Every time I drift off, notes play in my head. So I get out of bed, jot it down or play the riff on my guitar, recording it on my phone. The music keeps flowing, and I feel possessed, needing to get it all out of me. Eventually, I quit sleep altogether and head into the studio so I can work at my piano. I always do my best work in there. The melodies flow easier when my fingers are on the keys.
I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting here, pencil jammed either behind my ear or between my teeth, but I’m working my way through a song. It’s all over the place right now, but there’s something great in the jumbled chaos. I just have to find it.
“Hello?” A voice calls out from behind me. At first I kind of just grunt over my shoulder. I’m too immersed in my own world. But when I hear my name, I knit my brows closely together and spin on the padded bench towards the voice. “Is this a bad time?” Naomi asks.
I open my mouth in surprise and flinch when the pencil falls from between my teeth. Fumbling, I manage to catch it and place it on top of my papers. I completely forgot I told her to come here so I could take photos and update the website.
“Oh shit. What time is it?” I splutter, gathering all my bits of paper and sliding them inside a book so they’re out of sight. The song isn’t ready for a second set of ears yet.
“I have a piano just like that.” She smiles, moving towards me and touching the keys lightly. “They had one at school. Did you ever play it?” Her mouth pulls up at the corner, and a wistful look passes over her face as she taps one key creating a gentle ping. I fight the urge to slap her hand away. “What are you working on?”
“Um… nothing. Nothing yet.” I pick my notes up from the seat next to me and place them on top of the piano, wanting to put the sheet back over it and hide it away. I don't share this anymore. This is mine now. But she takes the vacant seat as an invitation to sit down, and now I'm fighting the urge to put her off the damn bench. Shit. Her body brushes lightly against mine, and I close my eyes to the sensation, moving just enough to make a space between us. I need that gap there.
If she notices, she doesn’t act like it. “I heard a bit of what you were playing. It was really nice.” She positions her fingers on the keys and plays the tune I’ve been working on. Looks like she heard more than a bit. Watching her play it feels strange. The melody existed inside me only moments ago, and now she’s putting her mark all over it.
At first, I’m not sure how to react. I’m still toying with the idea of pushing her away and slamming the cover over the keys. But then she adds a little something. And it’s exactly what the melody was missing.
“That’s it,” I gasp, quickly grabbing my note book. “Play it again.” My pencil hovers over the lined page, the surge of adrenaline making my hand shake.
She repeats the melody, my hand working furiously to fill in the notes.
“Again.”
She does as I ask and I make my tweaks, slapping the page with the back of my hand when it’s done.
“Again?” she asks.
Standing up, I shake my head as I hold the notebook in front of me, pacing the floor. “How did you–” I start. But I stop myself, because I already know. It’s what she’s always done.
“Do you have any lyrics for it?” she asks. Spinning around to face me. It’s then that her eyes widen a little before her cheeks flush pink and she drops her gaze to the floor.
I suddenly realise I’m only wearing a robe and underwear—my open robe and black boxer briefs that leave little to the imagination. Shit.
I grab my robe and wrap it around my body, trying to tie the sash without dropping my notebook. It doesn’t work out.
“I should get dressed,” I say, tucking everything under my arms.
“I can come back another time,” she says, a grin twitching the side of her pink lips.
“Today’s fine. I just lost track of time. Just um… the kitchen. Make yourself coffee,” I call out, making a hasty retreat towards my bedroom. I drop the notebook on my bed and throw the robe next to it before I pull on my jeans, grabbing a shirt from the floor and sniffing it for any offending odours. It’s fine. I lift and arm and smell myself. Shit. I stink.
I stink and Naomi just spent fifteen minutes sitting right next to me. I’m surprised she wasn’t dry retching from the stench.
Throwing my shirt and jeans back on the floor where I found them, I grab my towel from the door and make my way to the bathroom for the fastest shower and shave on the planet.
Why am I nervous?
Naomi
Theo has one of those Nespresso coffee machines that take the pods, so all I have to do is fill the compartments with milk and water and I’m ready to go. When the pipes creak in the walls, I realise he’s taking a shower. So I stop making coffee and take a wander (read: sticky-beak) around his living areas.
It’s interesting being inside someone’s house. Especially someone who, until twelve hours ago, seemed to not to like me that much. It’s like you get this little window into who they are. Suddenly they become more of a person than a nemesis as you discover common ground. Like that old piano.
