Our Symphony

7 || insight

SEVEN || INSIGHT

Ash's crying wakes me up the next day. Groggily, with my eyes half closed and my body feeling as if it is about to collapse anytime, I make my way down to the kitchen. I give my mom a peck on her cheek as she busily attends to my brother, who accidentally cut himself with his scissors while doing some art. I seat myself at the table and reach for the ketchup bottle, but Lin snatches it out of my reach before my fingers close around it. I look up and scowl at her, but she pretends not to notice me. "Um, hello?"

She takes her time to squeeze the ketchup over her  scrambled eggs, not pausing for a second. As if I am not there. I clench my fist. If there is one person who can annoy me even more than Beckett does, it is Lin. Because of my injury, she was merciful and did not really talk to me for the past two weeks, but now that I am getting better, I know she is going to start trying to piss me off again.

And if she wants a fight, then I'll give it to her.

I open my mouth to start the argument, when my mother interrupts. "Kimberly, Doctor Ora called. She wants to do an x-ray to see if your fingers are well enough to be able to remove the splints."

All my previous thoughts vanish, replaced with only one. "How long more till I can play again?" My mother hears the tinge of hope in my voice, and gives me a sad look. "Kimberly, even if she does manage to remove the splints, your fingers won't be healed in time for the audition. I'm sorry."

Even though I already knew what her answer will be, hearing it does not make it any easier. My stomach sinks as each of her words feels like an arrow puncturing a fresh wound into my heart. Painful, but unable to be avoided no matter how hard I try.

"I'm going upstairs," I murmur, my appetite lost. I set my cutlery back down on the table and stand.  

"Honey— " my mother starts, but I am gone before she finishes her sentence.

Upstairs, I change out of my pajamas and refuse to let myself cry. You've done enough crying, for goodness' sake. Suck it up, Kimberly.

"Beckett Green, I hate you. I hate you," I mutter, the weight of everything that I tried to keep hidden for the past few days threatening to overwhelm me. Saying that, however, does not make me feel any better. I wipe an angry tear from my cheek and squeeze my eyes shut to prevent any more from leaking out.

I cross my room to get my bag, but along the way as I pass by my bay window something catches my eye. In Beckett's bedroom, he and Mr Green seem to be in a heated argument, and it doesn't seem like the usual ones where the kid tries to convince the parent to allow him or her to go for a party. No, this is different. Beckett looks dishevelled, his top-half naked and his hair in a mess. I instinctively flush when I catch a glimpse of his six-pack, but mentally slap myself after that. Priorities, Kimberly. I remind myself, and focus my attention on what caught it in the first place.

It is the first time I see Beckett so aggressive, gesturing wildly with his hands and screaming at his father. His father looks equally enraged, his posture so stiff that it puts Beckett's one to shame. Although he tries very hard to keep it in, I can tell that whatever Beckett is saying is making him angrier by the second, and soon he, too, is yelling at his son, the vein in his neck visible. As I watch on, Beckett runs a frustrated hand through his hair and points at the door, asking his father to leave. Mr Green opens his mouth to say something else, but I manage to lip-read the words "get out" that Beckett yells to his dad. At that moment, Mrs Green enters, takes one look at them, and immediately makes the move to coax her husband out of the room. When he is gone, Beckett slams the door and throws himself on his bed, covering his face with his hands. I know from Mrs Green's reaction that this is not a rare occurrence.