Chapter Seventeen Cromwell

Chapter Seventeen

Cromwell

I banged on the door of Lewis’s office, rocking on my feet as adrenaline rushed through me. Last night I hadn’t slept for shit. I wanted to text Bonnie. Call her and hear her voice, but I had left her alone. I wanted her; I knew she wanted me. But I had to find a way to make her realize she needed me. Because as I’d lain there awake, staring at the ceiling, I knew I wasn’t giving her up.

I was a selfish prick. Always had been. But this time I wasn’t going anywhere, and it wasn’t just for me. Bonnie needed me too. I knew she did. I heard it in her voice and I saw it in her face.

I banged harder. “Lewis!”

I was running on no sleep. Easton hadn’t come home last night either. He hadn’t said a thing about Bonnie all this time. But his warning not to hurt her weeks and weeks ago now made sense. I assumed he’d gone to their home to be with her. And that just made me so jealous I couldn’t see straight.

I should be there with her too.

I had to be. The claws digging into my heart told me so.

I wouldn’t let her go through this alone. Because she had to get through it. There was no other choice.

“LEWIS!” I kicked the door in anger.

“That won’t get me to appear any sooner, Mr. Dean.” I spun around and saw Lewis approaching, carrying his briefcase.

“I need to speak with you.” I moved aside as he opened the door to his office. I pushed past him and went inside. Lewis came in afterward, closing the door shut as I paced along his office floor. He sat on the edge of his desk, putting his briefcase down beside him. “You have to put me and Bonnie back together.”

Lewis raised an eyebrow. “I’m not sure it’ll work, Cromwell.”

“Don’t!” I snapped. “Don’t give me your professor shit about it.” I stopped in front of him. The anger that was pulsing through me, the desperation, faded. “She’s sick.” Lewis didn’t say anything. Sympathy filled his face. Knowing sympathy. “You knew,” I said through gritted teeth. He nodded. “How long?”

“I found out just a couple of weeks ago.”

I sank down to the guest seat at his desk. “That’s why she stopped working with me?”

“That’s up to Bonnie to tell you, Cromwell.”

The blood drained from my face. “Because I was giving her shit. Not helping with the composition… Because she knew she was running out of time, and I…I…” I shook my head and pressed my palms into my eyes. “No,” I said with a hiss.

Lewis moved to the coffee machine in the corner. “You want one?” he offered. I stared at him, almost saying no. But then I realized I had nowhere to go. I had no one else to talk to.

“Yes. Black, no sugar.”

Lewis busied himself with the coffee, and I looked at all his pictures and paintings. I stared at the one above his desk. The colors, like synesthesia. “She loved the exhibit,” I said.

Lewis turned to me and smiled. “Did she?”

“She’s fascinated by it all.” I thought of her sitting with me on the stool, singing her song as I played her guitar. “She just loves music, full stop. Wants to be so good at it that it’s all she thinks about.”

“And you?” he asked, putting my coffee before me. He took his own and sat down behind his desk.

I stared at the picture that always pulled my attention. The one of Lewis at the Royal Albert Hall. “I never realized how much I loved it too.” I shook my head. “No, I did. That’s a lie.” But I wasn’t going to say anything else on it. I wasn’t ready to think of the reason I’d stopped playing yet. On top of Bonnie, it was all too bloody much.

Lewis sat forward, arms on his desk. “Forgive me for prying, but it seems you and Ms. Farraday have grown closer of late.”

I stared down at the blackness of my coffee. “Yeah.”

Lewis sighed. “I’m sorry, Cromwell. It’s got to be hard. To grow closer, and then… this …”

“Not as hard as it is for her.”

“No,” Lewis said. “You’re right.”

“She wants to pass this class so bad.” I looked at him. “She wants to complete the composition for the end of the year so much.”

Lewis nodded. The realization of her situation hit me so hard it almost winded me. “She won’t get to do it, will she?” My throat closed until I felt like I was being choked. I stared down at my hands. “I looked it up. Everyone says don’t google things, but I couldn’t help it.” I swallowed back the lump. “She’ll struggle to walk until she’s bedridden. Her hands and feet will become painful to use, filling with fluid.” I rubbed my chest, my voice growing more and more hoarse the more I spoke. “She’ll struggle to breathe, her lungs growing weaker. Her kidneys and liver will start to fail.” I squeezed my eyes shut, my nose flaring as I tried to keep my shit together. I tried to imagine Bonnie like that. I tried to imagine her in hospital, confined to a bed, her spirit strong but her body failing her day by day, and I couldn’t fucking cope.

