Ethan Wong, an ex-prodigy violinist, thinks it's not meant to be.
After his latest mental breakdown at his last violin competition, where he placed tenth out of ten contestants, he's not sure why his music professor appointed him the soloist for th...
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The words struck me louder than an unexpected curveball hitting a leather glove. My heart had sunk to the floor, practically melted in the cracks of the floorboards, never to be seen again.
My brain needed a reboot, completely shutting down and restarting as his words sunk in.
This was Ethan Wong. My Ethan Wong.
The five stages of grief—grief for what I could have lost—had hit in a tidal wave, fast and unrelenting. First came the denial, pure shock, and disbelief that any form of suicidal ideation could have formed. Then the anger. Unexpected with no real basis or target. Maybe at myself for not seeing the signs sooner, for not knowing what my boyfriend could have been going through—anger for not being there for him more. No anger towards him—never Ethan.
Bargaining and the onslaught of sadness came in waves, alternating in forms of ifs and buts, until all that was left was the bitter ache in my chest at knowing how alone Ethan must have felt. To know that despite what I had thought about our relationship, there were complexities to Ethan far beneath the smiles and happy dates we had gone on that I had not even known.
I should have.
The acceptance would come later, or possibly never. How does one even accept that kind of thing?
Except Ethan was alive and here, and I wanted never to let him part from my arms again. If he'd let me, of course. A world without Ethan in it was worse than a world without Taylor Swift—and that was something coming from one of the biggest Swiftie fans.
"Why?" I said like a fool. Ethan didn't have to unravel all of it, shouldn't have to relive that moment so that I could try and understand. Some things are better left unsaid and unexplained. But it hurt knowing he didn't feel comfortable telling me how he felt.
"The pressure—trying to succeed in everything no matter the cost?" He gulped. "I—I just needed a break from it all. From pleasing my parents to the music instructors and all the teachers who believed I needed to make it to Juilliard. From...from myself."
"Ethan, I—" I bit my lip.
"I couldn't tell you," he said softly. "Not then. I just couldn't."
"You could've told me anything, Ethan."
His expression tightened."I know, but this...this was way too much. Not when you had your own things to worry about. I couldn't just dump all of this on you like that. You had baseball and your grades to focus on, all of it. You didn't deserve to carry that burden. It's why I thought if I broke up with you, it would hurt less..."
It felt like a slap to the face, more like a baseball to the chest. Worst than the time I couldn't breathe when my dad pitched one straight to my chest as a kid. It was the worse feeling in the world until this very moment. Tears fell from my eyes. I wanted to hug Ethan so badly and pull him into my arms, but I didn't know where he stood with physical touch. Especially with being this vulnerable right now, it was likely the last thing he wanted.
