A/N; oh my goodness, you guys! 70K Reads, ALMOST 10K Votes & 2K comments! Just, thank you, all of you for reading, voting and commenting. You're all my motivation, remember that! Enjoy.
P.s. The song Sang sings is If I Could Fly by One Direction. I love this song!
Chapter 43
Sang
"Come with me," Mr Blackbourne whispers, holding his hand out for me to take. My lips part, unsure of where he wants to take me. I nod my head and place my hand in his, the warmth of his immediately a welcome. He straightens his knees, pulling me up with him. I take my phone from him and slip it into my bag, releasing his hand and immediately missing his touch.
He turns and heads for the doors to enter the school. I hesitate for a second before following on his heels. We walk through the halls, the sounds of our footsteps completely in sync and echoing through the empty halls.
We reach a door, and I watch as Mr Blackbourne removes a bundle of keys from his pocket, finding the one he wants before unlocking the door and pushing it open. He waves a hand at me, gesturing for me to go first. "After you."
I step into the room and the first thing I see is the piano sitting in the middle of the room. Desks are stacks in the corner and chairs are in random places throughout the room, but all are turned towards the piano. My whole body tenses when my eyes come back to the piano.
The door closes and I still don't relax. My bag is removed from my shoulder and Mr Blackbourne asks, "May I go in your bag?"
My brows dip down into a frown, but I nod my head and turn to focus my eyes on him. His lips lift just a millimetre before his hand dives into my bag. a second later coming back out with my camera in his hands. He puts my bag down on a nearby chair, and comes to stand in front of me.
"You express what your feeling in your photos, I believe. The way you take them, the way you later go on to edit them to match what you saw, what the story in the picture tells anyone with a good eye," he explains and I'm surprised by how well he understands why I take pictures the way I do. "I'm going to play the violin for you, and I would like you to take my photo."
"What's the catch?" I ask quietly, knowing there's something he wants from me.
"In return, Miss Sorenson, I would like for you to either play the piano or the violin, while I take pictures of you." My eyes widen and stray to the piano. I notice on the seat for the first time that there's a hard case on top of it. "My photo will tell my story, your photo will tell your story. It's the first step in the right direction, Miss Sorenson."
I look back at him, meeting those steel grey eyes of his. "What direction is that, Mr Blackbourne?"
He's silent for a long moment, his eyes moving over my face, as if committing me to memory. "Whatever direction you want to take."
His words have a hidden meaning, I'm sure of it. I just don't know what that meaning is at the moment. But I hope that one day I will. The question is though, can i sit at that piano or hold a violin and play? I haven't played in so long. I know it's not just something you forget—just like taking a photo, breathing, and walking or maybe even running. You can't just forget how to do it all.
You remember the movements, the strokes to make, or the keys to press to bring music alive. You can never fully forget something you once loved doing.
I nod my head and take the camera from him, pulling my arm from the sling at the same time, ignoring the twinge of pain as I do. His lips tilt up once more and I watch as he unbuttons his jacket and removes it, laying it neatly next to my bag before going over to the piano. My thumb blindly presses the button to turn the camera on. I'm too transfixed on him, watching as he rolls the sleeves up on his crisp white shirt before flicking open the latches on the violin case.
I force my eyes away, making sure the camera is set up how I want it before taking the first picture—the removing of the violin from where it rests in the case. The dark wood is smooth, shiny, and reflecting the lights above. My feet slowly move me forward, my finger hungry for every movement he makes, my need to capture this moment high.
His chin lifts and he moves with precision, bringing the body of the violin up onto his shoulder, tweaking it into position before his chin take its place on the comfort pad. He picks up the bow and moves his fingers along the neck of the instrument.
His eyes flick up to me and I stop taking photos, dropping the camera from my face so I can see him properly. I wish I knew what he was thinking in that moment, the way his gaze was heavy on mine before dropping down and focusing on the task at hand.
He puts the box of the violin into position.
I suck in a breath, the anticipation growing.
I exhale when I hear the first note, his bicep flexing under his shirt, his face a picture of pure concentration. The sound washes over me and my shoulders finally relax. Tears actually spring at my eyes as he plays the notes. His eyes are closed and I realise he's already lost deeply into the music; a story with music. A story with pictures.
That's what he wants me to do. He wants me to find the story from both the music and the picture, combining the two together.
I start taking pictures again, making sure the shutter sound is off. There is no way I can have the sound of the button I love to press over sound something like this - his music - something so much more beautiful to my ears.
I move forward, zooming in and zooming out, before moving to the side, making sure I catch him at all angles. Catching him in every way I can while he stays lost within the melody he plays for me. The music is soft, slow, with each note high, never dipping to the lower, deeper notes of the violin.
He keeps it sweet, not cheerful, but it is warm. It's hard to describe. It's also nothing I recognise, and I make a mental note to ask him which piece he is playing.
