Patient A-3

Chapter 16: Teach Me?

It's been a little over a week since... the incident. We've had many conversations since then, and Cierien has apologized profusely. However, if I'm being honest with myself, I should have been the one to offer an apology. He shared his entire painful backstory with me, and not even five minutes later, I was practically throwing myself at him.

Even though he explained the pleasurable effects of a vampire bite and reassured me that my behavior was the result, I'm mortified. Despite the undeniable euphoria of the experience, my desire for him had existed long before his teeth sank into me. Though it felt incredible, I've made up my mind; it won't happen again. Cierien has become a close friend, and I don't want to mess with the dynamic in the house.

Wrath has been avoiding me like the plague. He hasn't so much as directed a word my way in the past week, retreating to his room for most of his time. He even appears to be keeping his distance from Cierien. While I know the situation was undoubtedly awkward, I can't help but sense that there might be another reason for his behavior: my hypocrisy.

When Wrath drank from someone, I labeled him a monster, yet I willingly offered Cierien my blood and assured him he was not. I can't escape the feeling of bias toward Cier, partly due to his kind nature and the fact that I now know his backstory, while Wrath remains a mystery. Regardless, it's not fair to judge Wrath in this way. It must have been hurtful for him to witness me comforting Cierien, especially after I criticized Wrath earlier. I'm certain he has a story of his own, likely just as painful, if not more so.

I need to apologize to him.

I open my bedroom door and head across the hall, pausing when I hear the faint strains of a piano being played. Intrigued, I follow the sound, descending the steps and wandering through the house until I reach the entertainment room. The room remains untouched since my return, frozen in a time that belongs to the early 1900s. I don't think I'll ever change this room. The tall windows stretch from floor to ceiling, allowing natural light to filter in, rendering the massive chandelier lights hanging above the seating areas almost unnecessary. The well-stocked bar stretches wide along the left wall, laden with liquor.

There, sitting on the imposing wooden bench is Wrath. He's so large he nearly engulfs the entire surface. His fingers move gracefully across the keys, his full attention dedicated to the music booklet before him. He's so immersed in the melody that he doesn't seem to notice my presence. I stand there, captivated by the sight of his skillful fingers, his eyes occasionally fluttering shut as he loses himself in the music. His hands stretch to reach the keys, veins accentuated in every flex. Dark, touseled hair falls over his forehead, nearly obscuring his vision, but he continues to play with unwavering focus. Dressed comfortably in a black hoodie and sweatpants, he exudes an entrancing beauty despite his lazy attire and slightly disheveled appearance.

The music stops abruptly, and I return my attention to his face. He's now staring at me, his expression devoid of interest. I nervously roll my lips inward, fidgeting with my fingers as I speak, "Can you teach me?"

Learning to play the piano had always been a secret desire of mine, but my mother's harsh hits had deterred me from ever entering this room and trying again. He nods in response and moves to the side, creating a small space for me to sit. I keep my knees locked tightly together, afraid to let our thighs touch. He starts by pointing out each key, going down the line, and explaining their names, one by one. Once he finishes, he plays a few notes, creating a simple melody.

He instructs me to mimic his actions, reciting the notes as I go along. But the keyboard's complexity overwhelms me, and I grapple to recall the sequence of keys. He lets out an aggravated sigh from seeing my failed attempts. I'm too nervous to think clearly, let alone remember the notes. My fingers tremble as I press the keys, resulting in a choppy and incomplete rendition.