Little Battles (38 page)

By the time I’d gotten to the end, I didn’t care what Chopin’s intentions were. I finished it much more harshly than it should have been played.

I didn’t want to sit next to Robin, and I didn’t want Sophie to be mad at me any longer. Thankfully, Robin stood and stepped away. I hoped she felt my anger.

Unable to control myself, I got up abruptly just as I pounded the final chord, and knocked the bench on its side. My next action was to slam the cover down over the keys, creating a satisfying crash that would probably ensure the need to have the piano tuned before long.

Had I slammed it any harder, something would have broken.

Everything was ruined now. Sophie hated me, just like
everyone
hated me. Nothing good in my life was lasting and all the women I loved, left. How could I go back to what I was before her? My heart would ache too much. I would feel the intensity of loneliness again, but this time I’d know what I was missing and it would hurt worse!

Maybe there was hope left, but I couldn’t see it. Maybe she would realize that she needed and loved me too. Maybe she would come to recognize this was all just a misunderstanding.

Who was I kidding? I had one shot with Sophie. One shot at happiness with her, and I’d blown it. In all the battles I was waging to save Sophie and keep her with me, I’d failed at the most basic level. I’d ruined her trust.

I’d lost this battle.

End Book Two

I knew my father was wrong about music. Dr. Emmanuel was right on the mark about it being a way to praise God and His love, but he hadn’t been wrong about my soul being marked. He was not wrong about the wickedness within me.

I knew Sophie wouldn’t understand. I knew she didn’t see me like that. Her eyes were clouded because I was the only person not looking to take anything from her. I only wanted what she would or could freely give, and she knew it. That was why she could fall asleep around me.

I hated that she thought so little of herself. I hated that she put down her obvious talent and culinary skills. I hated that she preferred to use her body, rather than her emotions, to give someone pleasure. I hated that someone had hurt her so deeply that she thought she was only good for one thing.

But I loved that she tried to be different.

I knew that her sobriety was on my shoulders, and if it wasn’t for whatever she felt for me, she’d either still be getting high or be in rehab.

She didn’t have to tell me. I felt the pressure to keep her clear-minded and level-headed, but I would accept any pressure put on me because she was worth it. I would help her, just as she would help me.

I loved that she wanted to be better, even if it was just for me.