10. Melody
10
MELODY
T he man’s face is blurry, but I know the intimidating shape of his body like I know my own name. His fist pummel into my folded body as tears stream down my face.
“You worthless bitch! Why weren’t you looking where you were going?”
A broken lamp lays in a heap of glass shards on the ground nearby, mocking me for my clumsy mistake. Its pieces rearrange into a menacing face as it laughs at my misery.
“I-I’m sorry.” I stammer, my voice sounding small and far away. I know I can’t call for help. That even if I did, my Mommy wouldn’t come to my rescue.
His breath reeks of cigarettes and stale beer.
“Look at me, Melody.”
I do and find his features have come into focus assembling like blocks before my eyes.
“What you did was bad. And bad little girls need to be punished, you understand?”
I nod, my muscles stinging from his fists. His face takes on an evil quality as sweat drips down his brow and onto his nose. Punches erupt along my exposed skin and a fire of pain licks along my nerves with every new blow. I try to disassociate from the present moment but the agony stinging in my muscles refuses to let me go.
Bruises begin to bloom along my skin, stretching down my legs without stopping. I watch in horror as the dark purple splotches grow, swallowing me whole in their inky darkness. I’m drowning now. Swirling out of control in water and unable to breathe. Panic grips hold of my body as I thrash in the pitch-black water trying to kick my way to the surface. But no matter how hard I kick, my body is still being pulled down into the depths below. Oxygen. I need oxygen.
“Melody!” A deep voice startles me, and I feel strong fingers digging into my shoulders. My feet kick at the figure holding me down. They let go and I brace myself for the incoming assault. Only, it doesn’t come.
When I open my eyes, the land on a very concerned looking Chase who’s sitting on the edge of my bed, wearing nothing but his black briefs. His hand strokes my arm in a soothing motion.
“It’s okay. It’s just me,” he says. “You’re alright.”
I swallow hard, feeling my heartbeat starting to slow back to a normal rhythm.
“You were screaming.” His voice sounds soothing as he looks down at me with a frown etched into his forehead.
My eyelashes flutter, remembering the dream.
“It felt so real like it was actually happening to me,” I say, my voice coated with sleep. Sweat clings to my skin and the edges of my eyes feel damp with shed tears.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“It— it’s hard to explain.”
He nods his head, not pressing me further but waiting for me. It’s oddly comforting, so I tell him. Maybe it’s because I’ve kept it bottled up inside of me for years. Maybe it’s because I don’t have the strength to avoid the topic anymore. Or maybe it’s because here in the dark I feel like I can voice what I’ve been through. Like the cover of darkness offers me a thin veil of security. Even if it’s with Chase whose very existence confuses me.
“I was in my old house, and I’d broken a lamp. It made my dad upset, so he came after me, just like he always used to do. I could feel his fists punching me and I couldn’t escape him,” I hear myself confessing. “Then I was being swallowed by my bruises, and they turned into an ocean. I was drowning and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t escape and all I wanted was to break through the surface, but no matter how hard I kicked my legs, I was still sinking.”
“Wow. That’s intense.” He says, hand still stroking my arm. I’m acutely aware of his almost naked form sitting so close. “You know you didn’t deserve that, right?”
“I guess.”
“Not really something to guess about. Your father should never make you feel unsafe.”
His words hit a vulnerable shriveled part of me that I’ve buried deep inside. The thing about trauma is that you can act like you’re fine, and then one look, one moment, one smell or stupid dream can bring it all rushing back.
“Yeah, well. I didn’t really have that experience. My house was never safe when I was growing up.”
“Is he still in your life?”
“No. He left us. One day he just didn’t come back and we were free, and my mom moved on. I always felt like he could pop up at any moment though. I spend more time than I care to admit searching crowds. Wondering if his face will appear and he’ll apologize. I’ve gone over it in my head a thousand times. All the thing I would say to him if that happened.”
“And what would you say?”
I take a deep breath in. “I’d tell him that I survived. That he’s a piece of shit for treating a little girl that way. And then I’d slap him across the face for all the pain he’s caused. All the relationships he screwed up for me. And then I’d send him a bill for past child support and therapy.”
He laughs and I feel instantly better.
“Well at least you have a plan.”
His hand moves from my arm up my neck and settles cradling my cheek. Everything inside me stills. All I can feel is the heat radiating from his body. The bed dips as he moves closer until he’s hovering directly over my face.
His mouth is dangerously close to mine. I can feel his breath fluttering over my lips. My brain scrambles as the desire to pull him down overwhelms me. I lick my lips wondering if he’s about to kiss me.
“Melody, you know that you’re worth more than how he treated you. Do you hear me?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Now get some rest.”
He moves back and gets off my bed. I immediately miss his touch and then mentally slap myself for even entertaining the idea of kissing him. It’s the trauma and nothing else. I’m vulnerable and shaken up, just looking for comfort. There’s no way I’m attracted to my stepbrother. No way in hell , I tell myself, even though it tastes like a lie.
