As a child, I played this keyboard, only hearing the notes through the headphones.
If Dad wouldn’t buy a piano, I would. Fucking determination was present even at twelve years old. I’d made a deal with Mrs. Juniper, the old woman who lived down the street. I’d mow her grass and she’d teach me to play.
The thought of Mrs. Juniper eased my tension.
White haired and a bit plump, she was the stereotypical grandmother.
In her small living room was one of my favorite places to be. Sometimes she’d have cookies or brownies. She said I had an ear for music. At the time, I wasn’t sure what that meant. I only knew that if I listened, really listened, my fingers would do the rest, and the world would disappear.
Only Liv knew about my lessons or why I mowed Mrs. Juniper’s lawn.
But then…I reached for the keyboard I’d prized.
The room blurred as overwhelming exhaustion washed through me. Staggering, I tried to find my footing. Clothes. Balls. The floor was an obstacle course. My stomach twisted as I made it to the bunk bed. I didn’t want to lie upon the small twin mattress.
I didn’t belong here.
I never did.
Home. I wanted to leave, to go home,myhome with Julia.
Maybe if I slept I could leave this memory, the feelings, all of it.
Brushing the crumbs from the sheets, I lay down.
Sleep.
The voices woke me.
My childhood bedroom was gone, replaced by blinding lights and loud voices. The intense shine obscured the faces.
Pain.
Excruciating pain.
Cold.
Agonizing cold.
Sleep.
A reprieve from the physical pain and an entrance to emotional mayhem.
Lawsuits.
Libel.
The elation of a deal gone well.
The despair of losing.
There was no rhyme or reason to my waking or my dreams. Such as a cloud on a summer’s day, I drifted from place to place.
Madison Montgomery.
Lena Montgomery.
Logan Butler.