Keys to Love

Chapter 1

Chapter one

Friday, 11:46a.m, Emily

I wake up on the floor with five partially eaten pieces of bread in my lap, hungover from the night before at the bar. I don't even know how I drove home! Wait, no. I walked home. Or did I uber? Ah shit! I don't know! All I remember was having three glasses of red wine and playing the piano. But, if I ubered there, I probably ubered back.

I get up and lazily walk over to a window in view of the driveway. There's my red car, sitting there innocently. I sigh with a small amount of relief and make my way through my small flat towards the kitchen. I throw away the disgusting bread and tap my phone screen. 11:55a.m. Not bad for being hungover, I guess. I pour myself a glass of water and take two pills of Advil, hoping it will help cease my monstrous headache. I take a moment to relax, disecting my racing thoughts when suddenly, my phone starts buzzing. I glance over at the screen to see who's calling me. Rachel Daniels. I take a deep breath and answer, hoping that my acting will be decent and believable.

"Hey, Em," my cocky coworker chimes through the speaker. "How's your mornin' so far? Gone on any runs?"

I shake my head, and lie through my teeth. "Yes actually. I ran two miles around the Greenbelt. It was quite pleasant if you ask me." I roll my eyes and look down at my stomach, the small patch of weight tearing away at my confidence. "I had a great time."

"Oh, well I ran four miles at 3:30a.m this morning. It was so peaceful outside! Ugh, I wish you were fit enough to go with me. Wait! Maybe we could do a girls run together!" Rachel squeals obnoxiously and rushes to fetch her notepad. I know she's doing this becuase she does it every damn time. I also know she's lieing through her teeth as well to one up me.

I realize what she had told me mid into her running lecture, that I'm not fit enough. I sigh and walk into my bathroom, looking at my flabby tummy. No matter how much muscle I have in my arms and legs, all people care about is my stomach fat. I think of positive affirmations and pretend I never heard those words come out of her mouth like any woman would do.

Yeah right. I'm not in fairytale land. Of course I didn't do that.

"Is something wrong, Em?" Rachel asks, using that atrocious nickname she gave me when I first started working at the bar.

"What? No. I'm just a little hungover from last night." I put my hand over my mouth, strongly wishing I could take back my words. Great, I think. Now she knows my liver is weak as hell.

"Oh," Rachel says in a fake, sorrowful voice. "That's to bad, sweetie. Thankfully, I have a strong liver, so I never have to deal with that. What does feel like?"

"Oh, well it's-"

"Actually," Rachel starts, inturrupting me. "I don't want to know. You must be miserable."

Miserable talking to you, bitch, I think. You make my life a living hell at work.

"Hey, Rachel," I start, an excuse popping into my head. "I have some notes I have to go over for tonight. Do you mind if I call you back later?" It's not a total lie. I always replay my songs once or twice if I have extra time before heading down to the bar and lighting up the place with my piano skills.

"Yeah," Rachel replies sassily, sounding bothered. "But first-"

"Okay bye!" I shout, hanging up the phone immediately. I smile. I pulled one of her tricks on her.

I sigh and walk over to my piano in my small, cramped bedroom and pull out my music sheets for tonight. I always get requests from people to play certain songs and also make my own music to mix things up a bit. One person requested I play "Piano Man" by Billy Joel and another requested "Tiny Dancer" by Elton John; the piano masters. I smile to myself, memories coming back to me. I played both of these songs years ago when I was fourteen. I've been playing piano since I was eight, and I've never looked back.