1. Chapter 1
Chapter one
Breathe.
Just breathe.
I trained for this. I can do it.
My grasp on the wood in my hand tightened. Desperate to calm the turmoil in my mind, I sucked in another labored breath. Time was not on my side, and I had to do something fast. Never show fear or weakness, my instructor had taught me. They can smell it a mile away.
I steadied my hand, loosened my death grip, and let out a slow, calculated exhale. I was ready.
At least I thought I was until I lifted my head to stare into the black depths before me. Eyes glittered in the darkness, narrowing on me, assessing me, forcing me to accept how weak I truly was.
I can't do it.
Sacrificing everything I worked so hard for, I turned and ran.
Pausing only to swoop up the case that I had laid at the edge of the pit, I kept running until the sweet warmth of daylight kissed my skin.
With the door slamming shut behind me, I fell against the wall to my right, my thick black braid cushioning the thump of my head against the rough stone. I slid to the ground, legs splaying out in an un-ladylike fashion. My head rolled back as I struggled to inhale the unpleasant muggy air. I couldn’t stop the sharp ragged gasps, couldn’t get any oxygen into my lungs.
In a flash of clarity, I remembered the case at my side and began fumbling at the worn silver clasps. My salvation lay within if I could just get it open…
After what felt like an eternity, the final latch released, and I snatched the bottle lying inside. I clawed at the lid to the small container, my airways constricting even further until… the sharp click as the cap gave way. A cascade of pills erupted into the air, raining down onto the lining of the black case. Grabbing one, I swallowed it dry, wincing as it roughly scraped my throat. Sweat drenched and shaking, I collapsed against the grimy wall while I waited for relief to come.
Five minutes passed. Then ten. People walked by, most not even sparing a glance in my direction. Eventually my breathing slowed, my heart rate returned to normal, and I was left with only the oppressive feeling of despair and failure.
My eyes fixated on the bottle. Orange with a white lid and the printed words:
Rain L. Solis
Klonopin 1 mg
Take as needed for anxiety attacks
I tucked the pills into my pocket then nestled the delicate wooden instrument into the case. Staring at the violin, I wondered why I had even bothered showing up to the audition.
I secured the instrument that had consumed the majority of my adult life and rose to my feet. With a glance back at the sign for David Geffen Hall, I realized with a sinking feeling that my chance of playing for the New York Philharmonic was likely long gone. Though if I was being honest with myself, it never really existed to begin with. Not for someone like me.
So I trudged over to the subway entrance and began the miserable trek back to my small apartment in Jersey.
“Honey, I’m home,” I snarked bitterly, pushing open the door to my apartment, not actually expecting any response from the sister I shared the space with. I stepped into the entryway, set down my violin, and tossed my braid back over my shoulder as I straightened. On days like this when depression rode me hard, I was always tempted to cut the dang thing off. Short hair had never been a good look for me, though. With my underfed slim body, barely-there breasts, and height just a few inches short of six feet, any time I tried a shorter style I inevitably got called “sir” or “bro” at least once a day. Part of that might have to do with the tattered blue hoodie I typically lived in, but I would die before giving up my comfy clothes.
Clothes that I wanted to get back into, so I moved from the tiny hallway into the living room, freezing in my tracks at the devastation before me.
Now, to be fair, no aspect of my apartment is what one would consider luxurious or posh. In fact, it’s pretty much exactly what you would expect for a 1960’s built, 700-square-foot, two-bedroom unit in one of the more colorful neighborhoods of Jersey. But leaky aluminum windows, chipped paint and temperamental furnace aside, I could usually rely on the place to be clean.
Today the small space looked like a fabric store had exploded. Expansive swaths of colorful velvet covered the old blue couch that filled most of the small living room. Piles of pink and red tulle buried our crappy TV, and the faded brown carpet was blanketed with lavender jersey knit. Three dress forms stood at the back of the room, and it felt like the mannequins were somehow judging me. As if they knew of my failure.
“You’re back early,” a chipper voice called from inside the first bedroom. I braced myself as a smiling face framed by an untamed mop of red curls popped out from the room.
