He waited, perhaps how the moon waited for the sun.
And I chose to ask more of it-of the ceaseless hope we held in our palms. "Give me tonight, please."
"You've got tonight." It was an effortless sentence. A string of words spelling assurance, settl...
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E V A N ' S P O V
I FIGURED THAT INFLICTING MORE PAIN to my already injured hand actually helped stop the trail of thoughts.
Beethoven's Piano Sonata No. 14—the Moonlight Sonata. I remembered hearing and immediately wanting to learn it when I was sixteen. I was a shit-show at playing back then, trembling hands and forgetful thoughts. An absolute disaster. I wasn't trying to prove to be legendary now, but I had seriously developed my skill over time. Some of his works felt like I was living in a slightly terrifying fever dream, and some of them felt like heaven itself. This one was a mix of both.
But what I liked the most about it was how raw it felt.
I was glad my mind was blank. This was the first time in months I had nothing going through my brain, but it wasn't an easy feat. My right hand had developed a moderate sprain. It led me to think: if it had to break, why did it hold back?
What was the point of a fucking sprain?
I couldn't understand why I was so vexed. Why I continued to slam my fingers onto the keys even when I did less work and cursed a lot more. I could be going insane and have no idea. This wasn't helping, though. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else—anything which would make me feel less shitty and help me register that making my already bruised hand going through another ounce of pain was a fucking disastrous idea, but nothing. Nothing came.
Apart from the loud voice that boomed through the halls. Too shrill, too annoying, and definitely Evelyn. Her footsteps echoed to this floor, but she didn't barge right in. She just shouted my name, and told me to calm the fuck down.
I rolled my eyes.
I could even hear Rosalie shouting at her language from the ground floor. I bit back a menacing laugh. She deserved that, times hundred. If Laura were here, she'd ask me why I was being an absolute douchebag to my sister.
I wondered what she was doing. What her days consisted of, apart from school. I was sure they weren't anything like mine. I spent my time at school being bored and occasionally ruining her mood, and at home doing everything in my power to ignore my thoughts. And my father.
Does she have a part-time job? I actually wanted to talk to her brother when I saw him fleetingly before our trip. He looked like he would put me six feet under if I made one wrong move, and I respected him a little too much for that. I guess I could just understand where he was coming from, because I'd just be as concerned for Evelyn when the time came.
So much for trying not to think—especially about her. I reluctantly got up from where I was sitting and kicked the chair right in front of me. "Fuck's sake."
Rosalie had proposed an idea to me yesterday, something along the lines of: if you limit your cursing to, at the maximum, ten times a day, I'd make you your favourite lunch twice a week. You're turning Evelyn into a thirteen-year-old, girl version of yourself.
