10; Crippling tendrils of fear that overwhelm and destroy your body from the inside out. It starts with your eyes or your ears - you see something, hear the thing you're dreading - and then it's too late. An instantaneous moment; that's all it takes, for slick sweat and blackened thoughts to toss you into nightmares.

An overturned hot pot of steaming sun splashes down through the open windows and covers our peeling backs. Karen is unpacking alongside me, tearing through leather handbag after leopard-printed suitcase (those are hers, not mine). I remember stumbling through the door, locking everything, before passing out in utter exhaustion. I'm not a very good traveler.

I zip open my only suitcase, which is a roll-on (I just find it easier). The first thing I see is my jacket, and the corner of a letter sticking out of the open pocket. Immediately, I'm worried. I carefully pull it out and instantly, this worn stationary, with faded yellow edges, causes déjà vu. But I can't place it.

The tip of my tongue holds all the secrets. They're pressing from the corners of my brain, trying to get out. I scream through my teeth in pure frustration, and toss the envelope at Karen, now wide-eyed. I take a long breath, "I found it in my jacket." I don't say anymore.

Karen gently takes it in her exfoliated, polished hands, before coming to this conclusion, "Someone must have slipped it in, then?" I nod. She mutters, mostly to herself, "It can't have just fallen in…"

So, she goes to unfold it and I instinctively launch myself at her. We blink at each other before she drops it into my grasp and scoots upright again. "Sorry. I just know I need to do this," and before I can stop myself, I whip open the folded paper. It's a letter written in neat cursive.

Oh, Claire. Are you staying strong?

Or are you pretending to? You know, you can fool anyone except yourself. A helpful hint: if you do fool yourself – well, that's called insanity.

Am I strong? I try to clench a fist, wipe away ugly thoughts – all to prove it. But who I am proving it to?

Karen shuffles beside me and reads from over my shoulder. Strands of brass glide down my shoulder, brushing down my back. I'm not insane.

"Who wrote this?" Karen demands, snapping the paper away from me, and she steers me back on track. Why should I let these strange words fool me? The important thing is finding out who wrote this personal letter! Karen is suddenly looking into my eyes, and she softens her expression, "I'm going to ask around about this, and see if anyone recognizes it…if that's okay with you. I mean – I could hold my hand over the first line, so it's not so personal."

I've made up my mind. I nod firmly, "No. Just go. Show the whole letter." Because I need to know. And maybe the people here need to see more sides of me. Karen just gives me a tight smile, sympathetically giving me the house to be alone. I feel her pause at the doorway, but her lips stay shut, and the words wither away to silence.

Once the door closes behind her, I slump against the side of my bed. My palms are slick and rosy. I didn't notice my breathing begin to pick up.

The inn doesn't feel welcoming at all. The cooling sensation once I enter is more of a deep freeze. Ruby keeps grinning, toothy at me, and at first I think Karen hasn't stopped by yet. She doesn't know about the letter, that I have any insecurities. But deeper in my brain, I know that is a stupid thought. "Welcome, Claire." Oh, how unwelcome I feel.

We go into a back room, and right then I'm completely sure of the suffocating, unspoken words. They hover around us, waiting to be thrown at me. There are bowls of patchy bananas and multicolored apples on an island. Some chairs face each other against the far wall. I sit down in a creaking one opposite Ruby, who surprises me. Instead of the cheery, usual Ruby, her face expression is solemn, a bit pained when she tells me, "I met your father, fifteen years ago." I forget everything.

All the words about the letter, the ones I thought she was going to talk to me about, dissipate. The looming gray depression of his death hangs around us. But I'm too nervous, excited, on the edge of my unfamiliar seat for information, "Were you close?" My voice is loud and bouncing off the low ceiling. If anyone knew my father, I'm not just relieved, I'm ecstatic, that it's Ruby. In a way, she's a role model for me.

To keep living in the moment.

She nods, musses with her hair, gives a wisp of a smile, "We were. In fact, Claire, he taught me some piano." Her musical laughter sends goose bumps down my arms. I can picture the blurry movement, hear a Rachmaninoff prelude. "I was horrible," she twiddles her thumbs, drifting down to stare at her feet, "but he never gave up, trying to teach me something...anything."

The door swings open in a burst of energy, a rough hand clasping the door handle, "I need Claire." His cheery smile is deluded, I can see right through Rock. Something's happened, he's not trying hard enough to hide it.

I glance at Ruby, who is pink and unorganized as she tries to regain her happy-act in front of her son. I tentatively smile, "Thanks Ruby. I'll come back later." She has no words, she just nods a few times. Rock is waiting for me to pass through the doorway, when it gently shifts closed behind me.

He accompanies me to the big doors, and then he shifts backward, "Well, Lumina wants to see you. I'm busy, so, see you." I raise my eyebrows at his back, before following him to the steps. Rock is never busy. What an outright, pathetic lie.

