(Who would have thought I would ever find the time to write? But I did. Which is why for the first time in weeks, I am okay with updating. In the first part, he is around ten years old, and in the second he's sixteen. I made the small change right now (you may gotten another BM notification). Enjoy! xx)
"DIEGO, MY LOVE, come here please."
I rushed to my mother's music room, she would not be found in any other room other that one and mine. I ran along the hallway and skidded to a stop in the music room. A smile graced her features as she noticed I was out of breath. I was ten but incredibly unfit.
"Would you play my guitar for me while I sang?" She asked in her soft, light voice.
I nodded eagerly and she handed me her guitar. I glance at her score and try to memorise as much as I can. She settles down at the piano. She was still teaching me to play the piano, but for now my expertise laid with the guitar.
She signals for me to start. With one hand, my fingers strum the strings and with the other, I move my hand and position my fingers with ease to switch between notes. I remembered when I couldn't even move my hand with my mother's help.
She was the most skilled, patient and nurturing teacher I could have ever had She may have laughed when I messed up, but her laugh was so contagious that I could not help but laugh as well. She has such a broad range of talent, but she was constantly learning. Among other things, her drive was something I truly admired.
My thoughts come to a complete standstill when she begins to sing. She started high, her voice never wavering as she held long notes. Her voice floated into my body and it began to relieve any tension inside of me. It filled the entire room and seemed to brighten it. She closed her eyes to focus on hitting each note perfectly, but there was no strain in her voice. There was never a strain.
Her voice was angelic, it drew all of your attention without even knowing it. There seemed to a glow around her, a permanent spotlight to highlight her inexplicable talent. Her voice was captivating and I always lost myself within her voice that surrounded us. No matter how low or high she sang, it was enchanting.
There was a newfound beauty to her when she sang. She was always breathtaking, even when she believed she was at her worst. But when she sang, she took it to a completely new level. Today, her hair cascaded down her shoulders in glistening waves, her eyes were closed in a serene state, not one line visible on her face. Her body was completely without stress and confliction. When she sang, nothing else mattered, it worked like a vacuum for her as well.
When she finished, she opened her eyes slowly as a smile spread across her lips. She turned to me with pride written across her features.
"Oh sweetheart, you really are brilliant at the guitar," She says and I beam.
She pats the seat next to her and I carefully remove the strap of the guitar and join her. She wraps an arm around me to pull me into a side-hug. She presses a kiss to my head and I breathe in her scent. Jasmine, like her soap, lotion and perfume. It was calming, just like everything else about her.
"You are going to grow up and do spectacular things. With your kind heart, natural intelligence and talents, you are going to change the world. You can be anything you want to be in life, never forget that. I do not care what your father says, if you do not want to inherit his company, then don't. We both know he will do whatever I tell him. If that is what you want to do, that is also fine. I just want you to know that your choices are never limited.
"You are the kindest boy I have ever met, and perhaps I am biased, but I know it to be true. I think your friendship with Marco is the perfect representation of this. You have this unbelievable ability to learn things in an instant. Your mind is filled with so many things, and you still have so much to learn. With this knowledge, you will have unchallengeable power. Let's not forget the resources at your fingertips thanks to the successes of your father and I that we are so grateful for.
"My darling, you hold the world in your hands. You can do whatever you want with it. Don't forget to fall in love, of course. My life would be nothing if not for your father, I would not even have you. Your father changed my life the moment I met him. He may seem so intimidating, but I know how soft and kind he truly is. I love that he seems to save all of it for the two of us so that we are overwhelmed by his love. He is the greatest man I have ever known, and I am the luckiest woman alive to be married to him and to share him child. I know that you will find all of this in your long, prosperous life. I cannot wait to meet the girl who manages to steal my little boy's heart. She will be an angel, just like you."
There were tears in my eyes as she kissed me again. I whispered that I loved her, and she whispered it back. I closed my eyes, and treasured that moment.
"DIEGO, I NEED to talk to you," My father says in the doorway of my bedroom.
