The Chord to my Heart

15: Calling The Shots

            “Next time you decide to skip school, at least take your backpacks with you to make it less obvious,” my father said. My eyes shot up to the easy smile on his face. Ruth simply shook her head and smiled at us too, before walking off towards the kitchen. I breathed a sigh of relief, glad we got off so easily.

            My father started to walk off, but stopped and turned towards us. “Oh and Lyla? Can we talk to you in the kitchen please? It won’t take long,” he said. I nodded and he smiled, leaving just Mase and me in the foyer.

            “Guess I’m still in trouble,” I said to Mase.

            He shook his head. “Don’t worry; I’ll take the blame if they say anything. Let me know how it goes,” he said, smiling.

            I nodded, giving him a small smile before heading towards the kitchen. I found my father and stepmom sitting around the island in bar stools, their hands wrapped around coffee mugs. They both smiled at me as I walked in, and I knew this wasn’t going to be about what happened today.

            “So what’s up?” I asked, standing on the opposite side of the island and cupping its edge with my palms.

            “We just wanted to make sure you were doing okay,” my father said.

            “I’m fine,” I said, almost too quickly.

            “School is good too? You’re not struggling with keeping up in your classes or anything?” he asked.

            “School’s fine too,” I said, this time waiting a beat before answering.

            He nodded, but I knew he wasn’t done yet. His mouth turned down at the edges, a certain sadness creeping its way into his eyes.

            “And how are you dealing with everything else? Do you need to talk to anyone about it?” he asked softly.

            “I don’t want to talk to you guys about it, Dad,” I said. He and his wife were the last people I’d talk to about anything. Especially about my mother.

            “That’s fine, but if you want to maybe talk to a professional, we can make it happen. It’s always an option,” he said, and Ruth nodded her head beside him. So they thought I needed a therapist?

            “I’m dealing with things just fine. She could’ve used the professional help, but I don’t need it,” I said, my nails digging deep into my palm. I wondered if I could ever forgive my mother. Or my father and his wife. Would the flames of resentment never be put out? Would they be constantly licking at my insides, burning with anger? 

            “I just don’t want you to get to that point, okay? She didn’t see another way out. But you’re young and beautiful. You have so much potential. You should never have to feel that trapped,” he said, making his way around the island to stand in front of me.

            “If you knew me, Dad, you’d know that I’d never even consider doing that. Too bad you don’t know me. And you probably never will,” I said, brushing past him. I may not be living like I should be since my mother left, but I was surviving. I was getting by in the best way I knew. He looked right past that though. He saw my mother when he looked at me. But I wasn’t her. I’d never want to be her.

            I went to find Mase, hoping he’d want to come for a run with me. Or maybe even take me back to that shooting range. I needed that rush of adrenaline to free myself from the hot, angry flames burning holes in my stomach.

            His bedroom door was cracked open so I pushed the door, calling his name. I saw a double bed pushed up against a wall in the corner, the sheets twisted in the middle. His desk was mostly clear apart from a cup of sharpened pencils and a sketch pad sitting in the middle. But something in the corner of the room caught my attention.

            I walked up to it, kneeling on the ground next to the metal stand it was leaning against. I ran my hand along its neck, my fingers pressing against the cold strings. My other hand running along the smooth wood that rounded once, curved in, and then rounded again. I flicked the thickest string with my finger, a dull sound echoing off the walls.

            Before I could get up and find Mase to ask him about the guitar catching dust in the corner of his room, I heard his voice behind me.

            “What are you doing?” he asked, his voice low.

            I turned, watching as his eyes were glued to the instrument instead of me.

            “I’m sorry. I was looking for you and I just kind of found this,” I mumbled, a blush staining my cheeks.

            He kept silent, his eyes never leaving the guitar.

            “You didn’t tell me you played,” I said, walking up to him.

            “I don’t play,” he said, shaking his head. “Not anymore.”

            “Why not?” I asked, as he ran his hand through his hair. He cleared his throat, blinking away the little moisture that formed in his grey eyes. But when he didn’t answer, I asked him again.

            “Mase, why don’t you play anymore?” I whispered, as I took his shaky hand into mine. I pulled him towards the bed and sat next to him. I watched his composure crumble into tiny pieces that wouldn’t fit back together again. And as his eyes filled to the rim with salty tears, he told me his story, not bothering to blink them away this time. He let them free fall into nothing, and I did the same too.

            Author's Note: Thoughts? Please leave comments. :) I made this SUPER long for you guys. And next chapter will be in Mase's point of view. I wanted to give him the chance to tell his story. :) PLEASE VOTE IF YOU ENJOYED IT! [Or vote if you think Mase is hot.. ;)] Thanks for reading<3 -Shahira p.s. Picture of Mase & his outfit to the right >>>>