“And you want to help her?”

I stared Lewis straight in the eyes. “I want to give her music. Have to.” I tapped my head. “Already, it’s building up in me, like my heart knows what it has to do for her. It has to give her what she needs so she can fight—hope.” Nervous energy swirled inside, making it impossible to sit still. I started pacing in front of his desk. “I keep hearing melodies. Keep hearing the different sections—string, woodwind, brass—playing the same music, showing me their color pattern. Mapping out the way for me in my head. It’s pressing at my brain. I need to get it out.”

Lewis was watching me, his coffee abandoned on his desk. “I know what that’s like.”

“You do?”

He pointed to the photo of him conducting. “That piece, my most famous, was born from losing someone I loved. From being robbed of a life that should’ve been mine.” He walked to the photo and stared up at himself. “I lost the one I loved through my own stupidity. All that was left was the music that never quieted. I had to write. The notes and melodies haunted me until I did.” He huffed a laugh. “Then, once it was done and out in the world, the symphony haunted me for the rest of my life. Still does.” He ran his hand through his hair. “I can’t play that piece of music. Even now. All these years later. Because it reminds me of what I could have had, who I could have loved, the life I could have lived if I hadn’t been so messed up.”

Lewis came beside me and tentatively laid his hand on my shoulder. “Don’t let her go if she means that much to you, Cromwell. Bonnie needs you now, more than ever.” He stared vacantly at the wall. “This could be something special that only you can give her. Music, Cromwell. It can be both a healer and a comfort. If you care for her, like I’m assuming you do, you have the gifts to make this time truly memorable for her. And I can’t say that about anyone else but you.” Lewis checked the time. “We have a class, Mr. Dean.”

I got up from my seat and headed for the door. “Thanks.”

Lewis gave me a tight smile. “If you need me, Cromwell, I’m here.”

I headed to the classroom and stopped dead in the doorway. Bonnie sat in her seat, staring at her notepad. I looked right at her, just drinking her in. I didn’t care who saw me. She was dressed in jeans, as always, this time with a pink jumper, and her hair was in a messy bun. In this moment, I didn’t think I’d ever seen anyone more beautiful.

The clearing of a throat snapped me back to the moment. Lewis was behind me. I took a deep breath and walked into the classroom. Bonnie lifted her head, and her face paled. Her eyes watched me as I walked up the stairs. They were shining. She was worried about what I’d do; I could see that. I could see the guilt on her face, in the tensing of her slight frame.

I stopped at her seat. Not giving one shit about the other students in the class, I leaned down and pressed my lips to hers. Bonnie didn’t even try to pull away. She just melted into me like she knew where she belonged.

I broke the kiss and sat beside her, taking her hand and pulling it onto my lap. I faced Lewis at the front of the class. A small smile appeared on his face, before he turned and wrote something on the board. I brought my gaze back to Bonnie and the flush on her cheeks. Students were talking in whispers and looking our way.

They could damn well look.

Bonnie ducked her head then glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Farraday,” I said. Her eyes filled with tears. The sight was a damn crowbar to my chest.

Then she smashed it wide open when she whispered, “Dean.”

I gripped her hand tighter as Lewis started the class. I never let her go through the whole lesson. I made no notes, but I didn’t care. Holding Bonnie was more important than anything right now.

* * *

When class was done, I released Bonnie only long enough for her to get her things. Taking her hand again, I led her slowly down the stairs and out into the corridor. She let me lead her through the building and toward the practice rooms.

Her feet faltered, and I held her tightly. Now that I was aware of what she was going through, I picked up on things that I hadn’t before. She walked heavily; the beat of her foot hitting wood sounded like a drum in my ears. Her short breaths were sharp bursts of irregular rhythm that felt out of sync with the brightness she exuded.

The sounds were dark colors in my head. Colors I didn’t like to see. Especially on Bonnie.

