The Aristocat Lounge was booming full of people and the music played loudly. Everyone was enjoying themselves and I was playing my part as well.

But inside, I was a cacophony of emotions.

Tony had left. I hadn't told him to, but my silence had been too long. He had walked out and I hadn't seen him in almost five days.

He had given up on blue.

I was a drone as I worked the floor, circling the table, delivering drinks. Dan was up at the bar, being his usual charming self while flipping bottles. A few girls were leaning in over the counter, trying to flash their cleavages. I watched the scene before my eyes, watched the mirth in Dan's eyes as he shook his head and told them they were barking up the wrong tree.

I used to love seeing the disappointment on their faces, the sting when they realized he was off limits and off territory. Dan loved it too, but that was because he was a sucker for the attention. I used to be the same way. Who didn't love a good compliment from a hot, flirtatious stranger?

But, as I watched the scene now, I felt nothing. There was a hollowness in my chest I wasn't familiar with, but I knew exactly what had caused it.

It was my own fault. I hadn't quit while I should. I hadn't turned away when he had. Everything about him was messed up and I saw it right from the start, yet stupidly, I ran towards him. Ran towards chaos.

With chaos now out of my life, everything else suddenly seemed dull.

Dan caught my eyes in the moment I'd let my façade fall for a split second. I saw his grin fade, saw a small frown slide onto his face instead. He slung his apron over his shoulder and made his way towards me, at the very end of the bar.

"What's going on?" He asked, leaning in towards me to speak privately over the loud music. "What's with the face?"

He didn't know about Tony spending the night. As it turned out, Kyle and him had left early that morning to catch some farmer's market that started at 8am. He had sent me a text, but I hadn't bothered to check my phone—had forgotten to. Just like I forgot myself when I was around Tony.

"I'm okay," I replied, rubbing my temple. "Just a headache. Is it just me or is the music louder than usual?"

"Carlos is trying to make up for the fact that he's missing a violin," Dan replied, giving me a pointed glare. "Are you ever going to tell him or are you gonna keep up the pretense?"

I sighed and closed my eyes. Should I give up as well or wait a few more days? "I... I'll think about it, okay?"

Dan eyed me out, but then gave me a nod. "Alright. Gotta get back to work then," He grabbed the tray from my hands. "What do you need?"

