Dante

The spotlight nailed me to the parquet, blinding me as I faced an audience I couldn't see. Drops of sweat ran down the nape of my neck, caught by the white starch collar. The steadfast rhythm from the orchestra beat through my blood, holding me grounded as my fingers pressed against the harsh strings, moving from place to place in a dance my mind barely followed. I simply played, pouring out everything I had from the bottom of my core. Emptying myself of everything.

As always, I was close to losing control. One slip, one finger misplaced, and the night would be ruined.

I could hear Mother's voice in the back of my mind. Don't fail us, we have sacrificed so much for you. I tried not to listen because the words never helped.

The cello section initiated the final build-up, stroking their strings with utmost care. I banished Mother from my thoughts, letting myself be swept away, carried in the moment. I had to succeed, and I would. The beast was mine to temper, reined with the tips of my fingers.

You can do it. This time it was Chris' voice, gentle and reassuring. Inhaling a rugged breath, I almost lost my focus. I couldn't think about him. Not now.

The conductor moved the orchestra into the last part of my solo, and I followed, clinging to the sounds beneath my bow. It was a desperate chase to the finish, and once more, I didn't enjoy a second of it. I hadn't, not since Chris left.

Pushing myself to the limit, I held on until the audience broke out in applause. It was a tame response, not the wild cheers from a delirious crowd.

I failed.

At any other time, it would have been mortifying. My stomach would have dropped, my heart would have thumped loud and scared. But I couldn't feel anything. I was already numb.

---

"You have got to take this seriously, Dante," Mother snapped as she caught me off-stage. Lara, standing just behind her, winced at my dear mother's tone.

"I am," I replied, even if I knew it was far from the truth. I didn't care anymore.

"I heard you miss several notes, don't disappoint us like that again."

"I won't." It was an automated response, designed to avoid conflict.

"I know you're still sulking about that boy, but don't you understand now why I told you to get a grip on yourself?" She folded her arms across her chest. "He's meant nothing but trouble, and he would have ruined your career."

"Mrs. Heron, please, not here," Lara interjected.

Mother pursed her upper lip but said nothing. She knew it was foolish to cause a scene while the members of the orchestra still lingered around us. Producing a loud huff, she took my arm and steered me toward the door to my private lounge. Not for the first time, I wished it was truly my own private room, and not a room where Mother, Father and Lara could enter at will.

After finding out about Chris, my parents barely let me out of their sight. It didn't matter how many times I asked them to go home. They refused, bringing up painful memories of the disaster with Chris. Lara had tried to persuade them, but even she balked when it came to my parents. I resented her for it, almost wanting her gone as well, but she still made herself useful by cushioning their attacks.

I was old enough to disregard their words, but some part of me still wanted their approval, an approval I never gained while I was a child. They were rarely happy with my performance, and they pushed every button they knew I had, knowing fully well what effect it had on me.

Lara opened the tall door, letting us inside the dimly lit room. Scattered candles gave it a warm glow, but there was nothing warm about the atmosphere. Rooms like these held bad memories, at least if not counting those moments spent with Chris.

My hand clenched around the fragile neck of the Stradivarius. I had to move on. It was Chris' choice to leave, even Lara said so. In my desperation to save him from my parents' wrath, I had pushed him too far away from me, and now he was gone. Swept away like dust in a harsh wind.

I was the wind, and it pained me. I was poison, destroying everything in my path, something he should have known from the start.

The door shut with a loud bang behind me.

"You know we do this because we love you," Mother said, her voice laced with forced maternal care. She excelled at the act, but I knew better. It had taken years to understand that she only said these things to pull the strings even tighter around me, and when Chris had opened my eyes to real love, I had finally thought that I could break free. But, he was gone, and she remained.

"You don't do it because you love me," I replied, strengthened by Chris even if he wasn't around. It came out of nowhere, surprising even myself.

"What did you say?" Her tone screeched and bellowed at my conscience. 

I turned toward her, meeting her harsh glare. "I said that you don't do it because you love me."

"How dare you!" She shook with anger and her arm rose as if to slap me. She had done it before. Many times. However, this time the roles reversed. I stared her down, daring her to take that last step. Her arm lowered, knowing that in a physical fight, she didn't stand a chance against a grown man. I had never done anything in retaliation, but maybe she saw that this time would be different.

I was sick of her. I was sick of Father. I was sick of them ruining the small scraps of happiness that I grasped after while playing the instrument I loved. It was the same every time: they would point out the mistakes, never saying that it was good enough. But, even so, they couldn't take my passion away, no matter how hard they pushed me. It was the only reason I kept playing. But this time, they had taken Chris from me, and that was a different story, altogether.

"Be glad that we've supported you all these years. You would be nothing without us." She flipped me off, approaching the side table to pour herself a glass of chilled Champagne.

Lara gave me a silent nod in approval. She knew how hard this was for me, and more than anyone else, she wished that I could break free from my parents. In many ways I already had. When Lara had taken me in as a fragile thirteen-year-old boy, my life had turned for the better. But she never had the power to protect me entirely. My parents were always around, in one way or another.

I wiped off my instrument, handling the beauty with the reverence it deserved. It was the only relationship in my life that still worked, but a violin didn't keep me warm at night. That role had been given to endless girls, but the vicious cycle of dead affection dragged me down even further. I hadn't noticed until Chris entered my life and changed everything.

A candle flame reflected on the dark screen of my phone stared at me from the table, as if urging me to pick it up. I wanted nothing more than to call him, but it had been weeks, and the more time that passed, the harder it became.

The first time I dared to call, desperate to hear his voice, Mother had entered the room, staring at me while Chris uttered my name with his calming voice. I hadn't been able to say anything, and her presence reminded me why I should just let it be. It was useless to stir up emotions when nothing would come out of it.

We were doomed from the start.

The second time I called, he never picked up.