I brought us into a practice room and sat her down on a chair, pressing my lips to hers before dragging over the piano stool and sitting before her.

Her huge brown eyes were on me. She was nervous. I could tell by her fidgeting hands.

I couldn’t take my eyes off her face. It was as if ever since I found about her heart, I couldn’t stop noticing just how beautiful she was. I must have stared longer than I realized, because she tucked some loose hair behind her ear and whispered, “Cromwell.”

I blinked, ripping myself from my thoughts. Bonnie wore a worried expression. I reached out for her hand. Her focus dropped to our fingers. “We’re going to work together again,” I said, and her head snapped up. “On Lewis’s composition.”

“Cromwell.” She shook her head sadly.

I ran my free hand over the thigh of my jeans. “I want to play again.” I closed my eyes and could see the colors sparking back to life, growing more vibrant as I allowed that truth to hit home. Bonnie squeezed my hand. I opened my eyes. “I want to play because of you.”

“Me?”

I got on my knees, on the floor, my eyes level with hers. I cupped her face and felt my lip hook up. “Because you, with your questions and tenacity, made damn sure that I faced some shit I didn’t want to face. You pushed and pushed until I couldn’t turn away from it anymore. You pushed until I found myself in here, in the practice rooms, picking up instruments I hadn’t touched in three years.”

I kissed her forehead. “I fought against it. Fought against you. But when I saw you at that coffee house, singing, just you and your voice and your acoustic guitar, I finally saw something in you I hadn’t seen before—kinship. You loved music as much as I did. But unlike me, you weren’t afraid to show the world.” My stomach clenched. “Now I know…everything… My need to play again is just…more.”

Bonnie shook her head, ready to argue. I cut her off before she could. “You make me want to make music again, Farraday. Let me do this with you.”

Her eyes dropped. “Cromwell,” she said softly, “things will get worse.” I held my breath. “A lot worse. You have a life. You have a chance to create something great alone.” She swallowed and looked dead into my eyes. “I will only hold you down. You don’t need to do this for me.” She smiled a self-deprecating smile. “I won’t be able to compose anything that is worthy of your time. I’m driftwood to your tall ship.”

I knew she was talking about more than the music right now. She was talking about her. She was talking about me. About us.

“Then lucky for you I’m a musical genius and can take the lead.” My lip hooked in humor. Bonnie’s smile turned from sad to amused. I kissed her nose, just because I could and it was there. “I’m not going anywhere. If you haven’t learned by now, I’m stubborn and pretty much do whatever the hell I like.” I moved to the piano, taking the stool with me. I nudged my head to the space I’d left on the stool. “Get your arse here, Farraday.”

I could see her debating what to do. I never looked away from her. She took a deep breath then got to her feet. My blood pumped faster around my body when she sat down beside me.

“Well, you had better be as good as you’ve said. You’ve kinda built yourself up, Dean,” she joked, and I laughed out loud. Bonnie froze, shock engulfing her pretty face.

My humor dropped. “What’s wrong?”

“You laughed.” A wide smile pulled on her lips. “Cromwell brooder-of-the-century Dean actually laughed.” She closed her eyes, making my heart fucking melt. “And it was bright yellow.” She opened her eyes. “Like the sun.”

“You got synesthesia now?”

“No. But I don’t need it. When you laughed…” She nudged my arm. “It illuminated the room.”

I smirked and put my hands on the keys. The minute I felt the ivories under my fingertips, it was like coming home. My hands played a few scales, warming up for the music we were about to create. “We need a theme.”

“I know we do. I’ve been trying to get you to agree to one forever.”

I nodded, guilt tightening my chest. “I’m here now.”

Bonnie rested her head on my shoulder. “You’re here now.” She still sounded dubious. Like she didn’t think I should be. But she knew by now that I was stubborn.

The room was silent as Bonnie thought. “It should be personal.” I nodded. I waited for her to finish her thoughts. “What about my journey?” She looked up nervously through her lashes and laid her hand over her heart. “With my heart.” She gave me a watery smile. “And wherever it may go from here. The fight. The uncertainty. The joy…or…” She didn’t finish that sentence. I didn’t need her to.

“Yeah,” I rasped. “That’s good.” Already, my head was racing with ideas, notes forming as she spoke. Distant violins played in the background, trumpets and flutes chasing the melody.