I demand, "Talk to me about Lumina." He scratches the back of his neck, heaves a sigh before he twists around to face me – big grin and horribly fake laughter and all. I can't believe he's even trying, with me.

"Why? There's nothing to talk about," he tries shrugging me off but I step right up to him. A burst of confidence to do what's right, to help where I can, keeps me going. The sudden fear in his eyes makes me relent a little, but I still say, "I saw you fighting with Lumina, back at the hotel, and I think I understand what's going on."

Rock slumps against the wall, defeated, when I notice the dark under-eyes for the first time. There's a hoarse quality to his voice when he mumbles, "Damn it, Claire." Does Rock even having a breaking point?

I feel like I should hold his hand, or something, but I'm not sure if it's appropriate. I continue once he seems to be calmer, "You're going to miss her, aren't you? When she leaves to go play in front of expensive audiences, far from here. The little valley." He doesn't know where I'm leading him.

"Yes! Of course I will! I can't handle watching her leave." It's a trap. I raise my hand and give him a (satisfying) slap to the face. The skin is white for only a moment, before it prickles to a angry trace of my hand.

"Of course you can handle it," I straighten my back as much as possible, "so stop trying to keep her from her dreams!" The scratchy scream, as desperate as I've ever yelled at anyone, reverberates throughout the inn. A door cautiously opens, and a wide-eyed Ruby steps out.

If Rock notices, (which I doubt, because he never takes his eyes off mine) he ignores his mother, "What was that for?"

"T…to…shake you into your senses, obviously!" I put my fists on my hips and crinkle my forehead in determination. I'm still breathing heavy – I had no idea I could do that, pull off that outgoing slap. When he looks a little less enraged, I continue before he can, "If you really loved Lumina – you would support her and her dreams – no matter what the cost!"

His eyes well up, he blinks furiously and gives me the most unbearable expression of hopelessness, before sprinting up the stairs and away. Anyone could hear the slam of his bedroom door. I didn't know how weak I was until I try to move, and I collapse against the stairs. My hands are trembling, but I still brush away any loose hairs from my ponytail.

What did I do? That was so wrong. How could I? I hurt him. I really hurt him!

Ruby is by my side, stroking my back, murmuring soothing words, like a gentle balm to a burn. The slush of words comes tumbling, melting through my tears, "He hates me, I don't know why…I did that, Ruby, he's crying, I hurt him, I'm so horrible…" She grabs my hand tightly, keeps me from rocking. Ruby tells me, "Everything will be okay." The low hushing noise eventually quiets me until I'm completely still.

My feet try to take me to Romana's mansion, but I force myself to stop at the pond. I kneel in the itchy patches of grass and splash fresh water on my face. I don't care that I'm sopping wet, when I trudge back up the hill. Everyone here will read that eerie letter, and know how disturbed I must be. That will be my excuse for my appearance.

But that definitely won't work with Lumina.

I know it's going to be a tough conversation. Admitting to overhearing their heated fight, to screaming at Rock to change for the better, and taking whatever insults she throws my way. Like: "This is none of your business." That one is worrying me the most, it's a constant horse fly that won't stop biting.

I'm disgruntled, worried, and I shouldn't be doing this, but I ring the bell, so when the door opens it's too late to turn back. Lumina appears from across the room, "Hey, you're finally here."

"Yep," I smile, which is a sick, disgusting lie. She leads me inside to the high-ceiling living room. Wait, why did she invite me here? Lumina takes a seat at the grand piano, grinning with some nervous news about to spill, "Let's practice!"

My frown sets off a whole rant, "I mean – you said you have trouble in front of crowds, and you're not used to a grand piano, so, I thought we could practice! And I have this idea…but I'm not going to tell you until this goes well." Her smile is much more real, full of pure intent.

I flop down on the bench beside her, "That night, at the hotel, I overheard you fighting…with Rock." Lumina stares down at the floor, her bangs shielding her face. But I do notice her pale knuckles. "And Rock isn't supporting you and your dreams. And you shouldn't want to be with a guy like that."

She whips up to face me, her eyes are full of flame, but I manage to silence her. "Which is why he's going to change for you," I say, with a little too much pride than expected. She flinches, then drops her head onto the keys. A resonating, alien noise emits from the beast. I mutter, to myself, "Hopefully…"

Apparently Lumina, when silenced, falls over onto the closest piece of furniture. Or on a piano.

"Who says I want to be with Rock, anyway…" I jump at the sound of her voice. She is pouting and beet red. The relief is a gentle wave of nausea, deep in my rib cage. The knot of stress unties itself excruciatingly slow, as if Lumina may suddenly turn on me.

The sickness passes and I start grinning; this was one of the best reactions I could hope for. And then we play a few scales, start to drop the awkward tension. There are two hands on the piano – only one is mine.