Honey Trap

Chapter Nine

SEVEN YEARS AGO.

Violetta.

       My fingers were numb. The tips, black and blue, but I continued to play. The orchestra was small in size, only the best of the best at Heartwire Academy of Fine Arts were gifted the opportunity to join. I couldn't help feeling bitter sitting second. I deserved to be first, to lead the orchestra head on, but Nathaniel thought I was too young. There hadn't been many first strings that weren't seniors, and this year was no different, despite my trying to prove myself competent enough to lead. Everyone in the orchestra, including Robert Halt who got the first string, knew that I was better than him.
       That's why I couldn't stop playing, even as my fingers swelled and the music blurred together. I was playing off of muscle memory now, knowing all the movements by heart. I had no passion in this peace— but not playing was not an option. I needed to prove to Nathaniel that he had made a mistake in making me a second string.
       The performance would be the highlight of the upcoming showcase. It was a time that talent scouts far and wide traveled to Portland, Maine in hopes of claiming first dibs of talented potentials. It had been years since one of them picked up an underclassman to sign, and I was hopeful to become that of legend when they sought me out of the crowded stage. I would make sure that every movement of my bow, every angular face and closed eyes, were filled with a passion nobody had ever heard before. Only, now, I couldn't seem to find it.
       I'd played for hours last night, beginning at eight PM and playing until the morning sun broke through and it was time for me to get ready for school. When I started to play, I couldn't stop. That ritual began when I was ten, when the obsession became too intense and my family began losing sleep as my violin sounded through the late hours of the night. It wasn't until I was twelve that they decided to add a soundproof box in my bedroom so I could play as long as I wanted without consequence.
       Sometimes Jace would listen. At night when he couldn't sleep, he'd venture his way into my bedroom knowing that I would be awake, and sit in the chair opposite the booth, plugging in the headphones that let him hear inside. He'd listen until he fell asleep in that chair, only waking when I finally removed myself for the night.
       He was my only friend— how pathetic was that? My older brother being my best friend. I loved him as my brother and as my only friend, and he and his friends never made me feel unwelcomed, always including me in things when they hung out. I didn't know how much his friends liked me tagging along, but Jace always told me not to worry about it. Now, my first year at Heartwire, and I was lonely without him. I had half a mind to stay back at the public school just so I could stay with him, however, he would have killed me if I did something like that.
       I'll hate myself if you waste your potential for me, he said. We sat atop my bed for hours as I cried into his shirt, telling him again and again how much they would all hate me at this new school. He promised me with pretty lies that they would love me just as much as he did.
       He was wrong.
       Nobody at Heartwire liked me. I knew enough to know that every person here is your competition, even your friends, but nobody expected a Freshman to skyrocket up the ladder and gain the eyes of important school mentors. Even me landing a spot in the Orchestra was nearly unheard of. In fact, there was only one other underclassman in the Orchestra with me. Her name was Bridgett, but she didn't speak to me. Someday, she would be my biggest competition. For now, she was just a nothing voiceless face that didn't pay me any mind.   
       "Okay," Nathaniel said, stopping the orchestra. "That's enough for today."
       I felt the absence of the strings beneath my finger as I moved my hand away from my violin. Once I did, I felt the burn shoot down my hands. It was probably better if I didn't practice tonight and gave them some rest, though I wasn't sure it would be possible for me to go a night without playing.
       It was already six pm, and we'd practiced for three hours after our classes let out for the day. Most of my classmates were eager to get home. I wasn't. I wanted to stay and play, to ask Nathaniel how I could better myself, how I could ensure myself a spot as first next year. If I didn't prove myself this year, I wouldn't make it back on the Orchestra for next year.
       In this life, nothing was guaranteed to you. Heartwire made sure all of us students understood that, and we had to fight equally, if not more hard, with each passing year.
       I stood up, putting my violin carefully back into its case and stepping from my seat on the stage. Like always, I would wait until all the other students shuffled out of the room. I always stood back, it was the easiest way to avoid their dirty looks and lowered my risk of getting shoved to the ground again.