“And for your side?”

I stared at her. “What do you mean?”

“What can we thread into the piece for you? So you’re represented too.”

My hands balled into fists. “I’ve got nothing.” That pit that had lived in my stomach for so long threatened to erupt. Bonnie’s disappointment was broadcast on her pretty face. But, unlike all the other times, she didn’t push me. Her silence screamed her sadness at my response. But, like always, my shutters went up.

“I loved the piece you played that night. The one you didn’t finish.”

I squeezed my eyes shut. “No.” I was being a dick. I knew it. But I just…couldn’t…

Bonnie laid her head on my arm again. It was funny. She was acting no different from all the other times, but now I could see how tired she was getting. Or maybe she was just letting me see her as she truly was. She didn’t have to pretend anymore.

Unlike me.

My fingers started moving, her words circling like vultures in my head. “I loved the piece you played that night. The one you didn’t finish…”

My lips moved to her head, a soft kiss pressed into her hair. But my hands followed the music that was coming from within. A short, rhythmic singular note. A heartbeat. Then another. People. Lots of people all with beating hearts. More. More and more hearts beating in unison…then—

“Mine,” Bonnie said, eyes closed, understanding the musical story I was telling. A single delicate note, out of sync and standing on its own. Bonnie’s smile lifted as a melody came next, light and bright.

Violet blue in my mind.

Bonnie listened, arms clutching mine as I played, my idea jotted down on the keys. “There,” she would say. “Keep that.” I’d play. “Add strings,” she’d add. “Violins and violas taking the top notes.”

I played, and Bonnie wrote down the parts we were keeping on manuscript paper. Hours passed. I looked down at Bonnie resting against my arm and realized she was asleep. I moved my hands from the keys and just stared at her peaceful face.

A slam of pain crowbarred into my stomach as I did. A rush of anger seemed to singe the bones in my body. Because Bonnie Farraday was perfect.

Perfection with an imperfect heart.

I stared down at the piano. As the keys stared back at me, the familiar pain of loss cut through me, making me lose my breath. The emotions I kept trapped inside threatened to break free. But I couldn’t face them and this. I inhaled Bonnie’s scent and tried to keep from falling apart.

I had to think of Bonnie. Nothing else.

We’d talked some. She’d told me a little of what the doctors said. She’d wanted to stay in school for as long as she could. I could tell by her eyes that she was determined. But I could tell by how tired she was, by how she struggled with such simple tasks, that she wouldn’t be attending classes for long.

I wrapped my arm around her and hugged her close. I stared at the blank wall in front of me and just let her sleep. It was strange. I’d never been one for closeness and affection before, but Bonnie Farraday in my arms, sleeping and clawing back the strength that was trying to escape, felt like the most natural thing in the world.

I’d pushed too hard today. I made a note to not work us so hard from now on. It was another half hour before Bonnie stirred. When she blinked herself out of sleep, she looked up at me, a moment of confusion taking hold before her cheeks blazed.

“Cromwell…I’m so sorry.”

I took her chin between my thumb and finger. “Look at me, Bonn.” She looked anywhere but at me. Until she eventually lifted her eyes. “You needed sleep. It’s fine.”

“Sorry.” I could hear the embarrassment in her voice, see the glistening of her eyes.

It just about broke my heart. I leaned forward and kissed her lips. She kissed me back. I laid my forehead to hers and said, “Let’s make a deal right now. You ever need to rest while you’re at school, you come to me. You need anything at all, you come to me. And you don’t get embarrassed. Deal?”

Bonnie hesitated but then said, “Deal.”

“I’ll take you home.” I helped her stand and took her out to my truck. The minute I got in the driver’s side, she laid her head on me and fell back asleep. As I drove away from campus, I felt too many emotions at once. Overcome that Bonnie felt comfortable enough to fall asleep against me. But scared shitless at how tired she was. A few hours in the music room and a couple of classes had exhausted her body.

I heard the opening notes of the piece we had begun, the mass of heartbeats with one single outlier. And nothing could be truer. Since the second I arrived in Jefferson, everybody had been the same. All except one, a girl called Bonnie Farraday.

The single exception to the rule.

