All that is buried is not dead.
-Olive Schreiner
They would not quiet themselves, demanding it. The clapping grew insistent inside the cramped, smoky space. I shook my head again, hoping they would stop. No chance. Sighing, I gave a nod. The other players left the stage and the crowd began cheering in vocal anticipation. The sunglasses were waiting, and I slid them on my face as the single spotlight found me. Grabbing a towel nervously, I carefully wiped the sweat off the keys.
A surreptitious glance told me he was still there. The hip crowd around him stole glances, too, assessing his every move, intrigued by his stillness and his beauty. He didn't notice; he was used to it. The table chatted amiably around him, but he didn't join the conversation. He stared at me and, embarrassed, I quickly looked back at the keys in front of me.
Shit.
The cheers died down. Beginning, my fingers played automatically as I assessed my strength. Yes, it was there. My voice softly found the first verse. The crowd was whispering along, adding their words to mine. They sang for lost loves, for things left undone, for harsh words that should have been unspoken.
They didn't understand.
I sang enveloped in blood.
With each verse, my voice grew stronger. The crowd beamed, mouthing the words in unison. My face was stony as the images assailed me. I struggled to keep my voice even. The applause resumed as the song approached their favorite part. There were smiles everywhere, grinning at my pain. The room clapped in rhythm as my carefully crafted façade began cracking, as always.
The bridge. My salvation.
My slight hands rolled quickly over the keys as I concentrated on the hard parts, gripping the ivory as if it held the key to my sanity. Deep breaths kept the emotions at bay as we hurled to the end.
I looked in his direction again. The cheering crowd was up on their feet now, surrounding him. He sat stiffly, tears sliding down his handsome, angular face.
He understood.
A gasp hit my throat as the wall I had carefully crafted started smashing down around me. Hurrying through as the tears threatened to burst forth, my throat began catching. They loved it, and the applause got louder. The cell phones were already out, cameras grabbing each awful moment of what would later be described as my best performance ever. Each flash was torturing me and they didn't even know it.
I cursed the song. I cursed the night I wrote it. I cursed myself for needing to perform it...for needing it again and again.
I cursed him for understanding.
Mercifully, the end came at last and I made my quick escape to the shadowed wings. The players were waiting. Water. Towels. They turned their backs as they surrounded me protectively; giving me what they knew was needed. My knees gave way as I sank down on the worn wooden floor and let the sobs come.
Never again, I promised myself, even though my brain recognized the familiar lie.
There were some wounds that couldn't be allowed to heal.
~xxxx~
A/N – My first attempt at a fic, so bear with me. My plan is to update weekly. I don't have a beta, so all errors are mine alone. This is rated M for future lemons and future violence. Don't panic. I'm not writing a gruesome blood-soaked horror story, but this will get dark here and there. I plan to pop back and forth between B&E's present and past.
Reviews always warm a winter day.
