Truthbreaker (2) -Charlie Conway

The call

Lyla Mitchell's POV

Late night reading is practically part of my schedule, and I'm not mad about it. I love reading. Books are my safe place, and I love to forget everything around me and focus on the beige pages before me.

This night was a particularly noisy night, first starting with a shrill, Texan scream erupting  from the room next door around midnight. Poor Dwayne. I thought, thinking about all the pranks that could've been pulled on the southern boy, by the hands of my teammates.

I tried to ignore the laughs from the room, pushing up my glasses and flipping the soft pages of my book. I was just starting to get back into the literature, when I heard music.

Loud, music. It erupted from every possible corner of our room, disrupting my once quiet night. I sighed as Connie and Julie both jolted up, also confused by the music. Julie groaned and held a pillow on her head, while Connie tossed and turned, wanting to go back to sleep. I also wanted to go to sleep, considering I had a date tomorrow, but it was nearly impossible from the noise.

I huffed out a big sigh and pulled the sheets off my body, getting off the bed and walking toward the door. Whoever's music is playing is going to get a fist in their face.

"I'll go tell them to turn it down." I say, putting on a sweater over top of my crop top. I slipped on my fuzzy slippers and continued to the door.

I opened it quietly, not wanting to cause any more disturbances for the hockey team. I tiptoed silently across the hallway to the door conjuring the music, and knocked lightly. I had no idea who was in this room, but I didn't care. It could be Leonardo DiCaprio, and I'd still leave with blood on my fist and no music.

I heard distant fumbling, then the sound of footsteps nearing. The door clicked and creaked open, leaving me face to face with dean. I kept my tired glare set on the enforcer, as he immediately looked intimidated.

"Do you think you could keep it down a bit, champ?" I say in a harsh tone, pushing his chest. I stepped forward into the room as he backed up a bit. "In case you forgot, we have a game tomorrow, and I would like to not fall asleep mid game. Do you here-" I say, only to be shut up by my own eyes. They landed on an electric guitar, leaning by Fultons bed. My demeanour immediately changed as curiosity overwhelmed my senses.

"No way! Who's guitar is that?" I say, stepping into the room. I walked up to the shiny instrument, admiring every inch.

Music has been one of my most favourite hobbies. I told myself that if I didn't play hockey, I would've moved to New Orleans and start a band. I especially loved to play guitar. Any guitar. Electric, acoustic, bass, classic, anything I could get my hands on.

I had a guitar, it was beautiful. My prized possession. I played it every day, but sadly, we had to sell it along with other things, to pay for our bills. Those times were tough, but we overcame the harsh circumstances my family was a custom to. Since then, I've been saving up for one. And finally laying my eyes one an electric one, was amazing.

I picked it up and sat on fultons bed. My fingers grazed over each indent and scrape, each string and curve. It was surely beautiful. I noticed Fulton and dean stare at me with confusion.

"Do you play?" Dean asks, sitting across from me. I nodded my head as Fulton sat beside me.

"Used too. I loved it." I say, recalling the bittersweet memories I shared with the instrument. I looked up to see Dean smiling.

"Give it a spin." He said, causing me to become startled. Play it? I've never strummed a guitar in 2 years, let alone even touch one.

I hesitantly gripped the guitar, my right hand holding the neck, fingers brushing over the frets and markers. My left hand took the liberty of plucking the strings, and I went for it.