       "Violetta," I heard Nathanie's voice call throughout the auditorium. I was still standing on the stage, waiting for the final few students to make their way out. My eyes met him, a flutter of worry rising up and heating my neck. "Stay back a few minutes, would you?"
       I nodded firmly, too afraid to give him a verbal answer.
       Within minutes, the rest of the class made their way out of the room, leaving just me and Nathaniel in the room. A million possibilities— the worst of the worst— came rushing through me. I was about to be cut from the Orchestra, surely. I wasn't keeping up with the upperclassmen and everyone knew it. As good as I thought I was, I simply hadn't been enough.
       Nathaniel was rough and brash most of the time. He composed with an iron fist, never fearful or considerate of his prodiges feelings. Everyone knew him to be the best of the best, which was why so many vied for the coveted position of joining his Orchestra. All these things about him inclined my departure from the Orchestra would be a brutal one, but I'd hoped he would take it easy on me. I even hoped he would lie to me, tell me some pretty lie like my brother did, and say that I could audition for the Orchestra again next year and he would not be biased in turning me away with some more practice.
       I realized I still hadn't moved from the stage, all my worried thoughts paralyzing me.
       "Violetta, why don't you come down here and we can talk?" Nathaniel asked, his unwavering gaze watching me as I struggled through the rows of pushed out chairs.
       It felt like I was walking to my execution. It was similar. People got cut from the Orchestra every year when they didn't perform well, and those people were the ones who got filtered away as undesirable. The classical music community was small, and a school like Heartwire was well known. The musicians who were cut would never make it past graduation. Eventually, they succumbed to the pressure of survival, burying their dreams somewhere unreachable to join the life of nine-to-five living and mediocre pay.
       Once I was standing in front of Nathaniel, his height towering over me, a slew of word vomit came pouring from my mouth before I could stop it. "I know what you're going to say, but I can do better. I promise I can do better. I'll practice more, I'll hire a private tutor, but you can't cut me—"
      "Woah," he said, placing one of his hands on each of my shoulders gently. He was looking down at me, his blue eyes swimming in mine with a light smile tugging at his lips. "I'm not cutting you from the Orchestra."
       Relief washed over me. "You're not?"
       With my sudden relief calming me down, I registered for the first time how close me and Nathaniel were. There were a few inches of distance between us, but he was touching me, and I could smell his pine scented cologne that tugged at my fifteen-year-old heartstrings.
       I wasn't oblivious to the things girls at the school said about him. He was young compared to the other teachers. At least in his late thirties, but to be so successful in the Classical music industry at his age was unheard of. He was tall and brooding, dirty blonde hair with round glasses. In the real world, he probably wouldn't appear so attractive. For a school teacher who was untouchable, he was the panty dropping pariah of our Arts High School.
       And right now, he was touching me.
       Of course, it didn't mean anything. I was a fifteen-year-old nobody in this school, especially that to a teacher with a list of accomplishments that I would be lucky to achieve even half of. The man toured with the New York Philharmonic, ranked as the most successful and best performing Orchestra in the United States. He even traveled abroad to perform in countries like Russia and Germany, leaving a wake of admiration wherever he went. Then, to go on and compose some of the most famous pieces in today's classical industry. His teaching at Heartwire was an act of charity— one the industry world knew he only did to continue on his wife's legacy, a ten year teaching alumni at the school who passed unexpectedly two years ago.
       She ran this Orchestra, and it was her pride and joy. If she hadn't died, Nathaniel would still be off touring the world and playing music as he loved.
       I wondered how he must have felt about that. To give up something you love for something... lesser, just in the memory of someone you loved more than your own dream. It's not that being a school teacher was lesser than, but compared to what he'd done in his young years, I couldn't imagine giving up my dream for somebody. There isn't a thing on this planet I loved more than my violin. It was everything to me. All things considered, success in the way Nathaniel found it was not easy to come by. I think I would be okay teaching at a school for fine arts, just to get to continue playing.
