CH. 1- Music of Her Heart
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Chapter 1:
She despised the fall.
Kya Martinez stomped along the tree-lined corridors of the campus, her boots making a faint clicking on the concrete as she strode purposefully towards the Humanities building. The breeze lifted her dark hair from the flat sheet cascading down her back, sending it flying about her head.. She shoved it behind her ear in irritation. Everything irritated her lately.
While her girlfriends were gushing on Instagram about pumpkin-flavored lattes (pumpkin-flavored everything) and simpering over patterned leggings, she was reminded by the constant falling of the red and gold leaves that this was a time of death, a time of pain, and no amount of pumpkin-flavored froth could change that for her.
She breathed the scent of smoky leaves into her lungs, recalling bonfires and Homecomings, and thought once again of her father. As pleasant as she knew that smell should be, it still couldn’t cover the stench of decay that this season always brought with it.
The chilly October air bit at her and she drew the heather grey cardigan tighter around her narrow waist. The beautiful day did nothing to lift her spirits; instead it seemed to mock her with its boundless potential.
Already in a bitter mood, she wrenched open the heavy glass door and stepped into the warmth of the busy vestibule. She joined the throng of students about to enter the lecture hall and lost herself, for a moment, in the raucous crowd filtering into the auditorium seats.
“Hey,” she huffed to Elisabetta as she swung her messenger bag over her shoulder and draped her lithe form into a seat, in their usual place near the back.
“Hey, yourself.” Ellie tapped her pencil against her nose. “You having a day already?”
Kya pulled a notebook from her bag and slapped it onto her tiny desktop, rolling her brown eyes at her closest friend. “You have no idea.”
The TA at the front of the room signaled the class by dimming the lights and Kya leaned in closer so Ellie could catch her whisper. “My roommate is a total freeloader. I woke up to no hot water and her eating my last breakfast bar. And I forgot my laptop.”
“Bitch,” Ellie empathized, sliding a granola bar across Kya’s workspace knowingly.
Kya sighed with relief as she tore open the bar. “This is why I love you.”
Ellie chuckled to herself, turning her attention to the speaker and the notes on the overhead.
Kya set up the outline for her notes as she crunched on the granola bar, glancing up periodically to track the powerpoint. Before long, however, she began to feel herself lose focus, a recognizable niggling at the back of her head pulled her attention away from the speaker.
The windows along the far wall had been opened, no doubt by some well-meaning pollyanna to allow the class to enjoy the crisp coolness of the impending fall. She caught a whiff of acrid, woodsy warmth as gentle tendrils of smoke wafted into the room. A familiar sensation settled over her: a tingling innervation slowly spread across her skin and her concentration waned as her mind wandered.
She let the droning voice of the teaching assistant turn to white noise in her ears, buoying her on waves of undulating static until her mind was numb and meandering. She distantly remembered she should be taking notes for the quiz, but she was too preoccupied with her own thoughts which had been brought forth by the cool weather, the assault on her senses by the slow progression of the seasons, and the infuriating, ever-present scent of burning leaves.
She felt herself drift, unwelcome recollections floating, unbidden, to the forefront of her memory.
He was holding her down, his hands like iron bands wrapped around her forearms. The sob caught in her throat, tore at her vocal chords, screaming to get out, but she couldn’t force it past the fear strangling her.
“Please, stop.” The sound of her own begging was almost more repulsive to her than her screams would have been. Even more so because of the harsh bark of laughter that exploded from his lips where they hovered above her mouth.
A scribbled note flew across her notebook, startling her out of her reverie.
Lunch at the pub after?
Kya turned her head and nodded at her friend in agreement. She shook herself. The heat of the room, the warm press of bodies all around her suddenly felt stifling and unbearable, causing an unintended shudder to ripple across her skin. She stood hastily and fumbled her way out from behind the tiny half-desk, mumbling an excuse to Ellie as she careened desperately down the stairs and out of the auditorium.
As soon as she was clear of the room, she broke into a stumbling run, racing for the ladies room. She crashed through the door and sagged against the wall inside, sinking to the floor, tucking her knees into her chest as her body shook with sobs she’d long suppressed.
Would she ever be able to forget?
She took a deep, shuddering breath and shoved the memory down viciously, burying it low in her heart and heaping mountains of textbooks on top of it, covering it with homework and study projects, piling on friendships and obligations, until she could breathe again without feeling it settled in her chest, threatening at any moment to come crashing out of her.
There was never enough time when these moments hit, never enough time to just sit and feel and overcome the emotion. It always felt rushed, a desperate race to hide any public display of her pain.
