Playing Pretend

You're about to have your socks blown off.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.

The heavy bass pours out from underneath the door and across my toes, pumping its way through my body and making my heart beat twice as fast. I couldn't even begin to tell you why I was so nervous because I didn't know why myself.

It's because he was so... so... furious. Every move he made was usually so fluid and effortless, but in the kitchen I felt like he could cut me in half just by turning his head in my direction. I hear something hit the floorboards inside of his bedroom and jump back as if the door had bitten me.

Eyeing my own bedroom door I fight off the temptation to run inside, jump under the covers and not come out again until the morning. I bet he doesn't even want to see you. He hates you, remember?  My foot takes a daring step away from his door before I force it back as I remember the hurt that plastered his face downstairs. I just needed to make sure he was okay. I just had too.

The thumping gets louder and louder and I swear I can hear him shouting over the music.

"Oh for god sakes..." I growl at myself as I grab the handle and swing the door open.

A gasp lodges itself in my throat but refuses to come out. It's stuck. Just like my eyes are stuck on him. He's sitting on his bed, topless - his shirt sitting messily on the floor in the otherwise spotless room - with his arms wrapped around his guitar with so much force it's as if it's the only thing keeping him in one place.

His fingers strum violently over the strings in time with the music as his lips move along side with the angry words pouring out the speakers vibrating on his dresser. The thumping sound I heard turns out to be the sound of his feet pounding against the floor to keep himself in time. Dark lashes kiss his cheeks with his eyes squeezed closed. 

He can't see me. Doesn't know I'm standing right here.

 Looking at him as if he were the first person I'd ever seen in my entire life. I need to cough or clap or scream but I cant bear the thought of interrupting him. Interrupting whatever it was that he was doing to let his anger out. Because there's no way you'll be able to do that, my brain goats me as I watch his bulging muscles slowly start to relax as he keeps on playing.

No matter how hard I try I cant tear my eyes away from his naked torso. I had never understood the word 'gorgeous' until right this very second. In fact it was like I was being shown skin for the first time and trying to figure out what to do with it. Do I touch him? A hot flash ripples through me. My lip tugs between my teeth, maybe not.

I'm so busy being a gaping goldfish that I don't even realise that the music has slowly droned out and August is staring at me like I was some pervert peeping through his bedroom window. My mouth opens even further as the rest of me scrambles for an explanation as to why I was staring at his naked body.....

"Ah, ah.... I was just - " I sound like an absolute twat, "Dad wanted me to check up on you. Yes, yes that's it."

Without saying a word he places the guitar back in its case laying on the ground and latches it shut, flicking each lock so slowly it causes me physical pain. He looks back up, his dark fringe covering one eye. "I'm fine."

"Evidently." I snort, before slapping my hand over my stupid, stupid mouth. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that... I just..."

August holds up his palm, "Elsie. Calm down. I'm meant to be the one freaking out here, not you."

He was right. Completely, utterly right. Taking a deep breathe I cross the room and sit in his desk chair, swivelling it on its wheels so I can face him, "What can I do?"

"There's nothing you can do." He snaps, his eyes squeezing closed. His collarbones poke tightly out of his skin, "There's nothing anyone can do but just sit back and wait for those assholes to find my dad and finish the job they started." 

His helplessness smothered every feature of his face. Over his trembling lips and clenched jaw. Filling the bags underneath his red rimmed eyes. It was everywhere, and before I knew it my hand was reaching out to wipe it all away.

Faint stubble tickled my open palm as my fingers grasp onto his chin and make him look up at me. "August I know you feel useless right now, but I promise you that you're exactly where you need to be. The last thing your Dad needs is you being caught up in this and being used against him..." His skin burns underneath my touch, "He might be hurting now, but I can guarantee you the pain he's in right now wouldn't even come close to the pain he'd feel if he lost you too." 

Finally, he meets my eyes and lets me see everything that's going on behind them. Sighing he reaches his own hand to mine and pulls it down gently, keeping his fingers clasped around mine. I smile gently, taking the silent thank-you. I nod towards the guitar case at our feet, "You sounded really good. How long have you been playing for?"

"About five years." He laughs weakly, "There was a girl in the sixth grade who I had a crush on who said she only dated boys who played an instrument, so I asked Dad to buy me a guitar the second I got home. It turned out I was actually kind of good at it." 

My eyebrow raises, "And? Did it get the girl?" 

"No." He smirks that August smirk, "Well not that one, anyway." 

"Oh god, save me the details. " My eyes roll, but I'm so relieved to see that stupid smile on his face that I keep talking, "I used to play piano a million years ago, but I stopped when I saw how amazing all of Dad's artists where. I couldn't see myself ever being that good you know? I never saw the point." 

August frowns, "That's ridiculous, you know that right? Did you love it?"

"Well yeah, of course I did. But..." 

"But nothing!" He stands up, lining his abs (all eight of them, holy moly) with my eyes, before pulling me up with him. "Come on, let's go." 

I blink back at him, partly still getting over the shock of being so close to his abs that I could have licked them and partly because I was afraid he was having a mental snap, "Where are we going?" 

He grabs a t-shirt and pulls it over his head, "To your Dad's studio so you can play." 

I'm about to say no, but then I take a good look at the eagerness in his face and the word dissolves in my mouth. This wasn't about me, I realised. This is about him helping me. About him being able to help me in a way he couldn't help his Dad.  And what kind of person would I be if I denied him that?

"Alright," I agree, swishing by him, "but I'm warning you now, you're about to have your socks blown off." 

His chuckles follow me as I make my way down the hall and towards Dad's studio, "I think I'll survive." 

My next words come out as nothing but a whisper. So quiet that I know he wont here. 

"I know."