* * *
After my nightmare, I tossed and turned until I only ended getting maybe another hour of sleep before I had to get up for my first class of the day. The lack of sleep follows me around like a shadow, digging into my muscles and making me lose focus.
“You good? You look…like you had a rough night,” Rhonda asks.
“Yeah, I just didn’t get enough sleep last night.”
Maestro Van Gogel hasn’t shown up yet, so we have some time to kill before class starts.
“What’s that been like anyways? Living with Chase?” She drops her voice, so he doesn’t overhear since he’s sitting just a few rows ahead.
“Ugh.” I groan.
She laughs. “Yeah, I can’t imagine it’s been easy. He has quite the reputation.”
“He’s confusing as hell. One minute he’s making my life difficult, and the next he’s… comforting me after a nightmare.”
Her dark eyebrows raise in surprise. “Chase? Comforting?”
“I know.”
We both look over in his direction. He’s focused on his phone, scrolling aimlessly as videos fill his screen. Instead of seeing hot girls dancing like I would expect, a lot of his algorithm seems to be focused on music.
Huh. I swear, the more I’m around Chase, the more of an enigma he becomes. As soon as I think I have a handle on his character, he goes and does something that flips it all on its head.
“What’s up with his reputation anyways?” I ask.
Rhonda leans in close, “Well, all the girls freshman year had a huge thing for him. I don’t know anyone except myself that wasn’t interested in his particular allure. But sometime last year, it must have been after his mom passed that he lost his shit. If he wasn’t fucking someone, he was fucking someone up. It’s a miracle he didn’t get expelled with how many fights he got in.”
I watch Chase as her words ruminate in my mind. His so-called reputation seems more like he’s stuck in grief, without a healthy outlet or understanding of his pain.
“Hello, class.” Maestro Van Gogel announces as he shakes off a thin layer of snow that clings to his tweed jacket. “I hope everyone’s started on their projects by now.”
Chase turns and catches me looking at him. I quickly avert my eyes. Jesus, how long was I sitting here staring at him?
The class murmurs a bunch of yeses at him, to which he nods his head to. “Good. I love to hear it.” He claps his hands together and pulls out a violin from a cabinet. I shift in my seat wondering what he’s planning to do.
“Chase, would you mind coming up here please?” The Maestro asks. He obliges, and I watch with rapt attention.
Chase cradles the instrument like it’s an extension of his own body. It fits so naturally against him. I try not to notice how good he looks, but it’s impossible. Objectively, Chase is hot. Anyone with eyes could agree to that. He tucks the violin under his chin and angles the bow against the strings.
“Can you play some Rachmaninov for me please?”
I feel like I’m holding my breath as I watch Chase’s eyes close, and his hair fall across his brow as he pulls the bow across the strings. A sad, hauntingly beautiful melody floats through the air as Chase loses himself to the music. He transforms before my eyes, pouring every ounce of passion into the piece. He picks up the pace and morphs into something wild and unbridled. He’s an untamable force of nature that wields the notes beneath those long fingers of his. I find myself clenching my thighs together as I watch him, unable to look away as if he’s put me under a trance or cast some spell over me that inhibits me to do anything but watch him. The way his fingers work the neck of the violin has me picturing how he could use those hands of his in other ways.
As the song comes to an end, I sit, mouth opened in awe of his pure talent. No wonder why this asshole won a Grammy. I make a mental note to look that up later because I’m curious as hell, but don’t want to outright ask him. Then he’d know I’m interested in knowing more about him.
Chase opens his eyes and immediately finds mine. A moment passes between us, and it takes me a minute to remember we’re in the middle of class and we’re surrounded by a whole room of people. People, who seem overly interested in our little moment.
My face blazes with heat, because I let my imagination run amok. It’s probably because I’m so tired, I reason. Right? And he had to get all in my face, comforting me after that horrendous nightmare. I don’t like him or anything. I couldn’t. I don’t.
Rhonda nudges my arm and gestures to her notebook in front of her that has the word ‘hot!’ written out on it.
I frown at her as she grins.
“What? The two of you together?” She fans herself whispering the words, so the Maestro doesn’t overhear.
“Shut up! He’s my stepbrother.” I whisper back through clenched teeth.
She tilts her head with a teasing smile. “So? Taboo is sexy.”
“Do you two girls have something you’d like to say about Mr. Milford’s performance?” Maestro says looking directly at us.
I slink down in my chair. “No, sir,” I say, wanting to escape the attention. Maybe melt into the floor Wicked Witch style. If only someone had a bucket of water to throw at me right about now, that would be great.
“Good. May we resume then?” He turns and Rhonda giggles. I shoot her a death glare, but she keeps smiling.
Chase, I notice, hasn’t looked away from me once until the Maestro has him play another piece and I do everything to busy my mind, so I don’t make a fool of myself yet again.