35
Valentina
Huxley randomly strums on his guitar while I doodle instead of doing my homework. A pretty typical Tuesday for us lately, and I’m not complaining.
While drawing my fifth mediocre attempt at a lioness and her cubs, Huxley’s strumming starts to sound like an actual song.
“Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Valentine,” he sings. “I don’t know any more words. But oh my darling Valentine.”
I smile while I continue to draw. “You do realize that song is really sad, right?”
He abruptly stops playing, pulling my attention from my drawing. Wide-eyed, he says, “What? No way.”
I gesture toward his phone. “Look it up.”
He leans forward and grabs his phone from the coffee table, quickly typing. He starts reading over the lyrics, and I laugh as his eyes go wider.
“Gone and lost forever? Dreadful sorry? I thought they sang this to us as kids?” He shakes his head as he continues to read.
“Technically, all fairytales and nursery rhymes are dark and demented. It’s just that the lyrics get changed for children to sing them, the song gets shortened before the darker parts, or children are just singing horror lyrics and not realizing until they’re older why they have depression.”
Huxley sets his phone and guitar down so he can move next to me.
“Well, I’m going to write you a new version,” he says with determination. “One that isn’t so dark and demented.”
I stare at him for a moment, letting that thought sink in. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’re my girlfriend. And every other musician boyfriend out there writes a song for his girlfriend, so I will too.” He leans forward and kisses me quickly, but I grab his shirt before he can pull too far away.
My fingers trace over his chest as he pulls in a deeper breath. “Speaking of writing a song.” My eyes move up to his as he watches me closely. “When are you going to teach me how to play?”
My bottom lip pushes out, earning a grin from Huxley.
He leans in closer, his lips barely touching mine. “Whenever you want, Love,” he whispers.
I grip his shirt, pulling him closer, nearly sealing our lips together. “Right now?”
He pulls away enough to glance at the papers I have spread in front of us. “I thought you were doing homework?”
“I’m pretending I am, so please?” I pout again, and he laughs.
“Alright, Love. Let’s go.” He kisses me quickly before he stands.
I stare up at him in confusion. “Go? Go where?”
“It’s easier to teach someone else when you both have a guitar,” he tells me. “Since I only have one here, we have to go to campus.”
I smile and lift both my hands for him to pull me to my feet. When I’m upright, he pulls me closer.
“Hey.”
“Yeah?”
He nudges his nose against mine. “You’re so beautiful.” Then he attacks my face with kisses.
I laugh and shove him away. “Come on. I want to learn to play the guitar.”
“Fine,” he says dramatically, taking my hand and pulling me out of his apartment.
When we get to campus, there are a few stragglers left roaming around. Huxley absentmindedly swings our hands between us as we walk, making me feel calm as we make our way to Lewis Hall.
“I always like being on campus at this time,” I say softly, as if not to disturb the peace of our surroundings.
Huxley stops moving our hands and looks down at me. “How come?”
I shrug and hold onto his arm as a chilly wind blows over us.
“It’s just more peaceful. In the morning, when everyone’s running to classes, and the sun’s still bright, you’re half asleep but wide awake, you can’t enjoy the world around you. Now…”
I watch another couple walk across campus, holding each other the way Huxley and I are.
“Everything’s settled. There’s no rush. There’s no bright sun. You’ve either taken a nap or you’re getting a little sleepy. And everything is just there in front of you. You don’t have things in your mind occupying your brain, and you can enjoy your surroundings.”
As someone whose mind is constantly in chaos mode, these quiet moments are ones I should be in more often. Should being the important word there. Calmness only comes when the darkness settles, and my darkness only seems to settle when I’m near Huxley.
As if he hears my thoughts, Huxley moves our hands so his arm rests over my shoulders. His hand still in mine, he pulls me closer. “You have a beautiful way of seeing the world, Valentina.”
I weakly smile, but Huxley kisses my temple, missing the moment of doubt. I try to push aside the darkness that wants to settle in my brain and hold on to Huxley a little bit tighter.
Because he’s finally teaching me how to play the guitar. And that excitement helps me hold on for a little while longer.
We spent the first few days of my guitar lessons going over the basic chords, which I picked up on faster than Huxley expected. My guess is because of all those piano lessons.
I remember my very first lesson like it was yesterday.
The last thing on my mind was to take the lesson seriously.
I thought I was just going to a new place to play.
I thought my mother wanted to spend time with just me.
But when I barely hit the keys before I was supposed to, my mother gripped my wrist so tightly I thought it broke.
She never took me to the lessons again, leaving that for our nanny. And I always listened to my teacher, becoming the best student in the class. Too bad that still wasn’t enough.
By the end of the week, I start messing around with chords, playing random ones together that I think sound good. It’s a thrilling feeling, learning a new instrument, especially when I thought I would never play the piano again.
Now I’m here, learning how to play the guitar, and it feels like a new world has been opened up to me—one where possibilities are endless, and voices retreat from my mind.
“So.” Huxley’s voice pulls me from the guitar. “Since you’ve pretty much already mastered the notes, I think you’re ready to play a song.” He pulls a stool over next to mine.
“What song do you have in mind?”