Kya leaned her head back against the cool tile of the wall, eyes closed for just one moment more. It’s Friday. Just get through one class and then you’re in the clear.
She hauled herself off the floor and turned on the faucet; she splashed water on her face and dabbed gently at it, staring at her hollow eyes in the mirror. Classic features, strong cheekbones, arched brows, and plump lips reflected back at her. She knew she was pretty. Pretty had never been the problem. The problem was something much deeper, much more sinister; something that she wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to completely master or cover up.
Heaving a sigh, she squared her shoulders and jutted her chin at the mirror before returning to her class. Ellie gave her a worried look as she slid into her seat.
Kya shook her head reassuringly and slid a quick note her way: Sorry-- thought Aunt Flo was here. All good. :) Ellie smiled in return and went back to taking her notes.
Kya tried to force herself to focus on the lecture, but found her eyes constantly seeking out the open windows. She understood, logically, that there was no threat, but her system couldn’t seem to accept that the danger had long since passed and her body continued to react as if something were lurking around every corner waiting to ambush, hiding in every shadowed corner waiting to strike. Every sound seemed too loud to her, forcing her eyes to flicker back and forth across the crowd at every sneeze or shuffle.
Her fingers twisted restlessly in her lap even as her mind screamed at her: Stop! Just stop. Everything is fine. There is nothing wrong with you! But all the positive self-talk only served to make her more aware of her debilitating uselessness. With another deep breath she coaxed her face into an expression of calm boredom and waited anxiously for the class to end.
*****
Fall was his favorite time of year.
The feel of the crisp chill of the autumn air whipping at his face, the pungent aroma of warm apple and spices invading his nose each time he inhaled, the sound of the crisp leaves tumbling from their perch on a branch. Everything was so tranquil, so calming. God, how he loved autumn.
Victor Marino sat in the straight-backed chair next to the open window, the warmth of the sun just shy of touching his stubbled cheek as he brought the violin to rest under his chin; the cold wood gave him a kind of comfort that no human could quite achieve. He angled the bow across the body of the violin and poised his fingers on the catgut strings. He took a deep breath and the smell of fall invaded his senses. The bustle of noise from the pub below was a dull hum in the background of his mind.
He had always been a recluse, content to stay home with his books and sheets of music; opting to stay away from the general public if he could. He had no use for people; they bored him, with their daily routines of yoga and lattes, using their cell phones as if their very existence depended on the tiny electronic devices.
He pulled the bow across the strings and let his eyelids close over blue eyes as the music began. Victor lost himself in the notes he played, the haunting tones washing away the world outside; leaving only him. Dark brows arched and furrowed in coordination with the music. The piece was an original composition and as the sound fluttered through the air, he acknowledged with pride that it was his creativity that gave it life.
He finished the piece with gusto, ripping the bow down on a sharp note; his chest puffing out each time he breathed in. He peered outside at the soft glow of the mid-morning sun hitting the trees, casting dark shadows across the pavement. With a gentle grace, he placed the instrument back on a muscled shoulder. Skilled fingers danced across the strings, making the instrument cry out it’s daunting tune.
Victor worked the bow back and forth; his calloused fingertips no longer felt the bite of the strings. His mind drifted back, as it always did when he played.
“Gabriela, go get that sissy son of yours!”
He closed his eyes against the vicious words of his booze-infused father and silently played harder, finding a modicum of solace in miming the movements he wished he could make real. He knew he should stop playing and go down to watch the fight with Morris. The concept of spending time with that man made Victor’s skin crawl, but he refused to continue to be the reason his mother became Morris’s punching bag.
“VICTOR!”
His eyes snapped open, his heart pounding beneath his rib cage. With haste, he stashed the stringless violin under his bed, taking care to slide it as far away from the edge as he could.
“Coming, papa.”
He pushed the feeling of nausea aside and descended down the stairs towards hell.
The shrill ring of his phone and the sharp bark of his dog forced him back into the present. His hands stilled on the strings, and he set the bow aside. He lifted his toned body off the chair, crossed the hardwood floor in six, quick strides and snatched his iPhone off the coffee table. He glanced at the message and a smile tugged at his full lips.
V. Got a gig at the Art Institute of Boston. Good money. You in? J.
He absentmindedly ran a hand through his short black curls and confirmed with a single letter before tossing the phone back onto formica table.
He glided back to the chair and resumed his earlier position at the window. Playing was his passion; it was the only thing that kept him grounded, the only thing that had ever given him safe harbor in the tumultuous sea that had been his childhood.
