Songs of Sorrow
Warnings: Anxiety/trauma related to the flute.
The flute. Learning that Rafayel could play was more of a curse than a blessing. He was beautiful, as he always is with everything he does, melodies from the heart sung effortlessly from the elegant instrument in his hands. Surely you would have swooned at this, given you were a flautist at one point. But…
It just brought back bad memories.
Straight posture. Hours of practice. Torturous recitals. Your grandmother didn’t mean to be so strict, she just wanted the best for you. But, you couldn’t give her your best. Not when you didn’t have it in you.
“You’re just not trying…”
“It’s like you don’t even care.”
You don’t. You didn’t. Playing the flute wasn’t something you were made to do. It didn’t make you happy, it didn’t give you a sense of accomplishment. The flute, even just hearing it in the distance, resurfaces horrible memories and treacherous anxieties. You can’t breathe.
“Hold your breath longer.”
You can’t think.
“Are you even reading the notes?”
You can’t play. You never could. Even with the hours of practice. All you can remember when someone plays the flute is how you failed, failed, failed—
“Baby? Are you alright?”
You snap out of your thoughts and gaze up a Rafayel. He stopped playing a while ago. You were just so lost in thought you didn’t notice.
“I-I’m alright. Thank you, baby.” Your eyes cast to the side, a glaze in them he’d never seen before.
He sits down next to you “Honey, what’s wrong?”
Do you tell him? No, you were working through it with your therapist. Though, communication is key in relationships. But you don’t want to dump all your trauma into him…
Instead you open your hand, gesturing to his flute. His eyes widened in mild surprise, cautiously laying it in your hands. With a shaky breath, you brought the lip plate to your mouth, your fingers trembling as they took their places. Then, you played the only tune you could remember. An etude dedicated to sorrow. Your tone wasn’t as crisp as Rafayel’s, it never would be. The sound was sloppy at best, but passable. When you were done, you looked down, placing the flute into your lap.
You didn’t have to say much, but he knew. That didn’t mean you wanted him to stop.
“I’m working on it…” You whispered, rubbing your eyes. You don’t cry anymore when it comes to the flute. “I-I am, I promise. I…I want you to keep playing. You sound so beautiful…”
It would take a while. Rafayel knew that. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be there for you. One day, he’ll be able to play for you without the memories resurfacing. One day, you would enjoy his songs.
But today, he would just hold you for now.