I have exactly the same model at home. I loved the one at school so much that I begged my parents to get it for my sixteenth birthday. It’s something I’ll never part with. I wonder how Theo feels about his.
Walking around his lounge and dining room, I pick up books and pictures, looking at each one in turn. He reads biographies and books about elves and dragons. Theo obviously cares a lot about his family, there are heaps of photos of him with his brother, their parents, grandparents, and a fair few photos and framed articles featuring the band and their music. He’s proud.
Working through the photos on a bookshelf, one in particular catches my eye. It’s slightly obscured by other frames in front of it, but the picture is unmistakably identical to the one I see on the wall at my parent’s house.
“Oh my god,” I gasp, reaching out to pick up the small frame as my heart hammers in my chest.
I remember the day it was taken. It was a school performance where we were exploring the use of classical instruments in modern music. There are five of us in the photo. I played violin, Marcus played an electric guitar, Aramis was on keyboards, a girl named Christy used the cello as a bass replacement, and some guy with red hair I don’t remember, played drums. We practiced for that performance for a solid month and were so proud of ourselves. I think I still have the recording somewhere at home.
I touch the picture lightly, running my finger over my image as I smile at the blissful look on my face. Marcus has his arm draped over both mine and Christy’s shoulders. We both look like we’re about to break out into fits of giggles. We’re flanked either side by Aramis, who stands next to me with his arms crossed and his black lips pursed. And the red-headed dude is trying to look cool next to Christy.
Grinning, I move to place the photo back on the shelf. It’s nice that Theo has this photo of Marcus’s performance group on display.
“What are you doing?” Theo asks suddenly. The photo frame falls from my hands and crashes onto the hardwood floor.
“Oh, my god. I’m so sorry. I was only looking because that’s me in that photo. Shit, I’ll buy you a new frame,” I babble, kneeling down to pick up the pieces at my feet. I retrieve the photo from the wreckage and pause as I notice writing on the back. ‘Classically Modern Concert. Theo, Naomi, Marcus, Christy, Damien’. “What the?” I flinch when Theo snatches the picture from my hands.
“Leave it. I’ll clean it,” he snaps, collecting the broken pieces of the frame roughly, tossing the broken glass into his palm. “God damn it.” He flinches from nicking his finger on a sharp edge. Blood flows and he sticks his finger in his mouth, getting up and stomping into the kitchen.
I squat down and pick up the last of the glass, retrieving the photo before chasing after him.
“Fuck.” He dumps everything he collected into the rubbish. “I told you to have a coffee. Not snoop through my shit.” A streak o
f red blood runs down to his palm.
“Are you cut badly?” I ask dropping the last of the glass in the bin and placing the photo on the bench.
“I just need a Band-Aid,” he growls, moving past me. His eyes drift towards the photo and his brow deeply furrows.
He opens a drawer and pulls out a box of Band-Aids, fumbling with the packaging as he tries to stem the flow of blood from his finger.
“You need to wash it first.”
“Fuck.” He flicks the box, spilling the bandaids all over the bench. “Did you even make a coffee? Or did you go straight through my drawers the moment I left the room?” He’s spluttering, red faced and frustrated. I shouldn’t have been looking around his living space. That was wrong of me.
“Wash your cut, Theo.” I move to the sink and flick on the tap. “I’ll sort out this mess then help you bandage it.”
He shoves his hand under the water. “I don’t want your fucking help. I want you gone.” I grab some paper towel and a couple of bandaids, ignoring his outburst because I’m not letting him scare me away when I’ve finally figured it out. I know who he is.
“I’m going to check how deep it is first,” I say, shutting the water off before taking a hold of his palm. He doesn’t go along with it willingly, snatching his hand back and trying to take the paper towel too. “Quit being a fucking baby and let me help.”
He releases a heavy sigh and shoves his hand in my direction. I dry it off and inspect the cut. It won’t need a trip to the doctor. As I peel the paper away from the bandaids and wrap them around his finger, neither of us speaks. All seems quiet except for the sound of our breathing and my gentle movement. I even feel the wet tips of his freshly washed hair brush the top of my head as he leans forward, watching me. When I finish, I look up and meet his eyes. He’s so close that I can smell his soap and shampoo, and I find myself wishing he wasn’t wearing the fitted black t-shirt he’s now put on. I kind of liked the view earlier. Who knew Theo was so well…built.
