Violinist (CENTURIES series: Book #4)

20

"You're musical," My voice spoke up, clearing as I emptied it with a deep breath. "We can use that."

"To visit schools?" His words were bathed in mockery.

"Not just any," I said, staring at him. "Juilliard."

His eyes flared up and met mine like a fist. Juilliard was the best school in the country to study music. Only the best of the best got a chance to go there. Prodigies before him, musical virtuosos... geniuses. Like them, I truly believed Tony was one. He belonged with the greats of this world. He could do something only a few people could do. When he held his violin, he wasn't just playing chords. He wasn't just making sound or even expressing emotions. It was much more than that.

When he closed his eyes and put the bow to the strings, something happened. It was as if he melted into the very fabric the world was made up of and started unraveling the threads, picking them one by one and transporting them back into the real world. The strands he took back each held a piece of the earth's music, and with a few swift tweaks on his instrument, he could weave them into the bleeding shrieks I had been blessed enough to hear. Feelings.

Talent like that couldn't be taught. It had to come from his very heart and soul, but maybe he had tried to nourish it. Before the war, before everything crashed and burned... he might've fought with music before he fought with the world.

"Will you come with me?" I looked at him, my soul pleading. He looked back at me, his eyes burning with a dying flame. He was tired. Since Blue, he hadn't had another breakthrough. So much, yet so little.

"Melody..." He turned his head away and cupped it. His soul was so tired.

"Please." I reached out, laying my hand on his knee. I let my soul charge his. Asked him to be strong for just a little while longer. He looked down, staring at my knuckles, watching them for minutes, counting the faint lines on my skin. I almost told myself I could hear his heart's slow beat. Thud thud... Thud thud... thud...

Then, slowly, he let his hand drop on top of mine. Pale against dark; The contrast was strong, yet as his white palm grasped mine, I felt his darkness surround me.

A faint nod was his answer. It was followed by the demons he let seep from his chest as he exhaled all of the air inside his body.

Into war we went.

~~~

The afternoon was a wet affair that dusted over the city in the shape of a light rain as its inhabitants worked its way through it. They were heading towards their next destination, always moving forward.

And in the midst of it all, we stood. Standstill. Frozen. Two mismatched puzzle pieces out of time.

The Juilliard school of New York City was as much of an outsider as us with its odd design and sleek, gray, crooked exterior; The work of great artistry, the home to artists. The building in itself spoke volumes.

But, as my head turned up and stared at Tony, I knew from the somber look in his eyes that it was utterly mute to him.

"Come on." Reaching out for his hand was the boldest thing I had done yet. I was almost afraid of the rejection. That my hand, hovering in the air, would remain empty as I looked up at him, pleadingly. He didn't move. I didn't expect him to.