Toxic

Chapter Twenty-Five

I was whistling. Dear God save us all from such a fate. When grown men whistle you know something’s up. Yet, I couldn’t find it in me to stop… whistling or smiling. And for the first time in years when I looked in the mirror, I didn’t wince. I… smiled. —Gabe H.

Gabe

“Either you fell off the wagon or you got some.” Wes’s voice said behind me. I jumped and nearly face planted against the mirror in the bathroom. It had been a week since my dinner with Saylor and things felt… normal. For once in a really long time, I looked in the mirror and I wasn’t met with a scowl, but a freaking smile.

“Do you knock?”

“No.” He made himself comfortable against the wall and smirked. “Not since my best friend started acting like a total lunatic… I feel like a damn babysitter. Don’t make me get you a bodyguard.”

I rolled my eyes.

“Then again you know all about that headache.” He whistled and examined his nails.

“Wes…” I groaned and stared at him through the reflection in the mirror. “I’m not high, I didn’t have sex. I’m just… feeling better.”

His chest puffed up as a cocky grin appeared across his face, “Would this have anything to do with a certain individual whose name starts with an S?”

“Oh, look at the time. You need to go. I have to get dressed, and for the last time, no, you may not see me naked.”

“Hurts, dude.” He thumped his own chest. “Right here.”

“Play fair.” I narrowed my eyes.

“Sharp pain.” He winced.

“Son of a bitch. You’re a pain in my ass.”

“So?” He grinned.

“What? Your heart feel all better now?”

“Oohhh.” He bent over a bit.

“Yes. Okay? Happy?”

“Healed.” He jumped to his feet. “Oh, and thanks for being honest with me after I begged you for five minutes.”

“Three minutes.”

“I’ll give you four.”

“Wes?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not ready. Not now. To tell you everything, but… my dad, did he — did he say anything?”

Wes sighed heavily, all traces of amusement gone. “No, he was looking for you under your real name. The one on your license.”

I felt cold all over. With a shudder I exhaled.

“Should I be worried about our safety?”

“No.” I ground my teeth together. “He’s just… desperate, but it will blow over. This isn’t the first time he’s come up here looking for me, and every single time he goes back home with his tail between his legs. I’m careful. I won’t let him find me. Plus, he would hardly recognize me now.”

Wes stared at me for a few seconds before saying, “Do you even recognize you?”

“No.” My laugh was hollow. “Not really.”

“Thought so.”

“I’m meeting her, you know. In a bit.”

“The girl you said was ugly who you actually find really pretty and then treated like shit in front of everyone? That girl?”

“Yeahhhh.”

“Good luck with that.” Wes smirked and made his way toward the door. I was beginning to regret the fact that I said he could come into my dorm any time he wanted, especially now, considering he was all up in my business. Then again, he was worried and I’d made him that way.

“Hey, Wes?”

“Hmm?” He paused in the doorway.

“Thanks.”

“For?” He actually looked confused.

“Making sure I was okay.”

His face relaxed. “Sure, Gabe. Anytime.”

****

“You ready for this?” I cracked my neck, then my knuckles.

Saylor yawned. “Yeah, and that’s really bad for you by the way.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

She glared.

“I may have multiple personalities but you’re freakishly bossy.”

“I knew this wouldn’t work.” She slumped a bit.

“Sorry,” I grumbled and placed my hands on the keys of the piano. “Swear, we can do this. Music just makes me edgy.”

“Why?” It was an innocent question. “I mean, you’re incredible. You can play guitar, the piano, sing — you’re a triple threat. I can barely hum.”

“But—” I patted the piano seat next to me. “—you can play. You just don’t know how to breathe.”

“Huh?” She inhaled then exhaled as if to show me she knew exactly how to keep living.

Good, at least I’d changed the subject.

“Watch.” I started playing, confident that nobody would barge in on us because, well, the barger was in the room already, and I’d pulled all blinds and locked the doors. Good thing she actually trusted me… a little. Thank God for fish.

I started slowly, my hands moving effortlessly across the piano. It was perfect, but I wasn’t into it. I couldn’t care less about the song. I tried to focus on something boring like dirt.

Which was really saying something, considering I was already starting to respond to the scent of honey and the way her warmth enveloped me.

“Now,” I said, picking up speed. “Note the difference.”

Same song. Different type of playing. I let every note flow from my fingers all the way through my body like my soul and the music were one.

When I was done, I opened my eyes.

To see Saylor crying.

“Shit.” Yeah, because saying shit immediately made girls stop crying. Brilliant move. “Are you okay?”

“That was beautiful.” She sniffled, her blue eyes glowing with excitement. “I’ve never heard anything like it. I’m sorry for crying. Ugh.” She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. “You must think I’m such an idiot! I’ve cried twice now.”

I shrugged. Actually, she’d cried once and even then it wasn’t some crazy sob-inducing spectacle, she cried with… restraint. It was almost weird. “At least this time I earned the tears.”

Saylor smiled. “Yeah, you really did.”

“Alright.” I stood and slid my hands around her waist gently pushing her toward the middle of the bench. “Now, play one of your songs, any one of them, and I’m going to help you feel.”

“Feel what? It’s just music.”

“Just music?” I repeated. “That’s like saying you’re just breathing, or I’m just existing. Not true. Music is a story. And you’re the author.” I placed her hands on the piano and put mine over them. “Each stroke of your fingers is a different word that describes the story. By itself it’s meaningless, but—” I pushed down on a few fingers helping her play a few notes. “String them together and you have a melody. You have a story. So, Saylor, what story do you want to tell?”

Her entire body froze in front of mine. Her warmth against mine drove me insane. Saylor began to tremble as if the closeness was too much for her to handle. If I were being honest, it was taking every ounce of restraint I had not to touch her more. Being near her was the closest to living I’d experienced in a very long time. And damn, damn, damn, I really did want to live, didn’t I?

For some reason I felt like we had stepped over some invisible boundary, but I wanted to help her. It was almost as if helping her find that passion was redeeming my own damnation.

Music made me feel alive.

And those who made beautiful music? Were like an addiction all by themselves.

“Yours.” She said it so quietly I almost didn’t catch it. “You won’t use words to explain — part of me thinks you never have and never will. So, show me through the music, show me your story, Gabe.”

The room was suddenly too small.

“Please,” she whispered.

“Saylor, my story… It isn’t a happy one.” I pressed down on her fingertips anyway as I helped her play a melody.

“I don’t need a happy story.”

“And the ending.” I continued helping her with the melody, my abdomen pressed against her back as I hovered over her. “It’s one of those endings…”

“What kind?” she breathed.

“A sad one.” My voice quivered.

Her fingers became strong underneath mine, her body stopped shaking. In an instant, her hands slipped out from beneath mine and moved to press over the top. “So change it.”