The Wishing Well

Chapter 11

To walk away from the piano was difficult. It felt as if someone were building a wall between herself and the very air she breathed. Olivia glanced sadly over her shoulder as they left Ian's house, since his family would be back soon. They were heading back to her place, where her day would become just like all the others.

“You're welcome back anytime,” Ian said vaguely. Neither of them could think straight after what happened earlier.

Olivia smiled halfheartedly. It was a comfort that she could return, but—why did she have to leave at all? All she wanted was to live for the music that gave her life. Why did she have to go back to the same old routine that broke her, when the music healed? Bits and pieces of her had come back together as she played that piano. The seams remained, so she could fall apart again—and probably would—but it was nothing music couldn't heal.

So why couldn't she just stay? Why risk being broken and coming back, when she could just stay and avoid it? Yet even as she thought of it, the idea felt absurd. She couldn't stop living because it was safer to hide.

Olivia gazed at a dry flower bed. It probably looked gorgeous in the summer, but now it was just depressing. “You said you wouldn't judge me for anything stupid I might think,” she spoke at last, then wondered if her voice sounded pleading.

Ian smiled. “Of course I wouldn't,” he replied quietly. “What sort of friend would I be?”

Olivia returned the smile. “That has nothing to do with it. Humans judge, and if you catch me thinking something stupid, it's a lot more...well, you have to think things before you say them, and some might consider that closest to the truth of who you are...”

“Sometimes you don't know what you're thinking.” He shrugged. “More often than not, you don't mean it, either.”

Olivia thought over this with a frown. “Still. Things I think on impulse will be full of...power, I guess. How can I not mean them?”

“That's for you to decide, whether you mean them or not.” He paused. “But I promise I won't judge you.”

Olivia hesitated, not sure what to think of her own question. Was it stupid that she barely asked this after he pretty much became her boyfriend? Yet even though she still trusted him with her life, the embarrassing thoughts would only get worse after they kissed—so she needed this question answered. He had to understand that.

“I promise, too,” Olivia told him softly, because it was only fair. “I've never judged you, and I never will...”

“Probably 'cause there's not much to judge off my thoughts,” Ian pointed out, smiling. “I always just think in character.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Olivia asked. “Are you several people in one?”

“I never thought of it that way before.” Ian kicked away some leaves on the sidewalk, lost in thought. “I don't think so, though. There's still me. But my personality isn't a very—erm, strong one, I guess.”

“I'm sure that's not true. And if it is, well, over time it'll get stronger.”

“I just don't talk to people much.” Ian looked puzzled. “I've told you more than anyone else here. Maybe I never trusted them like that.”

“It's easy to become introverted in a community like this...” Olivia trailed off, then stopped to rest on the sidewalk in front of her house. It wasn't even afternoon yet; this day had ended too quickly. She didn't want to walk away from him yet.

Come inside, she asked silently, afraid to look him in the eye. Have some tea.

He took so long to reply, she thought perhaps he hadn't heard her. He wasn't thinking anything, though, so it wasn't some reverie about his personality (or lack thereof.) Although you didn't always think in words, and the only time she heard his thoughts were when they were words; maybe writers had a different way of thinking that she didn't understand. Then she wondered why she was so startled by his silence—all she did was ask him to come in for tea...why was this so important to her?