I pulled to a stop at Bonnie’s house. She was still fast asleep. I allowed myself a short glance at her face before I took her in my arms and carried her to the house. The door opened before I even had to knock. Bonnie’s mum showed me the way to her room. I laid her on the bed, Bonnie not even waking once.

I kissed her head and whispered into her ear. “I’ll see you soon, Farraday.” I stood, wanting to move, but my legs wouldn’t let me leave. It took me a further five minutes to turn and head for the door. Bonnie’s mum was watching from the doorway.

She shut the door behind me. I ran my hand through my hair. “She fell asleep in the music room when we were practicing. Then she fell asleep again in my truck.”

I wasn’t sure I’d seen pain reflected in someone’s stare before. But as I looked at Mrs. Farraday, I saw it clear as day. She was losing Bonnie. She was losing her daughter. Her child. And she had to stand back and watch it happen, helpless to do anything about it.

I couldn’t breathe at that thought.

“She’s getting weaker,” she said, a strength in her voice that I didn’t expect. I looked at the closed door as if I could see Bonnie through it. My stomach fell at Mrs. Farraday’s words. Her hand came on my arm. “She wants to stay at school for a while longer, but I’m not sure it’s feasible. I’d say she has three weeks at most before she becomes too weak. It’s her breathing mainly. Her lungs.”

“That fast?” My voice was gravel as the question slipped from my lips.

“She’s not in a good way, son.” Her voice hitched, her bravery faltering for a second. She fixed her hair then smiled. “But she’s strong, Cromwell. She’s determined to get a heart. We’re praying every day for that miracle. It will happen. I know it will.”

“I want to be here,” I said, my chest constricting. “When she can’t be at school, I want to be able to still see her.”

“I know my daughter, Cromwell. And she’ll want you to be here too.” She reached out and held my hand. “Maybe you’re the guardian angel that has arrived to get her through all this.”

A wave of emotion hit me, so overwhelming it stole my ability to speak.

“We’ll be away for a few days in Charleston,” she said. “Specialists. I’m sure Bonnie will let you know when we’re back.”

I nearly demanded she let me come. Insisted that they take me too. But one look at the slumped shoulders on Bonnie’s mum, and I couldn’t. I tensely nodded my head then left the house. Just as I stepped onto the path, Mrs. Farraday said, “If you see Easton, will you please tell him to come home?” She dropped her head. “His sister needs her best friend.”

I nodded and got into my truck. Easton was already in the room when I got back. I shut the door, about to face him, when he flew at me, his hands flattening on my chest as he smashed me against the door. “What the hell are you doing with my sister?” he spat. His face was beetroot red. I pushed him back, but Easton was a brick wall.

I yanked his arms off me and shoved him against the wall. But he wasn’t finished. “She’s not one of your easy fucks!” he said, hissing. His fist came out and punched me across my face. I tasted blood on my lip. I tightened my hands into his shirt and held him still, anger fueling my words.

“I know she’s not, you prick.” Easton tried to strike me again. I pushed my forearm over his neck, stopping him from moving. “I know she’s not!” I pushed harder, cutting off his breath. “You think I don’t know that? She’s…” The truth made me pause. But when I looked into Easton’s eyes, I said, “She’s everything, East. Fucking everything!”

Easton stilled. I dropped my arm and backed up. Easton was breathing heavily, chest rising and falling. His cheeks were red, but the rest of his skin was pale. His eyes were tiny and rimmed with red. Blood from my lip dripped down my chin.

Easton sagged against the wall, and I looked at him. Really looked at him. Where the colors around him were once bright, a rainbow of neon, now there were only blacks and grays and navy blues.

“She’s gonna die,” he said quietly, and his face contorted in sadness. I could feel the waves of fear pulsing from his body. His eyes fell on me, but I could tell he wasn’t really seeing me. “She’s fought it for so long. But it’s finally giving up. Her heart.” He met my eyes. “She’s gonna die.”

“They might get a heart for her.”

Easton laughed, no humor in his tone. “You know how rare it is for one to become available? The exact match?” I clenched my jaw when I realized I didn’t. Beyond an internet search, I didn’t know anything. Easton slumped down the wall, completely dejected. “Almost never happens.” I sat on the floor too, leaning against my bed. I licked at my lip, tasting nothing but blood.