Tony, my mind silently whispered.

~~~

I shivered as I rounded the corner of my building, pulling my jacket closer around me. The freezing cold nipped at my skin as gentle snowflakes danced down from the sky. Me and Dan had gotten off from work about 30 minutes ago. We had parted ways on the subway, Dan spending the night with Kyle again. I had a feeling they were getting serious.

That's why I found myself wandering down our block alone, my fingers numb from the cold. I had forgotten my gloves, and the thin satin gloves the lounge provided gave no warmth whatsoever. I hurried towards our door, frisking out the key from my pocket.

My feet halted to a stop when a shadow loomed in front of the building. His hulking figure got accentuated by the bulb from the streetlight above us, the shadows carving out his features. The tip of his trench coat was wet with snow.

"Tony." My breath turned white in the cold air, just as my body heated when his eyes locked with mine. Unlike the snow, they were burning and remained hard as stone.

"I need the violin," He gnashed out, like the admittance was too foul to repeat again. It wasn't surrender, it was... acceptance. Five days. That's how long it had taken him to battle his way back here, through the minefield in his mind.

That's why, with no words at all, I unlocked the door and let Tony step in first. We walked up the stairs in silence, Tony trailing behind me. I unlocked the second door and stepped aside like a servant.

He walked steadfastly towards the suitcase. His shoes dragged wet footprints across the wooden floor, but I didn't care as I trailed after him, my own doing the same. I sat down in my armchair, took off my boots, but left my overcoat and scarf on as he picked up the violin and stared at it.

For one burning minute, I tried imagining what he saw when he looked at the wooden instrument.

You hold the key to my past. Everything I am is inside you, but you won't give it to me. I can make you sing, but I cannot make you talk. Why? Why?

I held my breath when he finally lifted the violin and pressed it to his chin. Raising the bow, he put it to the strings.

And then, he tortured.

By the time his manic sawing stopped, my ears were bleeding and my eyes were crying. He forced the droplets out of me, made them fall and take whatever emotions I had inside me with them. The hollowness inside my chest dissipated and got filled up with everything instead, too much for me to handle. It came out in the shape of tears, silent unlike their true nature.

"Did you remember anything?" My voice jerked the words out of my throat without any rhythm. They were weak, simple, emotionless. I could no longer see who tortured who; the violin him, him me, or him the violin. Or me him?

The grit of his teeth was my answer. He had remembered nothing. Looking at the violin, his eyes turned angry, wrathful. Why? Why?

Its silence was a mockery. The wooden tool laughed in his face. You can torture me all you want, I'm never giving you what you need.

I stood up. Wiping my eyes, I discarded my jacket and scarf, throwing it on the couch next to him. I was walking towards my room when the silence was broken once again.

"Why do you care?"

I stopped up. Like frozen to the spot by his voice, my limbs turned to ice.

Why did I care? I didn't. Or did I? The question shouldn't be why. It should be how.

He was a complete stranger. I knew nothing more about him than he probably did himself, and the times we had really talked together could be counted on one hand. So how could I possibly care?

"I don't know," I whispered.

I heard his footsteps cross the floor. When the bulk of his shadow swallowed mine in the dark, I closed my eyes and felt my heart stutter in my chest.

His hands came to my hips. His touch seared through me and made my breath turn erratic as he slowly made me turn around and face him. He lifted my chin up, cupped my face; forced me to meet his eyes. My respiratory stopped as I saw the darkness in them, the deep, permanent indent between his brows as he stared me down. His blue orbs searched mine, dug into me, tore apart my façade and stripped my soul naked.

A tear rolled down my chin. I didn't even know why I was crying this time.

His lips parted, and then they were moving against mine. I closed my eyes and drowned in his torture as he consumed me; took my soul from me.

His movements were different than last time. There was a rawness to his lips. They were tender and sweet as they salvaged my lips, just like the last time, but there was something different to the way his mouth claimed mine. It was much... deeper.

I trembled against him as he cupped my neck, his hands so rough compared to his mouth. My skin burned, and the source of ignition was his touch.

He liked burning me, I realized. He liked torturing me. Just like he loved torturing his violin.

And that made me realize another thing; Right now, I was the violin.

He was controlling me, trying to make me break under his touch. He wanted me to sing. He was manipulating my body, parting my lips with his tongue that now slid across the seams of my bottom lip, making my breath evaporate.

Some men tortured with hard thrusts and tight grips. A fast fuck and an explosive ōrgasm; Tony tortured with the idea of love.

I was just about to cry out for more when his lips separated from mine. My eyes fluttered open and he pressed his forehead against mine, breathing shallowly through his mouth with his eyes closed. The look on his face surprised me; He was the torturer, so how come he was was the one who looked tortured right now?

I swallowed dryly and gulped in a helpful breath of air. I couldn't decipher the look on his face. Was it anger, regret, disappointment, or was he just fighting with himself like always?

He then suddenly pulled back and stood up, turning away from me as he pushed a hand through his hair. He yanked off his beanie, then continued to walk away until he found the opposite wall and placed his hand on it. The same hand that had been caressing my face. The same hand that tortured the violin.

He didn't need to play this time. Sometimes silence spoke just as much. Even more so than actions. He withdrew from me, because right in this moment, he had remembered something else; His torture had worked.

"What did you see?" I whispered. I was nothing but a body anymore, trapped like his violin. A victim. The only difference was, I was utterly willing.

"I can't," His voice was gruff, final. He clenched his fist against my wall, his body tensing up. "I can't, Melody."

"Yes, you can," I replied. My legs staggering a step forward. He was stubborn right now, fighting against his memories. I had to know—needed to know what did this to him. "Please, Tony. Just talk to me."

"Talk?" He spat the word out. "Talk?"

In one long stride, he was in front of me, his hand circling my throat. His eyes thundered, his expression stormed with wrath. I was pushed up against the wall, my hands clutching his wrist.

"Talk to you," He hissed out, jerking his finger over my chin. "Talk. Why don't you talk to me?"

His lips were on mine again, but not unlike a slap, they stung me only for a moment before he drew back again, exactly two inches.

"Talk. Fucking talk to me," He snarled, his lips moving against mine again. Each time he claimed my lips, he stole another piece of me. "Talk... open up to me... talk."

"Tony," I breathed out desperately, caught in his torture. His mouth gave and took; stole and returned. I was going to break.

"I don't see you," He finally growled out, clenching his teeth so tightly together I heard his molars grind. "Not you. I see blue."

"Blue what?" It was right there, he had the answer, but he was blocking it out.

"I can't!" He gritted again, squeezing his eyes shut. His hand tightened around my neck, cutting off my air. "I can't..."

He jerked my chin up and meshed his lips against mine, uninhibitedly. Casting aside all his control, all his reins, he forced my mouth to open for him as he pushed his tongue past my lips.

Something left my throat. A sound. Something between a cry and a whimper, a submissive plea for mercy. He gave me none. He savored my lips and my mouth, taking exactly what he wanted, regardless of the mess he reduced me to. I let out another whimper as he pushed his leg between mine, trapping me helplessly against the wall. Against him.

I was melting, falling apart under his torture, under his invasion, his savagery. Then, just as the last of my soul was about to slip away from me, he jerked away from my lips.

"Blue eyes," The words came from his mouth like whiplash. Freezing up, he looked at me, looking into my brown eyes.

- He saw blue when he was kissing brown.

• • •

Piece by piece.