Petrify

47. The Pianist

The Pianist

After a day spent bruising my fingers at the piano, memorizing the last section of the waltz, I wander to the roof for some quiet. Up here, the sky is infinite above me, and I have all the room I need to just think.

It’s dark, and I’d already changed into my night clothes, my old sweatshirt and shorts, before climbing to the roof, ignoring the sting of the cold. It clears my head, forces me into my body.

The waltz is done, the party is only one more day away, the year is almost over, and I still don’t know what my life will look like on the other side of all of this.

I’ve aligned myself with a murderer. Let him into my bed. And the worst part is that I can’t blame him for what he’s done, not really.

Nothing will be the same after the party. Even without Baz and his plans, it could be a night where I get recognized. It’s every musician's dream—to be noticed by someone who opens doors, and if the guests are notable enough to keep company with the Beauchenes, this could be it.

I can get what I came for and leave the manor, like Mariane wants.

But then who will tutor Henri?

Baz is right, that Henri is blameless in all of this. I won’t let him harm Henri.

Without Leo and Mariane, would Henri still want to play? Is it possible he’d love the instrument more without their looming expectations? I’ll continue to guide him, if he wants it. We can continue our lessons. But it’ll be his choice.

Maybe that’s why Baz is doing all this—so that Henri could have the choice.

A shiver rolls through my exposed limbs, the chill seeping deep into my skin.

I become aware of his presence as I do every night. His footsteps are almost silent, except I’ve become used to listening for him, trying to catch every sound, every glimpse of him.

He stops behind me. I continue to look out at the grounds, basking in the breeze, knees pulled up to my chest. He doesn’t say anything for a while, perhaps seeing what I see: the pattern of trees in the blue moonlight, the way the branches wave in the wind, the twinkling of Orion and the Pleiades above in the sky.

The blinking of a plane along the horizon. The smell of frost on the breeze.

I’ve come to enjoy the quiet away from the city. I didn’t realize how much I wouldn’t miss the constant bustling of businessmen and honking cars and fluorescent advertisements.

A gentle tug at my hair—his fingers, perhaps, but it could have been the wind.

“You’ll freeze to death.”

“Sit with me,” I say.

I can feel his tension, his hesitation. But after a moment, I see his dark figure sit next to me, out of the corner of my eye.

Still wearing his mask.

“Do you ever come up here?”

Every time I have his attention, it’s like being caught in the gaze of a starving lion. “No.”

“I think it’s quite nice.”

He’s silent for another moment. His form is rigid, his shoulders tense near his ears. His stare trails from my face, down my body, and back up. Hungry, ravenous, but not for my flesh.

“What is it?” I ask, turning to him again.

The black hoodie turns him into a reaper, his pale wrists crossed over his knees. Dark hair curling under his hood, deep brown eyes glinting in the moonlight. The mask turns a pale blue, almost glowing under the stars, and I itch to run my fingers along it, cup his cheek, bring his mouth to mine.

He only continues to stare, the only evidence of his unease is the way his fingers twitch. Maybe he’s itching to grab me, too.

“I’m debating dragging you inside.” His voice is a low rumble amidst the whispering of the wind.

“In a minute,” I say.

“I’m debating locking you inside for good.”

“Baz, we’ve talked about this.”

“I know. But I want you to stay.”

I sigh. “My contract will run out eventually.” It’s a flimsy argument.

“I don’t care about the contract.”

My cheeks turn aflame with that spark of indignation. “Well I can’t stay past the end date, unless they sign me on again, and there’s no way—”

“Don’t worry about that.” He leans closer. “I want you to stay.”

“What about the party? What if I’m scouted?”

He’s suddenly moving closer, crawling the short distance before he’s in my face, and instinctively I move back, until I’m lying on my back and he’s hovering above me. This is our normal.

“Will you stay?”

“Baz, you know that I need to go back.”

Something flashes in his eyes. “Mallary,” he says, taunting, a derisive edge to his voice. “Answer my question.”

My lips part to answer, but nothing comes, because I can’t stay, not forever.

My time here is temporary, it always was, and I shouldn’t want to stay—I should’ve run home long ago.

