Chapter 18

EIGHTEEN

Phoenix

W ith every stroke of my bow, I could still smell her on my fingers. The lilting, mournful notes filled the late morning air, mingling with the crashing of the waves on the rocks below.

I'd spent so many hours up on the cliff tops as the years had gone by. Usually as an escape from my uncle when he'd had one too many whiskies and decided to let me know how much I owed him for taking me in.

I'd found the ancient violin in one of my hideouts, in a collapsing shed near the cottage. A dusty old trunk tucked beneath a mountain of rotting blankets had hidden it away for god knows how long. It was without a doubt much older than I, but in pretty good shape from what I could tell.

And it was mine.

It was the first thing I'd owned since I lost everything that didn't belong to my uncle. That I hadn't had to silently beg for. I treasured her .

To avoid my uncle taking it away, I only ever played it on the far end of the island, up on the cliff tops. My uncle had grown breathless by that point, and there wasn't a chance in hell he'd climb up there to take it from me.

There were no teachers, and I hadn't been allowed a computer or phone or music books. So I figured it out on my own. Screech by screech. Eventually it started to sound less like a bag of cats being walloped and more like music. Whenever I stumbled back to the cottage, tired and hungry, my fingertips would be swollen from pressing on the strings.

Never had any moment of playing been quite so sweet as with the scent of my angry little ember wafting between the notes.

Settling into a long, woeful Scottish melody, I played into the light morning wind. The sea stretched out before me and I was alone in my piece until a soft voice broke the quiet.

Without missing a note, I turned to see Laura sitting on a moss covered stump, her eyes glazed as she stared out over the ocean. Her lips moved as though enchanted, the beautiful sound tumbling from them despite her looking a thousand miles away.

She knew the song I played, so I continued it for her, the music wrapping around her silken words and filling the area around us with delight. I'd never been able to sing along with the music. When I'd finally gotten access to the internet after my uncle was dead, I'd long given up hope of ever being able to use my mouth. It had been too long. My uncle had long told me that. There was nothing to be done for me.

Laura's eyes sparkled with tears as her voice cracked mid verse. It was like a dagger to the gut. Was she crying because I'd touched her? She'd been so wet, her body crying out for more. I knew she was stuck with me, but there was something there between us, I could feel it. I just needed her to feel it too.

Sweat broke out on my forehead as I played my violin harder filling the gap left by her cessation of singing. A soft whicker tore my eyes from her as the wild ponies loitered at the edge of the plateau. They'd often come to hear me play, but had always been too skittish to be my friends. No matter how badly I'd have loved for them to be.

One broke from the group and lowered its head, treading over the grass to where Laura sat. I watched, mesmerised, as it gave me a cautious look before nuzzling gently at her tear streaked face.

Of course she'd bewitched them like she'd bewitched me. We were all powerless beneath her perfection.

Laura let out a giggle as his brown snout tickled at her, her fingers coming up to tenderly stroke at his nose.

Jealousy filled my stomach, and I pulled my violin down to my side, watching as they both betrayed me with their intimacy.

I'd longed for both of them to react to me with the soft, sweetness in which they embraced. Yet neither had deigned to see me worthy.

It was ridiculous to be jealous of a pony, or of it giving its attention to Laura, but it was yet another rejection.

Still, as much as it pained me to see them making friends without me, it was still a perfect vision. My girl being so tender was a joy to witness, even if it was for a beast more fair than I. She deserved love, and why would she choose to have it from me? A deformed creep who'd stolen her away in the night. A monster who wanted to consume her every breath.

A nothing .

Sure, I had money. Maybe that would be enough if she knew about how lucrative my job was, but I wanted to be wanted. To have her whisper my name into the sheets at night, and laugh with me over the dinner table. To hear her beg for my touch so prettily in the depths of night.

I should let her go.

I can't.