“Her body will give up soon,” Easton whispered. His eyes were haunted; it was the only way to describe them. He leaned his head against the wall. “She’s had so many surgeries throughout the years.” He shook his head. “I thought she was getting better. I thought…”

“The valve started to fail,” I said, telling him what he no doubt already knew.

“What the hell is the world without Bonnie?” My stomach tensed. Because I wouldn’t even let myself think it. A world without Farraday would be…

I shook my head. “She’s strong.” Easton nodded, but I could see he didn’t believe it. “She is.”

“Bonnie’s strong. But her heart isn’t.” His eyes lost focus. The colors around him deepened even further into darkness. It reminded me of his latest paintings. “She can only be as strong as her heart lets her be.” He sighed and ran his hands down his face. “I knew there was something wrong.” I looked at the unfinished painting on his easel. “I could feel that she was lying. Hiding the truth.” He tapped his head. “Twins.”

“She wanted to be as normal as she could.”

Easton’s eyes narrowed on me. “You hated each other.”

“No. Not really.”

He shook his head. “She’s too fragile.” The spark of anger that always waited, ready to strike, in my stomach flared to life at his words. Because I knew this was him warning me off her. But it was too late. He didn’t understand me, and he sure as hell didn’t understand me and Bonnie. What we shared. “She doesn’t have the strength to deal with your shit.”

“She needs me. Wants me.”

Easton shut his eyes and just breathed.

“She needs you,” I said, and he tensed. Every muscle in his body pulled tight. “She needs you more than ever.”

“I know,” he said after several strained seconds. I leaned back against my bed. A huge, crushing weight seemed to lie on my shoulders. Easton sat in silence for so long I didn’t think he would speak again. Until he whispered, “She can’t die.”

I looked up at Easton, only to see tears fall down his cheeks. My gut clenched, and I felt the same lump I’d been fighting since yesterday block my throat. Easton’s face crumpled. It was one of the first times I’d ever seen him serious. Right now, he was as serious as death.

“She’s my sister. My twin.” He shook his head. “I can’t, Crom. I can’t be without her.”

My eyes blurred, but I got up and sat beside him. Easton’s head fell forward and his body shook as he cried. I clenched my jaw, not knowing what the hell to do. It felt like my stomach was ripping open when I let Easton’s words sink in. “She can’t die…”

I pushed my tongue against my teeth to keep from falling apart too. Easton’s sobs grew louder, my friend losing it as he sat against the wall. I lifted my arm, letting it hover over him, until I laid it around his shoulder and pulled him to my chest. Easton fell against me. I stared across the room at his unfinished painting. At the black swirls and the turbulent paintbrush strokes.

It was this moment. It was exactly what he was feeling now. He’d known. Known something was wrong with Bonnie, but he hadn’t dared ask. As I stared at the painting, as Easton cried for his twin, I couldn’t help but see Bonnie’s face in my head. Her dark eyes and dark hair. Her pretty face. And her sitting up on that stage, guitar in her hands, violet blue pouring from her mouth. I gasped for breath when pure fear stole all the air in my lungs. Fear that I’d lose her before I truly got the chance to know her. My favorite color ripped from my life. Bonnie taken away before she could leave her fingerprint on the window of the world.

I shook my head, ignoring the damn tear that fell from the corner of my eye. “She won’t die,” I said, gripping Easton tighter. “She won’t die.”

My father’s face flashed into my mind, and with it came the reminder of the void his absence had brought, never to be refilled.

Until Bonnie Farraday walked into my life on a beach in Brighton and started bringing me something I didn’t even know I needed—silver.

Happiness.

Her.

“She won’t die,” I repeated one last time, letting the conviction of those words settle inside me.

Easton lifted his head ten minutes later. He wiped his eyes with his forearm and stared across at his painting. “I need to go see her.” I nodded, and Easton got to his feet.

