Crushed

Chapter One

Baltimore//1951

I straighten out my dress and stand up from the windowsill. My mother is taking me to meet a new singing coach in a few moments. I walk to the mirror, examining my hair and pale face. I run a hand through my hair, patting down the fly aways.

I am 17, almost an adult, so why does my mother feel the need to plan out my future. She claims that I will be a wonderful singer. Famous, even. I don't think so highly of myself. Besides, I'd rather be a nurse anyways, but I wouldn't dare tell Mother that.

"Lana? It's time to leave, now, darling!" My mother calls. I sigh quietly so she won't hear, but call, "Yes, mother!"

I climb into the car, and in less than five minutes later, we pulled up to a white house. Fairly new, though the columns reminded me of an old plantation house. I open my door and step out. My mother steps out as well, but I stop her.

"Mother, I am seventeen now. I can escort myself. Farewell, I will see you at six!" I say, waving a gloved hand at her. She lets out an exasperated sigh but smiles and nods, getting back inside. I smile at my small accomplishment before walking up onto the front steps.

I knock three times, before the door is yanked open. A tall man greets me. He steps aside, letting me in.

"Welcome, Miss Lana. I am Mr. Styles, your vocal coach," He takes me hand, kissing it. I blush, walking inside. He was very handsome.

"Hello, Mr. Styles." I say, trying to not stumble over my words. He chuckles at my attempt and leads me to the piano room.

"So, we should get started right away. I will play the piano over here most of the time, and you will be standing beside me." He says, gesturing towards the piano bench. I nod and he continues, "Today, we will be starting out with easy songs. Let's say, Twinkle Twinkle Little Star!" I groan, and turn to face him.

"Mr. Styles, that song is far too easy. I think I should show you a song first, to see what I need to improve on." I suggest.

"Oh, darling. I am your teacher, and you will listen to me. Won't you?" He asks, cupping my chin.

I pull away, and walk towards the piano bench, standing beside it. He smirks, sitting down. He starts playing the song, and I sing along, making sure to sing in key.

When the song ends, Mr. Styles nods to himself before looking up at me. "That was great, dear, but I'm sure you could do better."

I shake my head, "Mr. Styles I don't even want to be here. I do not wish to sing."

Mr. Styles gets up and holds my shoulders. "Lana, if you don't want to sing, I'll give you a reason to."

He slides his hands down my arms and I step back. Yes, he is handsome but he is only my vocal coach. He reaches back out to me, and grabs my face.

"Sing it again, Baby-doll. For me."

Shocked by his forwardness, I shift uncomfortably. I turn my head to face the floor as his hands leave my face. He sits back down, playing the song over again. Scared of what he might do if I do not sing along, I oblige.

After he played the last note he stood up again pointing towards the door.

"We are through here. I will see you Friday, Miss Lana." He spoke angrily.

I was confused as to why he was angry. He seemed bipolar, which was considered a mental illness worthy of getting thrown into an insane asylum. I was shaken up at the angriness he shared. I quickly straightened my dress and walked out of the music room.

"I will see you tomorrow."

"Mr. Styles, I thought that our classes were Mondays and Thursdays?" I questioned him.

"Yes, well, I have changed my mind. Now, I will see you tomorrow. Carry on, your mother should be waiting for you."

I huffed and walked out of the front door. He was an old bipolar man, nothing that should worry me. I should confront my mother.

I walked towards her automobile with an angry face.

"Mother, I am not going back!" I yell. She gasps, "What happened, dear?" I shake my head and look out of the window.

"You are almost an adult. I suppose you can make your own decisions. You can go back in right now, and tell Mr. Styles that you do not wish to come back."

I open the car door and march back to the house, knocking harshly before he opens the door. He rolls his eyes and lets out an exasperated sigh.

"Yes?" He asks, tilting his head.

"I am sorry to bother you again," I say in a sarcastic tone, "but I am informing you that your services are no longer needed. I will see you at church. Goodbye."

I turn around swiftly, but he catches my arm. I do not face him before yanking my arm away.

"I'll see you at church, Miss Lana."