As a child, he’d had to play in secret, mainly in the dead of night, when his step-father was too inebriated to hear him. He had learned that lesson the hard way when Morris ripped the strings off both the bow and the violin for disturbing him. For years, when the itch to play struck him at home, Victor would use the desecrated instrument, practicing in silence and saving the real experience for when he could play at school.
He rested the polished wood on in the crook of his neck once more, kissing the strings with the bow gently, and lost himself in another haunting piece of music.
*****
“That was an incredibly boring lecture,” Ellie groaned later as they slid into a booth at their favorite off-campus eatery.
“Agreed.” Kya reached into her bag for her notebook. “Can I borrow your notes? I think I dozed off and missed some things.”
She copied the notes as Ellie ordered them sandwiches and coffee. Kya smiled to herself as Ellie rattled off her lunch order; it still surprised her how well the other woman knew her tastes. They had become fast friends during freshman year, much to Kya’s chagrin.
She had never been a person who let others get close to her and she had had no intention of starting. She had finally been far enough away from her tragic home life that she thought she could begin to figure out who she was. She had been intent on merely surviving the year. But Elisabetta Romano had much bigger plans. The bright and bubbly blonde had literally barrelled into Kya’s life one morning and upended her entire world.
Kya looked up from her notes, “Do you remember the day we met?”
“Oh, you mean when I ran over you at the Student Activities Fair?” She quipped wryly. “Yeah, I think I remember that.”
“It feels like so much has changed since then.”
Fondness spread across Kya’s ivory features as she recalled Ellie dragging her to art exhibits all over the city, insisting they make appearances at frat parties with stunningly simple-minded co-eds, forcing her to attend conventions with high-brow intellectuals, inviting her on Spring Break vacations; she had introduced her into an entirely different existence than Kya had known or even wanted. And yet, she was grateful for it.
Their friendship had pulled her out of a silent and stoic world where pain was her only companion. And though Kya had never told her about her past, Ellie had a way of drawing out her sadness and leaving it to dry on the clothesline while she pulled her along by the hand on all manner of fascinating adventures. And from her delightful and genuinely happy friend she had learned to mimic cheerfulness, to smile and laugh believably, to hold her head at just the right angle to hide the tears that threatened at almost no provocation. She had learned to hide her pain beneath a layer of joviality.
Kya handed back her notes as their food arrived. Over shared french fries and discarded pickle spears they planned out the collaboration project for their Art Appreciation class. Kya forgot, for an hour, about the impending sense of doom that accompanied the cold weather as they quibbled over deadlines and laughed at the redundancy of Art students being required to take a class to make them appreciate their major.
As their checks were delivered Ellie reminded her about a gallery opening they had planned to attend a the Art Institute.
“Are you bringing a date?” Kya asked as they paid their bill and started for the door.
“I asked that guy from studio; you know, the one with the hair?”
Kya nodded, shoving open the door. “Didn’t you call him flaky?”
“Yes, but that just means he’ll be fun without wanting to get serious,” she reasoned. “Oh! Wait for me, I left my jacket.” Ellie ducked back inside the pub to retrieve her coat as Kya pushed out of the vestibule into the afternoon sunlight.
She froze in her tracks just outside the door, her ears turning up at the haunting strains of a violin. There was something utterly beguiling about the song, something plaintive and sad. It spoke to her on some unnamed plane of her existence, calling forth memories in a way that she couldn’t fight. Her eyes searched for the source of the melody, her face drawn upwards to the open window of an apartment over the pub.
She stood, rooted to her spot on the sidewalk, as busy foot traffic bustled around her. She felt something slowly unfurling inside her chest at the song; a pent-up, unnamed fist of emotion unclenching inside her. She searched the empty window, but there was nothing to see, only that sound. It opened something deeply personal inside her, something kept hidden and tucked away. She wanted to cry. The desire to just stand there, tears pouring down her cheeks, was overwhelming.
“Ok, we can go now.” Ellie’s words cut through the haze of emotion she had allowed to leak out of her armor, jerking her violently back into the present moment. She startled and turned, wide eyes meeting cheerful ones.
“Do you hear…” she murmured distractedly.
“Hey...are you ok?” Ellie laid a hand on her arm in concern. “You look a little spooked.”
Kya shook herself and felt all of that emotion sucked back inside her, hidden once more. She smoothed her features into the perfect mask of calm she had mastered for the world.
“I, uh...yeah, no I’m fine.” She smiled brilliantly. “We can go.”
Elisabetta gave her a strange smile and led the way back to campus, twittering on about plans for their upcoming project. Kya followed her blindly, her head twisting around to glance again at that empty window. There was something about that song, about that music that called to her. It was something she’d never felt before. She wanted more.