I noticed the creases on his forehead that seemed to have appeared within a few hours, and that he seemed to have become visibly older since this morning. He was smiling in the morning because today was my mother's last show of her farewell concert and it was in our city. I would finally have my mother back.
"Can I sit?" He asks, gesturing to the bed.
I nod and he hesitantly sits next to me. He fiddled with his fingers anxiously which made me extremely frightened. My father had never been nervous about anything in his life, except for when it came to my mother. Apparently, when he asked her out, he was a sweating, stuttering mess.
My mother.
I looked at my father again, studied him. I noticed that his eyes seemed smaller and red, his hair was unruly contrary to his usual painstakingly neat combed hair. His tie was loosened, and his sleeves bunched up around his elbows. Worry flooded me as I looked at him. It pained me to see my father hurting as he was the strongest person I knew, he wore failures and grief with his head held high.
What on earth had broken my father? My mother?
"Dad?" I say gently and he averts his gaze to my floor.
"Your mother, she...she got on a plane earlier this morning. Now, I don't know whether you've checked the news today..." He trails off and I shake my head, "Oh. Well, there was a...a plane crash."
I think I almost died in that moment.
It felt as if my heart had stopped, and my mother was my heart. It would never be the same, it would never feel anything the way it had when she was alive. It would be incapable of love because the receiver of most of my love had died.
My mother was dead.
The person who had tucked me into bed at night, taught me to play the guitar and piano, stood beside my father practically in tears as I started high school and promised me that she would come home and would be entirely mine. She had made so many promises about our new life together without any of her own responsibilities, all of the surprises for my father like visiting him at work.
My mother, the kindest person I knew. My mother who never hurt a soul in her entire life. My mother deserved the world, and what did the world give her? They gave her a death that was probably filled with excruciating pain as she hit the ground, no death is truly instantaneous, a death before which she was forced to think about my father and I having to endure a life of pure darkness without her.
I remembered my father pulling me into his arms, he must have also seen my life crumble before me. My shoulders shook as sobs wracked my body, and it was not long before my father's weeps seemed to be in synch with mine. I closed my eyes wishing that my father would stop crying so that I may open my eyes and find that it was all a dream. It never happened. I don't know how long we sat there on my bed, a small bundle of incomparable grief and hopelessness.
All I knew was that if my mother didn't get the happiness she deserved, then I certainly had no right to feel anything even remotely close to that.
"DIEGO, ARE YOU still with me?"
I blink a few times and, after a moment of blurs, I see Dr Dufre sitting across me concernedly.
"Yes, of course."
"Are you hiding something from me?" There was a hint of offense in his voice, sheer disbelief that I would keep something from him.
"I've been playing my mother's guitar again. Letta was sick and I played for her. She fell asleep pretty quickly, so I proceeded to play one of my mother's songs. It felt good. It's been ages since I last played, and the nostalgia knocked the wind out of me. But I enjoyed it, I enjoyed playing for her," I say in a rapid stream of words.
"You played a love song for her? Something you swore to never do for anybody?" He asks with a hint of a teasing tone. Sometimes I hated his memory.
"Yes."
"Can you repeat why you swore to never play a love song for anybody else?" He requests and I can't help the blush creeping up my face.
"I didn't believe that I would feel something for anybody. I knew that my mother's love songs were written and performed with passion from loving somebody so wholeheartedly, so if I sang and my feelings didn't resemble that, I would be disgracing my mother's memory and I would dig my own grave before doing that." I don't look at him as I say this.
"So what changed?" He asked, his pen pressed against his paper ready to write.
"She came into my life and shifted it completely off its axis, but in the best way I could possibly imagine. She restarted my heart."
I hope you enjoyed that. It was just a small insight into his relationship with his mother. I quite enjoyed writing it.
We're almost done with this! I keep telling myself I want to finish it, but I'm also dreading it.
Also, can we address the fact that for some reason whenever people give Diego good advice regarding Violetta he COMPLETELY contradicts it? What is up with me?
Thanks for reading 🙈 Sorry for any errors 💚
~Lexy 😈