the path beside her house. The alley/path/whatever is fenced off on both sides by backyards, one of them being mine. It's a quick shortcut home, the other option being to walk all the way to the end of the street and take a left to the next block and walk over and really, who in their right mind wouldn't use the alley?

I didn't realize how late it was, the moon was high in the cloudless sky, though there is a faint light coming towards the west, a reminder of the sun that had set not too long ago.
The moon is a mere sliver, and the only thing lighting my way down the sidewalk is the street lamps that illuminate the road with a soft hum. I can hear the cars going up and down Sunnyside Road, a reminder that as much as I wish i lived in a secluded place with rolling hills in every direction, this is Portland and that is a luxury we can't afford. I take a quick left into the alleyway, walking past the streetlight and leaving the light it provided behind.

"Howdy, neighbor." A voice snaps me out of my trance, causing me to sigh. Who the hell says howdy anymore? I opt against educating the mongrel on the fact that we live in Portland Oregon, almost as far northwest as you can get in the continental United States, a place where Howdy is not part of language.

I hike my purse up on my shoulder and try to avoid the asshole leaning up against the fence and smoking a cigarette. It leaves a small burning ring at the end and faintly lights up the hand holding it.

"Ew." I say, ignoring Alec as I continue making my way down to the fence that leads to my back yard. He laughs and I turn around slowly, curious. It's very unlike me to initiate conversations with assholes, but today I surprised myself. "How long have you lived by me? You would think I would have heard the raging parties and the sirens from all of the cops coming after you."

He rolls his eyes and pushes off of the fence he was leaning against, throwing his cigarette in the ground and stomping it out with his heel as he says, "Or you're terribly unobservant." That is very bad for the environment.

I ignore his response and continue, counting each point by absentmindedly holding up my fingers. "Not to mention the girls that are likely sneaking in and out during the wee hours of the morning. Or your 'friends' that are the kind of people to drive through a suburban neighborhood blasting their music way too loudly at one A.M. Or-"

He cuts me off and says in an annoyed tone "Okay, okay, we get it. Just shut up."

I cross my arms. "How long?"

"Sorry, what?" He says, smirking.

I throw my hands up in frustration and turn on my heel towards my gate, just wanting to get home and practice.

"I hope you have a lovely evening too!" Alec calls sarcastically.

"I hope you get lung cancer and die!" I yell back as I unlatch the back gate and step into my backyard.

I pad through the plush grass and down the cobblestone steps and across the patio, where I open the sliding glass door into my home.

My dad is working late tonight, and the house is dark and empty. I sprint up the stairs and into my room, grabbing the shoe box from under my bed and opening it up.

I take the money out and lay it on the floor before counting it.

$112.00. I'm sixteen dollars short. I sigh and send a careless glare to my violin.
All I want are new strings. Is that too much to ask for?

I place the money in its rightful spot and head to my window, opening the curtains and letting the summer night breeze cool down my room. I pad across the carpet to the gorgeous wooden instrument on my dresser, letting the wind run it's fingers through my hair. I'm standing in my usual spot in my bedroom, violin tucked comfortably under my chin and bow balanced against the strings with near perfection.

Taking a deep breath, I start playing.

The melodies of Mendelssohn fill the warm summer air, echoing off every wall and tree in the surrounding area. I am no longer holding the instrument, I am the instrument. The music flows through my bones, being released through an extension of myself.

I stay here for hours, days, years. Time doesn't exist when I am playing. My fingers dance across the finger board with precision and I close my eyes, allowing myself to let my emotions flow with the notes. I have put my blood sweat and tears into this piece, literally. I eat breathe and sleep Mendelssohn these days, and I beam with pride as I find myself hitting the notes and chords perfectly.

A loud and obnoxious ring startles me out of my phrase and I groan in annoyance. Looking at the screen of my phone, I see my bestfriend's face. Eager to shut the insistent buzzing off, I answer it.

"What was so important that it had to interrupt Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E Minor?" I greet, struggling to keep the phone up to my ear with my other shoulder.

"Hello to you too, sunshine. I was wondering if I could spend the night.." She trails off.

I look at the clock. "It's eleven thirty. Is everything okay?"

"Cool. I'm on my way." She says before abruptly hanging up. I roll my eyes, thankful that my dad isn't home so I don't have to explain the crazy mind of my best friend.

The Mendelssohn piece that Claire is playing is up above  (I absolutely love this piece, and it's a blast to play) I very highly recommend listening to it, especially the part at, well, all of it.