Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
Nyx
Hardcore Romance – Beach Weather, Ari Abdul
It's been a week since the incident at my trailer, and I used the entirety of it to hide at Peach's campus house. Lena offered to let me stay with her, but there’s barely enough space for her and her siblings, let alone another full-grown adult.
Chase finally got what he wanted, didn't he?
I gave up on my dream. I haven't shown up to classes for a week, which I'm sure is grounds for taking my scholarship away.
And if it's not, being taken into questioning at the police station is another reason.
And if they don't take my scholarship away, Miss Rivera will probably kick me out of the orchestra anyway because my hand is hurting from the cuts, no matter how superficial.
I can play. I just can't play at the level expected here.
I will again, probably next week, but not today.
That's what Chase wanted. And I'm struggling to hate him because he's dead.
After everything he's done to me, I still can't find it in myself to think he was a truly bad person.
I keep telling myself that it's because I betrayed him, that none of this would’ve happened if Achilles had just left me alone, if I hadn't been such a stupid groupie in the first place.
So instead of hating Chase, every day, I swallow down thick guilt until I choke on it.
And in case I could forget about any of this for a minute, the looks on people's faces the second I cross the doors into the music hall are a reminder of what I look like.
I still have a bruise around my left eye, although it's turning a yellowish-green.
And the stitch is very much present on my eyebrow.
Thankfully, my lip isn't swollen anymore.
It's just a healing cut and a small bruise.
But I know what they're all thinking: that they're not surprised.
With where I'm from, I was bound to show up like this at some point.
I walk past everyone's obvious stares. They have no shame, blatantly gawking at my face like I'm an alien, and I'm forced to hurry through the audience seats until I find a place at the back, which most of us usually avoid, as they want to be seen listening and focused by Miss Rivera.
Five minutes before start, just like every rehearsal, Miss Rivera, Evelyn, and Achilles walk on stage from behind the curtain.
I can imagine them every Monday morning discussing us backstage before class.
Eventually, Evelyn's wrist will heal, and she’ll come back as our soloist, and I wonder how fair it truly is that she has a say in anything.
We're all her competition, especially Josh.
Miss Rivera decides to work with the wind instruments first, so I pull out my music book, my violin, and air-practice until I feel someone sit next to me.
I don't give her any attention at first, no matter how much I feel her observing me, but it's hard to focus when Evelyn looks at you. She's intense, arrogant, and can't stand the fact that she can't play at the moment. So, she hates the world for it.
I hear her mutter something, but between the music from the players on stage and the fact that she's sitting to my left, I didn't get it.
I stop what I'm doing, slowly turning my head to her to make sure I can hear her properly.
"What did you say?" There's a challenge in my voice because I know it must have been some sort of insult, and I've got little patience with people getting on my nerves this week.
"I said, typical North Shore," she repeats proudly. I mainly read it on her lips. "Your face."
I grit my teeth, barely stopping myself from jumping her.
God knows, I've dealt with worse in my life and still held myself back.
But on the North Shore, when I hold myself back, it's because I know they'll kick my ass if I don't. Here, I could punch Evelyn's lights out so quickly and finally release some rage.
Somehow, there's still hope in my heart that I can make it here, and at some point, will leave the nightmare that is the North Shore behind, and beating up the soloist of the orchestra could take that away from me.
When I go back to rehearsing silently instead of taking the bait, she says something else. But I've straightened up again. I can't hear shit from my left ear, and the music on stage is mainly what my right ear is picking up.
"What?" I turn to her again.
"I said, do you think you can stay in an orchestra if you show up like this? We're respectable people here. No one deals drugs on the weekend and comes back black and blue on the Monday. You know it's not normal, right?"
"What the fuck do you know about normal?" I hiss back. "You live in a bubble where people shit money. Go and try the outside world for once. Hey, even better, step foot on the North Shore and let's see how you come back next Monday."
"Is that a threat?" She laughs. "God, you're pathetic. And I'll have you know…"
The lights go down in the audience, as Miss Rivera often does to put people on stage in a real setting. But for me, it means I can't read Evelyn's lips anymore. Someone fucks up on stage, the orchestra loses its harmony, and the noises from my right become overwhelming.
