Chapter 58
TO PLAY OR NOT TO PLAY
It’s been six days since I agreed to give this whole polishing thing a shot.
Four since I terrified one of my only friends.
Despite my ever-dwindling sanity, the routine’s been the same.
Colt brings me in for piano at one. We sit in silence while I stare at the keys until five, then he brings me back.
I can’t bring myself to even touch it, let alone pull up a song or try to play.
Time like this was a privilege I would’ve pleaded for a month ago. Now it feels like a gift I’m no longer worthy of.
Vincent stands at my side, hands folded behind his back, set in his typical statuesque posture. But his weight shifts every so often, betraying a body that would rather be doing anything other than watching me hurt.
I swivel on the bench and pull my knees to my chest. “What if I never play again?” I ask the ceiling, hoping no one will answer.
Vincent clears his throat, a little flushed. “You will.”
I tip my chin, half in pain, half in petty defiance. “And if I don’t want to?”
“Then we’ll wait until you’re ready.”
“You’re good at that,” I say. “Waiting. Watching.”
His gaze lifts to mine. Calm, too calm. “You’d want me angry instead?”
“I’d prefer if you were honest.”
His expression sags the littlest bit. “I’m not going to force you to play. And I’m not going to raise my voice when you don’t deserve it.” Something shifts in his shoulders. Guilt isn’t loud on him; it’s precise. He doesn’t even have his tablet, a sight I never thought I’d see.
“Even if I never play again?”
“If you’re truly determined to never touch a piano again, then I’ll move you to speech,” he says, a faint shard of humor buried in his serious tone.
“If you refuse to speak, I’ll switch you to dance.
If you refuse to stand, I’ll log that you held your ground.
I’ll file a thousand forms if it’ll keep you here. ”
“You think you’re clever.”
“I think I can buy you time.”
Colt tips his head. “Gotta hand it to him, he’s irritatingly good at this.”
I keep my eyes set on Vincent. “Time until what?”
“Until you’re ready,” he says quickly, scrubbing a hand over his mouth. “You’re going to graduate, Maysie. I won’t accept any other outcome. You’ve worked too damn hard to give up here.”
I hug my knees tighter, staring at the faint reflection of the bench’s edge. And I know he’s right. I can’t just sit here forever.
“I’m setting terms,” I announce, surprising myself as much as them. I immediately feel silly, but I don’t take it back.
Vincent’s head tilts, that ever-present unreadable calm sharpening around him. “Terms?”
“You want me to try? Fine. But I want ground rules.”
His head bobs. “Go on.”
Colt’s boot scuffs the tile with a squeak as he steps forward, eyebrows raised with intrigue.
“One—” I lift a finger. “I want to choose when to stop. No mandatory drills or running pieces until my fingers go numb.”
He opens his mouth, but I cut him off. “And two…you answer me honestly. No more half-truths, no more ’you weren’t ready.’” My voice shakes, but I hold his gaze anyway. “I’ve been fed enough lies to last a lifetime.”
My heart aches with the honesty of it. All I’ve known are lies. Down to the very reason for my ’renewed’ existence.
“Three, you stop talking like the organization rescued us from something worse.”
His gaze shifts to his shoes, then back to me. “For the record, I never said that.”
“But you let me believe it.”
Vincent’s jaw tightens. “I did what I thought would keep you safe.” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’m sorry.”
There it is. A real, raw apology. One that almost no one in this palace has ever offered me. I give him the ghost of a nod, so caught off guard by his painful honesty that my next point jumbles in my throat.
Colt awkwardly clears his throat. “And while we all sit in this stew of mutual rage and tragic honesty, might I suggest the garden after this? Ten minutes of pretending the air is real would work wonders for my spirit.”
“I’m not done.” I coax my thoughts straight and turn back to Vincent. My words are shaking now, but I don’t let them fall. “Four, you will not touch me without asking. You will not sedate me. You will not use restraints.”
They both stare at me for a long moment, waiting for me to make another demand. Truthfully, I have nothing—I wasn’t really planning to get this far.
“That’s all.”
I wait for the rejection. The quiet “that’s not how it works.” The reality check disguised as “what’s best for me.”
But neither of them moves. Vincent’s eyes flash to Colt, who just shrugs.
“Sounds reasonable to me.”
For a moment, the air between us thins. Vincent’s expression doesn’t move, but something flickers in his ice-blue eyes. Hesitation, maybe even the cost. He files it away with a tick of his jaw, lacing his fingers tighter behind his back. “Very well,” he says softly. “Terms accepted.”
I cock my head, unconvinced. “That was too easy.”
“Prove you’ll play, and I’ll shake on it.” Vincent gestures to the piano that’s ten inches from my face. I roll my eyes.
“Really?”
“Really.”
I let out an exasperated sigh and wring my hands. I take my dear sweet time leaning over before plunking out a few notes. It sounds awful. But it’s real, and it’s mine. Not the strained, bloodied keys that linger behind my eyes and around quiet corners when a room grows too still.
“Happy now?” I draw my gaze to his, startled to find his eyes alight. The small smirk gracing his face is triumphant, like this was exactly what he wanted.
“Beautiful. I’ll pitch it as your graduation piece.”
“You’re not funny,” I tell him, suppressing a hint of a smile behind my hand.
Colt coughs. “He is, but only by accident.”