ANATHEMA

chapter seven: anathema

I followed Tyler down a hallway, one that I don't remember ever going down.

He stopped in front of a heavy-looking door, with a plaque that stated, 'MUSIC'. He pushed it open and held it for me as I entered myself.

What I saw was truly beautiful; there was a giant, shiny, black, grand piano in the corner, there were guitars hanging on the wall, there was a blue drum set, there were microphones, there was even a record player next to stacks of records.

I gasped at the sight of everything. I'd always wanted to be into playing instruments like these, but I'd never been able to. Strings would always make fun of me and say I sound like a dying animal, of which they've heard many. I just quit.

I went to the piano and ran my fingers over the slightly dusty cover, marveling at how smooth it felt.

I felt Tyler come next to me and sit on the bench, so I sat next to him.

"Everything looks so...unused," I stated, rubbing the piano's dust between my fingers.

"Nobody knows this place is here," Tyler said next to me. "Or, if they do, they can't play or don't know how or they're not allowed to."

I nodded slowly, my hands lazily ghosting over the keys, not really pressing them.

"My mother used to play," I sighed, staring into the distance. "Before she and Dad started fighting, she would play a different song every night. I would drift off to sleep listening to her play."

"Why did she stop?" Tyler asked quietly, running his finger over the G note.

"She got addicted to prescription drugs," I stated bluntly.

"Oh," Tyler gasped, his hands flying back together. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"No, no, it's fine," I reassured him, waving off his worry. "There's no need for me to lie about it. I got used to it a while ago."

"Do you want to, uh, talk about it?" Tyler asked, looking up at me. He didn't look away when I held his eye contact.

"Do you really want to hear about my life?" I asked, shifting to face him. "It's not exactly a bedtime story."

"The doctors always say talking about things make it better, so," Tyler says, shifting to face me. "I'm listening."

"Alright," I said with a smile, my heart warming at him wanting to help me. "Here goes;"

"When I was about twelve, my parents started fighting. And it wasn't some quiet, 'you left the toilet seat open' kind of fights. No, theirs would be screaming matches, about practically anything. Food, house payments, sometimes they'd even fight about me. Dad would always say that they shouldn't have had me, that I was a mistake. I agree, sometimes."

Tyler reached over and set his hand on mine, sending some kind of jittery, electrifying feeling throughout my body. His eyes hardened as he looked at me, but I continued.

"It was soon after they start fighting when my dad got...abusive. Every little mistake I would make would earn myself a slap across the face. It would just start out as slaps. I would get used to them and laugh in his face. I thought that would end it. It didn't."

Tyler took my hand in his, surprising me. His hand was bigger than mine and warmer than mine and the ends of his fingers had calluses etched into them.

"He started getting braver, drunker. His open hands would turn to fists, then to objects. My mom was too stoned on headache medicine to do anything but cry. She does that a lot, actually. One day, my dad hit my head really hard, too hard for my thirteen-year-old brain. When I woke up, Strings was looking at me from the ceiling. And they laughed at me. They laughed and told me that nobody will ever love me, especially since my own parents don't. They kept telling me those things every day, and being a young teenager, it really got to me. I tried to end it a couple times, but Strings always stopped me. I don't know how, but they would stop me from doing anything drastic."

At this point, I could feel tears start to form on my lids. Tyler wasted no time in wiping running tears away with his his thumb. He held my hand tighter.

"In middle school, Strings made me see a Hell I can't explain. But it's terrible and hot and I'm alone there. I hate it there. They take me there whenever I'm getting too good at ignoring them.

"One day, in the seventh grade, they took me to that place in the middle of class. I freaked out and hurt a lot of people, including myself. Nobody pressed charges, thankfully, but my parents had to take me out of school since I was such a danger to myself and others.

"My parents took me to a doctor after I tried to explain to them what happened, and that's when they knew I was actually pretty messed up. Mom stopped taking pills, Dad took his anger out on fantasy football. We looked like a normal family to the naked eye.

"I kept having episodes and I never got better. About a week ago, I got so bad, they had to call the police and break down my door and sedate me. Then, I was brought here, and I met Josh and Ashley and...you," I finished. I looked up into Tyler's dark eyes. They were clouded over with a certain emotion I couldn't place.

"Ophelia," Tyler sighed. "I'm so sorry. You don't deserve any of this. You shouldn't be here. You shouldn't have to live the way you do."

I felt hot tears spill over my lids as Tyler's words hit me. He's right, of course; if my father didn't turn to alcohol and abuse, I wouldn't have to live like this.

"It's okay, though," I say, playing with Tyler's fingers absentmindedly. "If this didn't happen to me, I wouldn't have met you. The circumstances aren't the best, no, but I don't mind." Tyler shook his head with a slight smile on his face. "I don't know what it is about you, but you've made Strings stay away. So, I'm sticking close to you, okay?" Tyler nodded, the smile growing. It was the most beautiful thing I'd seen in quite some time.