The Painter & The Pianist

vii.

CHAPTER SEVEN

My eyes were shut tight, and I had my fists clenched. I could hear the loud, thunderous voices, the harsh, stinging arguments. "Don't leave me alone with her," I thought to myself, begging to whatever deity I could think of. The woman's voice grew louder and the male's voice in the distance began to finally fade. "No, come back!" I pleaded, saying the words loudly in my mind. They echoed around in my skull, bouncing around into empty thoughts, in which I knew no one else was there to hear them but myself. Then, I could hear a door being slammed, and footsteps came to my direction.

"Jaron! Why are you just standing there!" I slowly opened my eyes to the fadingly beautiful woman. Her long hair fell gently onto her shoulders, and her eyes glistened in the rays of sunlight which bled through the curtains, but she certainly was no ray of sunshine. My mother's complexion was changed from her normal, sweet disposition into something much more gruesome. She was hurting, I could tell. She, for the longest time, would do this, after a fight with Dad. I wished every night that he would stop. "I wanted a glass of water, Mama, I'll...I'll just...go back to my room." My brown eyes filled with hope that this time, maybe she would let me go. When I turned around it seemed that it was not the case as her hand grabbed my arm with a bear-like grip.

"Jaron...you know, you could practice for a bit now that you're up." Her eyes became like a dark abyss in which the whole world was sucked into. "No, I'm so tired Mama, please." Wrong move. Her grasp dug in and she began to pull me into the living room. "Now, Jaron, do what I taught you." She let go of my hand, leaving me in the empty space. I began with a plié, but I didn't go down far enough because soon I was on the floor with a burning handprint on my cheek. I clutched my stinging cheek with my hand. "Again!" Her voice was strict and she had rivers coming down each of her once plushy cheeks. I stumbled to get up and tried again only to be knocked down. "You have to be perfect! You're never going to be anything without me!" She was repeating what my father had said to her a thousand times. "Please, Mama...y-you're scaring me!" My eyes watered and I wanted to disappear.

My mother drops to her knees, sobbing even more now. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry... I didn't mean to..." she repeats, over and over until she's whispering the words into the hardwood floor, lying in a puddle of her tears. I move to hug her but hesitate. I was afraid, but I felt so bad for her. She didn't mean it. She never did.

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Monserrat had been running on at least four hours of sleep. This was almost a record for him--if he could recall, the last time he had stayed up without a sufficient amount of sleep (which he thought was ludicrous, he knew he could run on half of that amount and still be himself) was when Addison took him to a concert which personally, he thought was terrible--half across the country. He needed just a few more paragraphs to his essay, but the painting was complete.

The bleeding-heart flower seemed as if Monserrat had splattered his own heart onto the canvas, hints of red and pink paint dripping from the pristine petals. The green vine that connected all of the flowers was dark and moody, but still light and beautiful. Monserrat's hands shake as he completed his essay. After the last sentence is written, he dropped his pencil onto his desk. The pencil fell to the floor and it rolled on the wooden floor before it was stopped by a lone shoe which blocked its way.

Amadeus opened his eyes, startled. Images of his mother being yelled at by his father flashed in his mind, haunting him. Nonetheless, Amadeus brushed off the feeling and looked at Monserrat, whose torso is draped over his chair in exhaustion.

"Um.." Amadeus wonders whether he should even question this behavior. "Are you ok?" He waited a moment without a response.

He walked over to where the lanky boy was slumped over. Amadeus set a single finger, slow and gently onto Monserrat's back. He jumped up in fear.