WHITE WALLS (19 page)

Lost in the moment.

I notice that music is hypnotic to him and as he creates more, he inhales a breath like the notes are a delicious feast and he’s going to chew them slowly, savoring every last flavor burst before they slide down the back of his throat to the pit of his stomach. His jaw tenses when the song hits a crescendo and even though I tell myself not to, I move forward. I gently push the door to his study open, stepping into the dim light and moving closer to skilled violinist before me.

Closing my eyes, I throw my head back and wait for more music to fill my ears and wait for my subconscious mind to start dancing in a waltz-like fashion. Then suddenly, the music cuts out and my eyes snap open to see a frustrated and confused looking Elijah Watson. I stare at him. He stares at me. For a whole five minutes we exchange awkward glances. Then finally, I say gasping, “You’re beautiful,” then I feel the slightest bit flustered so I add, “I mean you play beautiful—err—I mean you play beautifully.”

His eyes narrow, scanning my face and he bites the left side of his bottom lip. “What are you doing in here? “There’s a curious yet wary tone to his voice. “I gave you the right wing of the upstairs for a reason.” I know this. He gave me the right wing because he didn’t want me snooping around the left one. But tonight I couldn’t help myself.

 
He takes a step closer to me, hovering above me, his golden eyes penetrating mine from above. Breath escapes me and I bend backwards as he reaches over my head, grabbing the violin case from the chair behind me. I admire the way the muscles in his abdomen clench and grow taut as he lifts the case cautiously over my head.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize, still partially breathless, “but I had to follow it. You know the music. Canon in D is such a lovely song.” The song cast a spell over me, luring me from my bed and the world of dreams.

“I’m surprised you know it,” he comments with a cocky smirk as he puts the violin into the case, lined with crushed blue velvet. “Most of the women I know are into more of the modern music.”

I want to tell him that I’m probably
not
like most of the women he knows, but I don’t. Instead I say, “I know all the classics. It is my favorite genre of music.” I think back to a few of the times where Daddy was at work and I had the classical station on. I think of how’d I close my eyes and pretend I was playing some sort of instrument; the piano, cello, it really didn’t matter, and perform my household duties, stopping in between to play my fake instrument. Aside from my memories with Damien those were some of the fondest memories of my childhood.

“It’s mine as well,” Elijah blurts as he fastens the metal snaps on the violin case.

I frown, staring at the closed up case, wishing he would take the wooden instrument out and play more, but I decide to examine the contents in his study instead. “So how long have you been playing?” I walk over to the shelf of books that spans across the wall and glide the tips of my fingers over the polished cherry wood.

“Since I was eight,” he answers. “I spent three years playing the piano before that and hated it. Just before I turned eight, I asked my mother if I could play the violin instead, being that she insisted that I play an instrument. Of course I’m sure she preferred that I continued with the piano,” he sighs, “but I’ve always been a fan of the instruments with strings. I play the guitar as well.”

I steal a glance at him from over my shoulder. His eyes follow me, touching my bare shoulders as I move down the shelf to the edge of the room. “Do you know any other songs?” I ask. “For the violin, I mean.”

“Several.”

“Can you play me another?”

“It’s after midnight. Aren’t you tired?”

“No.” I stop at the end of the massive cherry wood desk in the back of the study. The desk is wide and vaguely reminds me of a bed. Next to the desk is what I assume to me an antique globe. The colors on it are creams, browns, and almonds and they are all muted with age. “Can you play Claire de Lune?” I ask, placing my forefinger against the round orb. “It’s my all-time favorite.”

I can feel his presence behind me. I feel his warm breath trail down the back of my neck. Then he utters is a low voice, “Sadly no. It’s a brilliant and beautiful song, but it was composed for the piano. I’m sure I could play it if I attempted it, but I don’t think it would sound the same.” His fingers slide up my shoulders and I turn, facing him. His eyes sweep from my light purple satin nightgown back to my face. “Lavender is a good color on you.” His eyes are smoldering, filled with a blaze of lust. I shiver as I look into them. “It really brings out the violet flecks in your eyes.”

My back presses into the sturdy desk and he leans in closer. “Thank you,” I whisper modestly. I drop my gaze to his hips, noticing the indents of muscle and then I look away, trying to conceal the red flushing my cheeks. “So you're not angry with me then?”

“No,” he breathes. His breath fans across my face adding more warmth to my already overheated face and I when I open my mouth I taste his cool, minty mouth wash. “Why would I be angry?”

“Because I didn’t think you ever wanted me to come in here,” I say, but I won’t look into his eyes. I know if I do I won’t be able to look away.

“I didn’t.” He moves closer, his hands sliding up my back and over my shoulders, his long fingers skimming my collar bone. His lips are warm and moist against my ear, his breath hot. “But let’s just say that I've had a change of heart.”

“A change of heart.” I flash him an icy glare. “Funny. I wasn't aware you had one.” He did tell me once that he wasn’t capable of love and devotion. To me a person like that would be missing one important organ.

He narrows his eyes and smirks. “That's not funny.”

“It wasn't meant to be.” Now he looks hurt. But the hurt look fades instantly when his fingers roam and he starts fiddling with the thin straps on my nightgown.

He's got a carnal look in his eye.
 
I know that look. I've witnessed it dozens of times and I know what happens after it. “God.” His voice is husky, needy. “Why do you do this to me?”

