Toxic (Ruin, #2)(13)

“I’ve had a really busy few months with classes.” I lied, thinking it was easier to brush it off rather than explain to her that I had in fact been by her side like a freaking leach for the past four years and was slowly suffocating to death. She wouldn’t understand. It would hurt her, and I’d already done that enough.
“Oh.” Her empty blue eyes seemed to take the information as truth, “Well, since you’re here, can we play a game?” The emptiness disappeared as excitement flashed across her face.
“Sure.” I sat down next to her and looked at the table. “What are our choices?”
“Hmm…” Her smile was bright and eager. “How about Guess Who?”
“Awesome.” I pulled out the game board just as my phone went off.
Not thinking, I went to answer it, momentarily forgetting how much Princess hated interruptions.
“No phones, Park! No PHONES!” She wailed shaking her head back and forth. “You promised, PARKER, you promised me! You promised!” Loud sobs escaped her mouth as a few nurses came running.
Well, shit.
“I’m so sorry, K, I forgot, I—”
“That’s not my name!” She yelled. “My name’s Princess!”
“You’re right,” I sighed, reaching for my guitar and motioning for the nurses to stop running. They’d do more damage than good. “How about I play you a song?”
She stopped yelling, but her lips quivered. “Play our song, Park. Please?”
“Of course, Princess. I’ll play our song.”
I was five seconds away from losing my shit. I strummed a few chords and started singing. Princess giggled and started singing with me.
She’d once had a beautiful voice. But her voice, just like everything else, had been taken from her. By the very person who promised he would never let anything happen to her.
My stomach clenched. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to do it. But I had to try — for her I’d try, because I’d broken every other promise I’d ever made her. I had promised to protect her, to save her — sucks that the one person who promises you life — delivers death.



Chapter Eight
I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Which was so stupid if you asked me. I dreamt of his stupid music note tattoos and that ridiculous kiss. I needed to get out more or something if I was dreaming of the devil and actually looking forward to falling asleep so I could dream of him again. —Saylor
Saylor
It had been two days since my run-in with Blue Eyes, aka Asshat. I was beginning to think he wasn’t real. I mean, he played the piano like a dream but he wasn’t in the music program — at all. Not that I shamelessly searched for any sign of him in all of my classes.
Or Facebook stalked him.
Or asked the dean of the department.
I was curious. That was it.
Besides, he was never in my building.
And I was in that building twenty-four seven.
Great, was I really practicing so hard that I’d started hallucinating?
I shook my head as I walked down the hall toward the practice room. So what if it was at the exact same time I’d been there a few days past? Was it wrong to feel hopeful that I’d hear that music again? It was my practice time —the only time I could manage to fit it in my schedule!
That man could be the devil himself — and probably was if his earlier behavior was any indication — and all it would take would be one song and I’d be putty. That’s why musicians were dangerous, they made you forget yourself. The core of who you are can be so easily lost in music. They were our modern day sirens, wielding the power of persuasion with their gift. And the rest of the human population had no choice but to be caught in the trap. It was worse for a fellow musician because they could actually appreciate the raw talent and skill. It was beyond something sounding good — it was about life coming together for a few brief seconds while notes mixed. I shuddered.
I wondered if anyone had ever taken the time to tell him how amazing he was at the piano. How I’d kill to have that type of talent at my fingertips. My greedy little musician heart wanted to sit in the same practice room as him and just savor the moment.
“Geez, Saylor,” I mumbled to myself. “Get a grip. Focus. Practice. Graduate.” I reaffirmed my mantra with a nod as I repeated it to myself.
And then I heard singing.
The melody was familiar. I listened closer. The song spoke of messing up, being the reason for your own mistakes, and then walking away from someone you loved. My breath caught as he sang it perfectly. Parachute had always been one of my favorite bands.
My heart started slamming against my chest as I took a tentative step toward the practice room.
He was at the piano, his hands flying across the ivory keys like he was Mozart’s long lost prodigy. His voice was like — nothing I’d ever heard. So honest, so raw, so much pain came out of that mouth, that for some reason I felt like crying.
I gasped as he stopped playing and then with a yell hit the piano with his hands, over and over again like he wanted to hurt, like the song was pissing him off, along with everything else in the world.
Without thinking, I opened the door. “You probably shouldn’t destroy school property like that.” What was I? The piano police? Kill me now. The door slammed behind me and took all the oxygen with it.
His hands froze midair, with a curse he turned and stared right through me. His blue eyes were cold. Slowly, he stood and stalked toward me. “What are you going to do about it, little girl? Tattle?”
“Sure,” I said in a confident voice. “If you want to pick a fight, at least choose something that can punch back.” I was officially the worst trash talker on the face of the planet. Why hadn’t I disappeared into the floor already?