As she ran over to greet me, I eyed the half stitched, pink ruffled dress that hung loosely off her curvy frame and the nearly empty package of Oreos clutched tightly in her hand. She tossed the box onto the table and wrapped me in a tight embrace, despite knowing that I was not now, nor would I ever be, a 'hugger.'
Jenn and I were not biological sisters, but we’d been raised together in St. Philomena’s Orphanage until we were eleven and never lost touch as we both spent the next few years bouncing around the foster system. When we turned eighteen, we moved in together and for the last seven years had been practically inseparable.
“Yeah, I’m back,” I mumbled, unable to summon any false cheer.
She pulled away enough to look me in the eye, the previous excitement fading to wary concern.
“It happened again, didn’t it?”
My response lodged itself in my throat. I wanted to say that of course it didn’t happen. This had been the biggest audition of my life so there was no way anything could possibly ruin my chance to play for The Phil. Not even my broken brain.
But there was no point in lying to Jenn. She’d see right through it anyway.
“Yeah,” I whispered, looking away. “It did.”
I tried to stop the tear that formed in the corner of my eye. I hated crying. Hated feeling like a broken toy that never worked quite right. I had been able to keep my emotions in check the entire subway trip home, but here, with Jenn, I couldn’t hold it back anymore. The tear slipped free and rolled down my cheek, the only evidence of how deeply destroyed I felt inside.
Grabbing my arm, Jenn dragged me over to the couch and plopped us down, crushing a stack of fuchsia velvet squares. She leaned back against the faded cushions, drawing my head down to her shoulder.
I don’t know how long we sat there, me letting a few tears escape and her just being… her. My safe space.
“It’s okay,” I said with a shaky resolution. “I’m fine.”
I turned to look at her, mentally preparing myself for the potential onslaught of pity and useless attempts to cheer me up. Instead, I only saw genuine concern on her face.
“You don’t have to be fine, Rain. Not with me.”
She had said those same words so many times, but I never took them to heart. Nobody actually wanted a mess for a sister. As often as people said stuff like, “I’m always here if you need to talk,” or “you can tell me anything,” they didn’t really mean it. Not really. Everybody had their own lives and their own crap to deal with. Nobody, not even Jenn, needed my baggage as well.
“I know,” I said, dismissing her words.
“Do you?”
I looked away, unable to bear the weight of so much concern in her eyes. “I will be fine. Is that better?”
“Rain, this wasn’t like an audition for some chintzy local orchestra. We both know this was your dream. I saw how hard you worked on that video audition. How you squealed when you got the letter for the in-person callback. You don’t go from squealing in excitement to the bullshit of 'I’m fine.' We both know you’re not fine, so please just talk to me.”
Crap.
Why did she have to go and say that? I waited for a second and… yep. There it was. That far too familiar anger bubbling up inside me. My natural response to any time someone tugged on my safety blanket of denial that I needed to feel normal.
“What do you want me to say?” I snapped, jumping to my feet and pacing around the room. “Do you want me to say you’re right? That l blew the opportunity of a lifetime? That I’m so completely messed up in the head that I couldn’t overcome my panic attacks long enough for one freaking song that I know better than the sound of my own voice? Are you happy now? Because no, I’m not fine. I will never be fine. People like me don’t get to be fine.”
Jenn cringed at the venom in my voice, and it killed me to see that small sliver of fear in her eyes.
I slumped against the wall beside the couch. “People like me don’t get to have their dreams come true.”
She was silent for a minute, then in the quietest voice, she asked, “People like you? Or people like us ?”
“That’s not what I meant,” I argued.
She eyed me cautiously. “But didn’t you? Neither of us has any money. We’re both struggling after impossible dreams. How are we any different?”
“Because you’re not…” I bit back the word. I hated even thinking that word.
“You’re not crazy, Rain,” she insisted, filling in the painful blank. “Your brain just works differently. If you had continued your therapy, maybe…”
“With what money? I can barely afford the doctor visits to get my prescription refilled. I’m never going to get any better, okay? This is just how my life is.”
A depressing silence settled over the room as we sat there, the only sound the ticking of the broken old fan propped up in the window. Once again, Jenn’s abundance of optimism had run out, and I had never had any to begin with.
Optimism was nothing but a useless emotion for a mentally damaged orphan from Jersey.