I play innocent. “Do what?”

“It's like every time you’re near I have to hold myself back.”

“From?” I probe.

“Nothing.” He drops his hands and averts his attention to one of the book shelves. “Never mind.” He backs up off me and extends his hand. “Come, Adelaide. I’ll walk you back to your room.”

I take his hand and he guides me out of his study. A sinking feeling circles my gut as he closes the door. A flutter in my heart accompanies the sinking feeling.

I know this feeling.

I know it all too well.

I’ve felt it before.

It feels like you’re falling from a cliff. The air is sucked from your lungs and your stomach bottoms out. Your heart won’t stop racing and your skin puckers at the thought of someone wrapping their arms around you.

Yes, I know this feeling.

I know that I’m falling for Elijah Watson.

And I pray that I don’t lose someone I’ve fallen for a second time.

Chapter Twenty Five

~Before~

Damien has started fading.

He’s like a picture on a television screen. He keeps flickering in and out of focus and I wish I could turn his dial and change the channel.

He’s stopped pacing and screaming.

But I haven’t stopped crying.

I keep my sobs low. My back to him. And my nose in the corner between two white padded walls. Squeaking rings out in my cell as Damien takes a seat on my mattress. His breaths are strained and mixed with an occasional grunt so that tells me he’s still in a bad mood. “Are you going to come and sit next to me, Addy?” His voice is raspy and terrifying. I shake my head as more tears blur my vision and I stare at a wall so white white white. “Of course not,” he scoffs. “What am I not good enough for you now? Is that it?” He lets out a cackle laced with evil. “Because I thought my mother made it clear that you were the one who was trash?”

His words strangle me. They slice me open and more blood pours from my already bleeding heart. “Go away,” I whisper. That’s the only thing I can say. It’s all I can do. Because I have the upper hand here. I am living.

Even though the words hurt and stab through me, repeatedly, I know he’s not really saying them. I know it’s my mind reminding me of the things I thought right after he died.

I thought about Marlena and the way she told me I’d never be good enough for her son. I thought about how I know she’s always going to blame me for his death. I wish I could tell her that hating me and saying nasty things about me isn’t going to be any different from the things I tell myself every God damned day. And I wish I could tell her that hating me and saying nasty things isn’t going to bring him back.

I try to remember the last time I took one of my pills and how long the side effects last for. Hours? Days? I can’t really be sure. Sometimes I wonder if Damien has always had this side of him or if this is just another screwed up attribute added to my hallucination of him.

I’m glad he’s not alive so I won’t have to find out.

The coils on my mattress squeak again and I know Damien is standing behind me. His breathing is level now. I think he’s probably calmed down. “Just come say goodbye to me, Addy.” I know he realizes he’s fading now, too. “Just come say goodbye to me before I go.”

At first I hesitate. I’m thinking that perhaps he might be trying to trick me. When minutes pass and he continues begging, I hop to my feet and turn to face him, my eyes still closed.

There are words swelling in my ear, “It was always you. It would have always been you.” I swallow the lump in my throat as tears drip off my chin. There’s a kiss of frost against my cheek.

My eyes snap open.

A tear drizzles down Damien’s cheek. “I’m sorry. I love you,” he cries. I reach out to touch him. But then, it’s like a giant vacuum has sucked him from the room. My door opens and the suction rips him right through the door.

I’m beside myself.

My mind goes wild.

Crazy.

I’m running down the hall after the invisible boy I loved shrieking like a banshee.

Damien! Damien! I’m sorry I told you to go away. I didn’t mean it I swear. Come back! Please! Come back!

I know he’s not coming back.

I know I’ll never see him again.

And even though I thought I wanted him to go away, now I’m not so sure.

I come to an abrupt stop at the end of the hall. Marjorie stands before me, an evil scowl curled on her lips, a straightjacket clutched in her right hand. “Somebody is being disruptive,” she snarls in her low, man-like voice. I pivot and try to run, but Marjorie’s free hand clamps down around the collar of my hospital gown. On her knees, she presses my face into the cold, hard floor and begins to strap me in. I sob. I sob hard. Marjorie jerks me up by the arm and escorts me back to my room. She tosses me in my cell, locks the door, peeks through the little window on my metal door, and says, “Sweet dreams.”

Then she’s gone.

And in her wake is an echoing laugh of evil.

And all I can think about is how being alone is pressing on my chest. Squeezing the air from my lungs. My eyes instantly avert to the cot where Damien sits, but he’s not there. I hit my knees. I keep reminding myself that Damien going away is for the best. That even though it hurts I know it has to be this way. Otherwise, I’ll be stuck in Oakhill forever as a prisoner of my past.

I lie back on my cot as reality sets in and my eyes start to dry up.

Then I smell something.

I sit up and inhale deeply. It’s a charred musky scent.

Smoke.

I smell smoke.

Chapter Twenty Six

~After~

I wake up to the sound of screams. Still groggy, I stifle a look around my darkened room, wondering if I might have been the one screaming, but then it comes to me. It’s not me.

Elijah's tortured howls of pain throb in my brain.

No...

Don't...

I keep telling myself that I should ignore them. That I should wrap my pillow around my head and hope that action muffles the anguish in his deep voice, but I can't. I think of some of my nightmares. I think of the ones I had about Mommy after she left.