       I snapped back to reality when Nathaniel moved his hands from me, taking a step back. The further away from me he became, the more I could breathe. It was odd referring to my teacher by his first name, but Nathaniel let the entire class know that he refused to be called Mr. anything. He was not a teacher by nature, just a musician giving the younger generation a shot at achieving what he had.
       If only it were that simple.
       If securing a spot on his Orchestra would promise me a future like his.
       My future was not certain, it could never be, but I knew that wherever I went, it would have something to do with music. I simply couldn't picture anything else. No other life would be worth living if I didn't get to live beside my violin.
       "Violeta, I want to discuss your potential. Not your lack thereof," Nathaniel said, shoving his hands in the pockets of his Khaki pants. When he did that, they seemed so much further away. Pressure hovered on my shoulders where he touched me. "In all my years, I have never come across the talent you convey."
       The words were ripped right out of me. He struck me in the chest, every emotion and elation burning my core so terribly I feared when I looked in the mirror I would be charred from head-to-toe. Those words, coming from him, held meaning beyond the words of anyone else.
       A strand of hair fell in front of my eyes. I used it to hide the smile on my face. "Do you mean that?"
       Nathaniel moved one of his hands away from his pocket, brushing the stray hair from my face and tugging my chin upwards to look at him. "I've never meant anything more."
       "But then why..."
       "Why didn't you make first?" He finished for me.
       I nodded. "If what you say is true, why didn't you give me first?"
       He dropped his hand away from my face, giving me room to breathe again. "You play well beyond your years with a gift that nobody else in this Orchestra possesses, but your talent with the violin does not mean you have the capacity to run the entire Orchestra. If something were to happen to me the day of the showcase, do you think you would be prepared to step in and take my place?"
       He was right. I wanted to be first more than anything, but I'd never experienced sitting in an Orchestra before. My talent with my instrument was one thing, but to be able to command an entire Orchestra as well as the room it was performing for? I didn't even have a voice yet. I'd spent years trying to find it, and only found it when my strings melted together in sweet melody.
       "I'm asking you a genuine question," Nathaniel continued, waiting for my answer. "Do you think you could handle it?"
       Reluctantly, I shook my head in embarrassment. "No, you're right."
       "I'm not trying to humiliate you. Don't be mistaken. You have a gift, Violetta, but you still need to learn so much before you can become first. But if you continue as you are, you will become first someday."
      "Really?"
       "Even if it's not here in this classroom, someday you will control your own Orchestra. Perhaps even tour the world."
       I grinned, I couldn't help it. "Like you?"
       He shook his head and disappointment washed through me. "I was nowhere near as talented as you are at that age. When I was fifteen, I was still breaking strings and didn't know how to tune properly."   
       Nathaniel was being kind to me. He was showing me a side that he'd never shown the classroom before, and the year before, he carried the same reputation. The school looked at him as a totalitarian ruler, spewing venomous words of poor posture and unstructured symphonies.
       I didn't know how quickly it happened. How he was suddenly against me, his hand in my hair again. I was frozen again, freezing and fearful. His chin rested atop my forehead, his words breathy and strained. "I want to make you good enough," he said as a whisper. "I want to show you confidence."
       The way he was touching me was wrong. I shouldn't have been so close to my teacher. He shouldn't have been holding me with his palm pressed to the small of my back, his other hand running up and down my arm. It was so wrong— but it made me feel wanted, seen and heard.
       I wanted to feel confident.    
      "How will you do that?" I asked, my voice coming out as a whisper like he did.
       Then, he moved his head and brought his hand back under my chin, tugging me up. His lips were close to mine, but they didn't touch. "Confidence must come from how you perceive yourself. On stage, you'll have hundreds, if not thousands, of eyes on you. You must feel confident in your skin, all of your skin."
       "You can teach me how to do that?"
      "Yes," he nodded slowly. "But it will be uncomfortable at first."
       "That's okay..." I said slowly, unsure of what he meant. "If it makes me good enough to become like you, that's okay."
       "Good," he sounded firm. He took a step back, looking over me and nodding his head in silence, as if he was confirming something to himself. "Then take off your clothes."