I moved away from the door and sat on my bed. Easton rocked awkwardly on his feet. He scratched the back of his head. “If you’re in, you gotta be all in.” He took a deep breath. “It’s gonna be rough, and she’s gonna need those who love her around her.” Easton’s eyes bored right into mine, a clear challenge. Then his face softened. “She acts tough. She fights hard. But deep down, Bonn is terrified.” He swallowed, and I felt the lump in my throat thicken. “She doesn’t wanna die, Crom. She has so much fucking life in her that if she were to be taken away now…”

When he looked at me again, there was only conviction in his face. “She’s the best of us both. I’ve always known that.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead he left the room, leaving the shadow of his blacks and navy blues behind. I wasn’t sure anything else would color this room until Bonnie got the heart she needed.

I lay staring at the ceiling for an hour before getting up and taking a shower. As the water fell over my head, running down my body and hitting the tiles at my feet, Bonnie’s question wouldn’t leave my head. The one about the unfinished piece I had accidently played that night. The one I hadn’t touched in three years. I laid my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. But the water from the shower, like rain on the window, like the sound of the tears that fell all those nights ago, brought that piece to my mind.

Easton’s dark colors danced in my eyes as the piece grew in volume. And I couldn’t shut it off. Like a flood, it stormed the dam, demolishing the walls.

The shower room was silent, empty but for me this late at night. And I was glad. I was glad as my hands slapped at the tiles when my legs became weak, the music playing in my head, the opening bars crushing my heart. Only now, instead of just my father’s face in my mind, Bonnie’s was there too. I shook my head, trying to get them all to leave me alone. I couldn’t cope with the emotions they brought. The emotions that were too much, too bloody much for me to take.

Colors burst like fireworks in my head. My stomach tightened, my heart pulled, and my legs gave way. I dropped to the floor, the hot water turning cold as it battered my head in rhythmic beats. And then the tears fell. The water and the tears were a blur as they collided and crashed to the floor. Though neither felt cleansing.

Nothing but the “gift” I’d been given would take these feelings from me. I sat back on my knees and stared down at my hands. They were shaking. They curled into fists, and I wanted to smash them against the tiles. But I didn’t. Because the need to create governed my choices right. My hands were my tools. They were the only things that could take these emotions away.

Some saw synesthesia as a God-given gift. Some parts were; that I couldn’t deny. But this part, the part that made my emotions so strong I couldn’t take it, was a curse. I could see them. Feel them. Taste them. And it was too much. As I thought of Bonnie, as I pictured my father that last time I saw him…I bent over, the pain in my stomach becoming too much to bear. It was like someone had taken a bat to my ribs, my heart carrying so much sadness it couldn’t cope.

I took a deep breath and got to my feet. Still wet, I threw my clothes on. And I ran. I ran across the quad to the music building, bursting through the door and into the closest music room. I didn’t even bother with the light. I just sat at the piano and lifted the lid. The moon shone in through the high window, bathing the ivory and black keys in a silver glow.

Silver.

It was if my father were watching over me. Showing me the way back to happiness. This—music—my greatest lost love, only found again thanks to one girl in a purple dress.

She was my God-given gift. The girl who brought me back life.

My hands splayed on the piano. And, closing my eyes, I started to play. The piece that had inspired my change to dance music flowed out of me as though a prisoner locked inside a cell for too many years to count had been freed. I was lost to the notes. Lost as I replayed my mum walking into my room telling me he was gone. The army officer showing up on our doorstep with a set of dog tags in his hand. And the night I learned he’d gone missing, my heart shattering with regret and pain. The music filled every inch of space, leaving nothing but this piece for me to breathe in. My hands ached as I played and played it again. The new bars of notes pouring from me like they had always been. My hands never faltered even though my heart stuttered. Memories like grenades were thrown at my feet. But my fingers were ready and fought through the minefield.

Then, when the piece had ended, the sound of gunshots in my head, a goodbye to a fallen soldier, a war hero… my hero…my hands stilled. My eyes opened, feeling swollen and beaten…but I could breathe.

The colored pattern was imprinted in my mind. A tribute to my dad. Peter Dean.

“Dad,” I whispered, the word echoing in the room. I leaned my head on the piano and knew, without a doubt, that it was the greatest piece I’d ever composed. Half the heaviness had lifted from inside me. And when I lifted my head, wiping the silent tears from my face, I knew there was someone who needed to hear it.

I had to play it one more time.

When she was back, she’d hear it.

I needed her to hear it.

I just needed her, full stop.