I should’ve made my escape the first time I saw his figure at the foot of my bed.

I should’ve put the manor far behind me.

A ghost story, a bad fit. I shouldn’t have stayed.

And yet.

My fingers are twisted in his hoodie, gripping the fabric as he hovers over me. I swallow the lump in my throat. “No.”

And immediately I know it’s the wrong answer—this tenuous understanding between us shatters, this sense of calm, and a cool darkness shadows his eyes as he extricates himself from me. A small part of me expects his roughness, his greed—but not this. Not him pulling away.

He’s never pulled away from me before. He’s never put this wall up between us.

It’s my fault. It’s always my fault.

My heart jumps in panic as he leans back, sitting on his knees, peering down at me. My hands hover in the air as if to grab him again, and I realize how pathetic I must look, wanting and denying it once again, ready to splay myself open for this man whose face I’ve never truly seen.

And he gazes down at me as though the wool has been lifted from his eyes.

“Say something,” I beg.

“You won’t be leaving.”

“Okay.” The word wobbles on my tongue.

“If I am stuck here, if I’ve been left to rot within these walls—then so are you.”

And still I need him to touch me, to lean back down and bite me, hurt me, dig his fingers so deep that it’s true, I really am trapped here.

“You aren’t for them,” he says. “You aren’t for my father. Or for Henri. Or the next Jason Howard. You are for me.”

“Okay.”

“Mine to play with. Mine to torture. Mine to tear apart.”

This is torture. His hands flex at his sides.

My legs spread willingly.

“Mine to fuck. Mine to keep. You need me, Mallary. We need each other. Don’t you feel it? How you’ve bewitched me? Just be good and let me take care of you.”

I’m so tired of trying. I’m so tired of having to prove myself.

“Please,” I whisper, and it’s so fucking pathetic, I almost pity myself. “I’ll stay. I’ll stay with you.”

“You will.”

I can hear his grin. Something is burning in my chest, and I’m not sure I have the words to name it. The prospect of leaving him—

And still, he won’t touch me, even when I can see the ridge of his cock through his pants. Even when I know he wants to plunge deep inside of me, make a home of my rib cage. He’s right, I can feel it like our viscera and sinew are melting into one. Whatever he is made of, so am I.

“The plan never was for you to leave,” he says. “You were always going to stay.”

My breaths hitches, my head dizzy with the lack of oxygen.

“Once you entered those gates, you were trapped. But it’s alright, you don’t want to leave anyway.” He finally, finally leans closer again, fingertips dancing across my knees, pushing my legs further apart. “See how you took almost no convincing? Because we were made for each other.”

I’m shaking my head, even when he settles between my thighs, even when the thick length of his cock presses against me.

“I can’t—”

He props himself up with a hand on either side of my head. “Stop denying it.”

“I—I don’t—”

“You killed him, didn’t you?” he murmurs, his face so close to mine. He grinds his cock against my clit, forcing my thighs further apart.

My eyes slam shut at the sudden intense sensation. “Stop.”

“Didn’t we just agree you’d be good for me?” Leaning closer, so the nose of his mask brushes mine. “You killed him, and you’ve been running ever since.”

I try to pull myself out from under him. “No.”

“You murdered him.”

“No!”

His grip is harsh at my hips, holding me in place. He’s enjoying this. Of course he is. “You killed Jason.”

“It was an accident,” I sob, gripping at his hoodie again. “I didn’t mean to.”

“Still murder, Mallary.” He groans, burying his face in my neck. “It’s okay. He deserved it, didn’t he?”

My lungs constrict like the weight of the earth is crushing my ribs, shaking my head, denying, denying, denying.

How does he know?

“Please, stop—”

“And you were able to slip away so easily. No one suspected a thing.”

He knows too much, he’s always known, taunting me with it. I never had to fear Jason’s ghost, because this one’s been haunting me for weeks.

“Blunt force trauma to the skull, Mallary. Was it you?”

“No.”

“Why’d you kill him?”

“He fell, I didn’t—” My throat tightens.

“What did he do?”

“Please.”

“Mallary.”