"What?" I repeat, sounding like such an idiot.
"Oh my God," she cackles. "Bitch, are you deaf?"
That does it for me. I fucking lose it. My fist lifts before I can control my movement, and her eyes widen when she realizes I'm about to redo her face. Her eyes squint, but something wraps around my wrist. A hand grabs the violin on my lap before pulling me into a standing position.
"Oh God," Evelyn whimpers. "Thank you, Achilles. She's literally dangerous. She needs to go back to her gang."
I grit my teeth as I pull at my arm to try to get away from Achilles. She needs to fucking die.
"You deserved that," Achilles says calmly to her, his pompous tone as useful as a gun to put her six feet under. "I'm not protecting you. I'm protecting her. After all, this orchestra could use a good soloist for once. I wouldn't want Nyx to be kicked out before she does us that favor."
The look on her face is better than any black eye I would have given her. She shakes her head, stands up, and disappears somewhere else in the audience.
"Don't fall for her stupid games," he says as he turns to me. "You're so much better than that, and you know it."
My gaze falls to his hand still wrapped around my wrist, and back up to his eyes. Even through the darkness, his steel eyes cut through me, slashing down to my soul to find out the best ways to tear me apart entirely.
"Let go. Now," I reply coldly.
Achilles has been trying to get into Peach's house since the second the door closed behind me last Monday.
Every single day, he was there, being turned away by Peach.
Hell, he even tried to get in through her balcony, apparently advised by Wren that it was an easy way in, but she caught him and was a second away from pushing him off when I stopped her and politely asked him not to try again.
I hate him, but I don't want him to die.
Yet.
As long as he doesn't push me too far.
You're too forgiving. That's what he said to me when I stopped Peach from attempted murder yesterday. Even he taunted me that he did something bad enough that I shouldn't forgive him while he was trying to get my forgiveness.
You're too forgiving, and that's how I'll get you back, mon trésor.
After that, I searched online for what mon trésor means. I shouldn’t have.
My treasure. How the hell am I supposed to hate him when he calls me his treasure?
I know I'm too forgiving. I've forgiven my dad for his thousand betrayals. I forgave Chase when he came back smelling like other women, when he treated me like shit, when he held my dad's debts over my head, dangling the money to make me stay with him.
I forgive because if I didn't, I'd have no one.
No one has ever made the effort to not make horrendous mistakes with me. No one has ever asked for forgiveness. You can't give something they don't believe is required. You just keep going.
Of course I hated what my dad did, but my mom had already left. I didn't want to have no parents. And I didn't want to lose Chase, so I went along with it.
Now I've got neither of them, and that's because of Achilles's selfishness to want me all to himself. Yes, he's right. I'm too forgiving, but that doesn't mean I'm going to make the same mistake I've made plenty of times before.
"Achilles," I repeat sternly when his grip tightens around me. "Let me go."
"I don't want to let you go," he answers, but there's none of his typical casualness. It sounds honest, like this isn't about physically letting me go at all.
"Sometimes it's not about what Achilles Duval wants, did you know that?" I say through gritted teeth. "Us commoners have rights too."
"You're no commoner, mon trésor. You–"
"Stop calling me that. I looked it up it. I know what it means. Just…stop."
"Oh yeah?" he says, faking interest. "What does it mean?"
"You know what it means. You speak French. You use it all the time."
"Just say it if you’re so smart. And say it in French too. I want to hear your cute American accent."
I know he’s keeping this going because it means I give him attention. But fuck, I do it anyway because I’m the stupid woman who loves his attention.
"Mon trésor." I butcher the word. "Means my treasure."
His mocking tone disappears, replaced by a seriousness I didn’t expect all of a sudden.
"Then you should know how fitting it is for you. You're my source of inspiration. You have the right to do exactly as I say, when I say, and as promptly as I desire. You should stick that in that pretty head of yours once and for all…" He smirks, and I already know what’s coming. "Mon trésor."
"Are you seriously playing this card when I just lost everything because of you?"