Just as he's finishing the song, his eyes open and lift to meet mine. This time, I don't move the camera. I capture that look, the swirling emotion swimming in those steel grey depths.
The last note echos throughout the room and I drop my camera, just watching him. His movements are slow as he remove the body of the violin from his shoulder, lifting his chin out of the way. He places the instrument back in its case and focus those eyes back onto mine. "What will it be, Miss Sorenson?"
"The piano," I whisper. "When I play the violin, it has to be mine, the one I have at home."
"As you wish," he says, coming towards me. He holds his hand out and I gently place the camera in his hand.
My fingers brush his wrist and I smile up at him. "Do you want me to give you a lesson?" I ask.
He nods his head, his smile lifting more than that millimetre. "Just a quick one," he says quietly with a tilt of his lips. I explain to him to how to use the camera and watch him take a few pictures of the chair with my bag and his jacket sitting on it. "I think I have it. Go ahead and get comfortable."
I nod and go over to the piano. I close the lid to the violin before moving it to a nearby seat. My hands start to shake as I sit down on the bench. Tucking my hair behind my ears, I run the tips of my fingers over the keys, not playing a sound as I think through which song to play.
I'm pretty good at listening to a song and then being able to play it without practicing. Recognising the notes of the piano or even the violin has always been something I've been able to do, even when I wasn't playing.
A song comes to mind and my throat loosens, my voice box getting ready, ready for me to sing, something I didn't even realise I wanted to do. But with this song, I can tell Mr Blackbourne with the lyrics how I feel, what I'm thinking.
My fingers find the keys and I press down, releasing the first notes. My eyes stay on my hands, afraid to look up, afraid to see his face. My fingers starts moving, finding the beginning of the song all on their own. It's time to sing.
My lips part. "If I could fly, I'll be coming right back home to you, I think I might..." My voice is soft and I worry about going louder and higher, unable to know if my voice will be able to manage after not using it for so long.
"Pay attention I hope that you listen, because I let my guard down, right now I'm completely defenseless..." My eyes drop closed, lost in the lyrics, lost in the music. I forgot how good it felt to play.
"For your eyes only, I'll show you my heart..." my voice becomes a little more pitched, a little louder. I always used to sing. Mom used to sing too. We used to always sing together; in the car, when we cooked, when we spent Sundays just playing music while dad read a book and listened, commenting every now and then at how good we were.
"I've got scars even though they can't always be seen, and pain gets hard, but now you're here and I don't feel a thing..."
I feel the air shifting around me but I'm too lost in the music to care, too lost in the lyrics that hold so much truth. For so long I've been the girl that's always kept to herself. At one of my old schools, I was nicknamed 'the loner', and I didn't care. But here with them, I want so many things, even if I don't understand what my heart is completely doing, where my heart is falling, and how many pieces it's going to be divided into.
But I'll wait, I'll be patient, knowing that one day I'll understand it all, understand them and most importantly, understand myself. I've been lost for so long, numb from the pain Mom's death had caused, I know that now I have to try and find myself again.
Talking was step one.
Spending Sunday afternoon painting with dad was step two.
Admitting out loud that I'm falling was step three.
Playing music and singing for the first time since I was a little girl is step four.
That's all I can do, take baby steps in the direction of the unknown and just hope they are the right ones. With the guys by my side though, I'm sure that they'll help lead me the right way.
"For your eyes only..." I sing, my fingers pressing the keys to produce the last note. My hands drop into my lap, feeling an ache of pain bloom across my shoulder, the first bit of pain I've felt since I removed my sling.
I sigh, open my eyes, and I search him out. He stands by the window, one hand holding my camera, the other holding his phone. His eyes are focused on the screens of the camera and the phone for a long moment before coming to look up at me.
I suck in a breath at the awe and fascination I find in his eyes and across his face. I hold my breath as he takes slow even strides over to me, placing his phone and camera on top of the piano. He sits down next to me and finally, he focuses those grey eyes on my face. "You're incredible."
"So are you," I tell him.
"I didn't realize you could sing as well. Mr Coleman would love to hear it, and I'm sure Mr Morgan would love to listen to you play," he says.
"One day," I say. The bell rings, signalling the end of class. "I best get going."
"Mr Taylor is on his way," Mr Blackbourne says.
I cringe. "Which one?" I ask just as there's a knock at the door. I turn in my seat and watch as it opens. My secret hope of it being Luke disappearing within seconds.
"That one." I can hear the amusement in Mr Blackbourne voice.
Dark, angry, narrowed eyes focus on me. "Don't run from me again, Baby," he booms.
My shoulders sag and I give him a sheepish smile. "I'm sorry?" I offer.
His eyes narrow so much I'm surprised he can actually see. "We'll discuss it later."
My lips purse. "Of course we will."