“Stop.” Shoving against his chest, even when my legs tighten around his hips, pushing him away again, unable to truly escape his grasp.

“Then stop lying to yourself,” he growls, fingers bruising my thigh. He grinds his cock against me, so hard it almost hurts. “Just admit it. You and I are the same, and that’s okay. Nothing wrong with it, Mallary.”

He’s killed so many people, and Jason was an accident, it’s not the same, I am not like him, I don’t do these things, I don’t let my anger make me a serial killer.

I don’t kill people.

He grips my jaw and forces me to stare into his eyes. “Admit it.”

“I—I can’t.”

“You can,” he groans. He reaches between us, his hand brushing against my clit through my shorts, and my back arches at the contact. He sucks in a sharp breath. And then he’s fumbling with his fly, and moving aside my underwear, notching his cock at my entrance.

“Why does this matter so much to you?” I grit my teeth, shivering from the anticipation, from the frigid air.

But he doesn’t move any further. “Admit it.”

My fingers twist in his hoodie, my cunt already dripping, ready for him, like my body knew this was coming.

“You murdered Jason.”

I bite my lip so hard I taste blood.

He says my name one more time, like a warning. It’s my last chance. My hips shift under him, needing another inch, needing him to sheath his cock deep inside, needing him to make me forget.

He’s ripping me apart.

“Yes.” I exhale, slamming shut my eyes.

And then he groans as he presses into me, his cock forcing its way through my flesh. “Yes what?”

“I—I murdered him.” Tears warm my cheeks. When his cock fully seated inside of me, only seconds later, I struggle to breathe in the cool, thin air. He’s too big. It’s too much, it’s all too much.

He thrusts again, his hips snapping against mine, stealing all my thoughts away. “Tell me how.”

“I—” My eyes roll back as he plunges into me again, and again.

“How, Mallary?”

“I didn’t—I didn’t know the stairs—he fell—” I’m struggling to string the words together, my thoughts scrambling at the heady pleasure ripping through me. He could get anything from me like this. Could make me say anything.

“You pushed him down the stairs.” Satisfied, either at getting the answer out of me, or at the way my cunt grips his cock. He doesn’t slow, each thrust brutal and deep.

My vision blurs through the tears. “I pushed him—and the stairs—they just—I didn’t know—”

“Yes you did. You’re not stupid, Mallary.”

“I didn’t mean to.” My tears are hot as they stream down my face. Always crying, such a disappointment, too sensitive, too much.

“Maybe not, but you killed him all the same.”

I wish his mask would disappear. I wish it was his face against mine and not this layer of plaster. And maybe a part of me is a little vengeful, because I reach up, pressing my palm against the cool cheek.

His dark eyes flash, but he doesn't slow down, pinning me to the icy roof.

And when I pull his mask away, he still doesn’t stop.

Pale in the moonlight, dark curls messy at his forehead, thick brows and a few days’ stubble along his jaw. The puzzle pieces start to fit together. The cut of his high cheekbones, a strong nose.

He bares his teeth, his breaths coming quick, like he can’t catch his breath either, one of his canines the slightest bit crooked and sharp. And I had the thought, for half a second, that these were his fangs, and he’s a monster.

This is Bastien.

He’s hauntingly beautiful. Devastating in a rugged, messy way. A ghost from centuries past, doomed to haunt the manor, only the truth was much sadder: the eldest son, locked away, shunned from the world, forgotten.

Until I came along and became his obsession.

“If you thought you could leave before,” he says, stilling inside of me, pressed in as far as he can go, “then you’ve really damned yourself now.”

“I’m not scared of you.” It’s only half a lie. I’m scared of what he could do. I’m scared he’ll never let me see the outside world again, no matter how this party goes. I’m scared he won’t give me what he promised.

“Good,” he says.

Our bodies clash together, again and again, at the highest point of the manor, melting into pleasure. Only he could push me past this precipice. Only he could torment me like this.

Later, after he’s carried me to bed, slinking away into the shadows while he thinks I’m asleep, I begin to wonder just how he plans to keep me trapped here.

He won’t be able to keep his eyes on me forever.