He sets his guitar down and walks over to a cabinet. After a quick search, he pulls out the song he was looking for and brings it over to me, grabbing a stand on his way. I read over the title as he places the music in front of me—Patience by Guns N’ Roses.
My mind jumps back to the day I let him touch more of me than anyone ever has—the way I wanted more. But he was right, I wasn’t ready for that. And that’s what makes me smile up at him.
“Are you trying to tell me something?”
He leans down and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Maybe,” he whispers against my lips, leaving a gentle kiss before sitting next to me.
I try and fail to tamp down my smile as I look back at the song. I’m sure Huxley doesn’t expect me to get all the notes right on the first try, or at least, I don’t expect to, but I still try my hardest to find the right notes as I start to play.
A few notes in, Huxley joins me, playing a slightly different melody that fits with mine, giving the song its full effect. And then, he starts to sing.
I’ll never get tired of his voice. Honestly, I wish he would sing every day, every word, and fill every silent moment with his voice so I can always be wrapped up in this feeling.
When we get to the second chorus, I start to sing with him. Even though I still don’t see myself as a singer, singing with Huxley Adams always brings out a new burst of joy that I didn’t know could exist.
I look over at him, and my heart rate finds a new rhythm that matches the melody of the song.
I’ll never understand the people who asked him for something and then took advantage of him, and I’ll never understand people who only complimented him for their own gain. Huxley Adams is insanely talented and deserves so much more than he’s been given.
He looks up at me as he continues to sing, and a smile spreads on his face.
I feel like a completely different person right now. I feel able to do anything.
With his eyes on me, I am more.
With his eyes on me, I am someone.
Someone who isn’t afraid. Someone who actually believes they can be something. And in this moment, I feel like I’m breathing for the first time. Like I’m finally alive. If this is what happiness feels like, I want more of it.
As we finish the song, the reality of what we just did hits me. I look over at Huxley with wide eyes.
“Oh my god,” I say quietly, then louder in excitement. “Oh my god!”
He laughs as I revel in the moment.
I played a song on the guitar. Not only that, but I sang along to it.
I’m convinced Huxley has powers. That’s the only way to explain how he got me here today, singing and playing a new instrument. And I hope he never loses them. I hope he keeps pushing me to want to try new things. Things I was scared of before, but now feel a joy I never thought I deserved.
“You did great,” he says with the softest smile.
“That felt so good,” I say on a breath. “It’s been so long since playing has felt that good.”
“I’m happy I could help.”
I smile widely and abandon my guitar on my seat to hug him.
“Thank you,” I whisper, holding him tightly.
“You’re welcome, Love,” he whispers back.
“It’s about time you learned.” I let go of Huxley, turning to Professor Owen as he approaches us.
“Well, I had to find a teacher who wouldn’t yell at me first.”
“I’m sure he rewards you better, too,” Professor Owen adds. My eyes go wide, and Huxley clears his throat next to me. “Now if only he’d get your songs out of you.”
My eyes narrow this time as Huxley’s head swings in my direction. “Your own songs?” he asks, but I don’t look away from Professor Owen.
He glances at Huxley, silently telling me to let him in. But I haven’t even let Professor Owen in all the way. He doesn’t know the darkness surrounding Morgan, and I’m not ready to tell Huxley about her either.
“You write songs?” Huxley adds, still hanging on to this new information.
I sigh and turn to him. “They’re nothing. Literally nothing. He’s just seen me writing before.”
“Well, any writing can turn into a song if you work at it enough.” Excitement laces his words, but they bring up fears that I didn’t even know I had.
“I’m not a songwriter,” I snap.
My eyes widen, but Huxley just nods. “Alright. I understand.” He looks away from me and starts fiddling with his guitar.
I feel awful. No. I feel worse. He didn’t deserve that.
“Okay.” Huxley and I both look up at Professor Owen as he backs away. “I’ll leave you kids to it.” He practically runs out of the room, leaving Huxley and me in our uncomfortable state.
I glance at him but can’t hold his gaze. “I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I used to know someone who wanted to be a songwriter. And it…” My words fall flat.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to talk about Morgan. But I also don’t know how to change the subject without bringing her up.
“Valentine.” I finally hold Huxley’s gaze as he shrugs. “Look, you’re right. It’s not easy. Writing music is vulnerable, and honestly, it can hurt other people. So I get why you wouldn’t want to do it.”
“You do it, though,” I mumble.
He smiles weakly and nods. “Sometimes, once you start something, you can never stop. Even if it hurts you or the ones you love. Once the fire’s lit, it can’t be put out.”
I find it in me to softly smile, my elbow nudging his shoulder. “That sounded like a lyric right there.”
He smiles my smile. “Maybe one day.”
I lean down to kiss him gently, but he holds me there, moving his hand around to the back of my head to keep me in place. I laugh and pull away enough to speak. “What’s got you worked up, Huxley Adams?”
“I just realized I haven’t been rewarding you for your progress.”
My eyes fall to his lips. “Then what are you going to do about it?”
Huxley’s eyes light with a fire that nearly topples me over. “I’m taking you home.”
I bite my lip and nod my own excitement. He smiles again and kisses me softly, only a taste of what I know will be a few hours of his lips on mine. And I can’t wait.