“Thanks,” he murmurs, keeping his eyes locked on mine. I’m still holding his finger, smoothing my thumb over the plaster strip as we just… stare. I can see him now. The face beneath the makeup, the familiar nose, the perfect Cupid’s bow of his mouth. It’s all there, staring right at me.
“I know who you are now,” I whisper, swallowing the thickness in my throat so I can say his name. “Aramis.”
His eyes fall shut at the sound of his nome de plume and he turns away, scooping up the bandaid wrappers and tossing them in the bin.
My eyes prick as I think about all the time I spent trying to find him. He was right in front of my face all the whole time, playing drums instead of piano.
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
“Because it’s not who I am anymore.”
“And yet you’ve been angry with me this whole time because I didn’t remember you. What the fuck, Theo? You were a boy who had pitch black hair and wore a massive amount of makeup and facial jewellery to school every day. A boy who hid out in the music room and didn’t go by the same name. You wore white contacts, so I didn’t even recognise your eyes in their natural state. How am I supposed to recognise you without that mask? And how fucking dare you hold that against me when you just said that’s not who you are anymore.” I release a frustrated growl and shove him in his rock-hard chest. “Fuck you.”
He closes his hands over my wrists and holds me firmly in place. “I was angry because the last time I saw you, I told you who I was and you didn’t remember. I was pissed that you had no recollection of me removing the makeup and making out with you for hours. And I’m furious that when I went to get you some water, I came back to find you naked, and in bed with my brother.” He leans in a little closer and grits his teeth. “My brother, Naomi. I’m bitter because I meant so little to you. I’m incensed because I’ve hated my brother ever since. And I’m resentful that because of you, I have a knuckle that will never go back into place because I punched my own brother in the face. Because of you.” Shit. That’s a lot of ways to say angry.
My mouth drops open as tears burn in my eyes, blood pumping through my ears at a horrendous volume. I shake my head and squeeze my eyes tight, not wanting to hear anymore. “That’s not fair,” I gasp. “I don’t remember any of that night. You know I don’t.” A tear escapes my eye and slides its way down my cheek. Theo reaches up and cups the side of my face, the warmth of his hand causing me to lean into it as he brushes the tear away with his thumb. Aramis.
His voice drops to almost a whisper as he continues. “I know that now. What I’m most angry about now is that he took advantage of you then dumped you. I’m irritated that despite that, you came running the moment he called, and that you still look at him like you’d let him do it all again. But above all, the anger that eclipses it all, is how infuriated I feel looking at you and knowing he’s been with you when I wanted you for myself.”
He wanted me for himself.
I stare at him wide eyed. I don’t know what to say. What is there to say? I can’t fix this. I can’t turn back time. I can’t change what happened. I can only live knowing that it did and accept it for what it was. A mistake.
I snatch my hand from his grip and pull my face from his hand, needing some space as I glare at him. “You’re an arsehole.”
His brows shoot up. “Really?”
“A fucking huge one. Stinky. Smelly. Full of Haemorrhoids.”
“You’re painting a delightful picture here.”
“How dare you,” I say, picking up my bag and slinging it over my shoulder. “How dare you hold shit against me I can’t even remember. How dare you treat me like shit for months instead of manning up and fucking telling me your problem. Fuck you. Fucking arsehole.” I spin around and head straight for the door, needing to get the hell out of there. I hear him call out my name, but I don’t turn around. Fuck this shit.
Focusing on making it to my car, I ready my keys, jumping in and reversing out of the driveway as quick as I can. By the time I’m in the street, he’s standing in the driveway with his hands on his hips, watching me make my escape like he thinks I'm being petulant. I should run him over for all he’s put me through. He’s lucky when I don’t.
Straightening my car in the street, I pause for a moment and look at him. I had wanted so much from him back then. When he froze me out, I carried that hurt with me for years, feeling used and abandoned. If he had have answered my fucking calls, told me what he knew, everything could have been different. I wouldn’t have been so embarrassed, and perhaps we could have… No. There’s no perhaps in this situation. The moment he saw me with Marcus, he wrote me off. And now he can barely look at me. The boy I knew is gone. He’s someone I don’t recognise anymore. He’s someone I don’t even like anymore.
Lifting my hand, I hold up my middle finger and drive away. Fuck him. Fuck Marcus. Fuck the band. I’m not planning on returning. As much as I love the music, I just can’t do this. I can’t be a part of a band that has two men who think so little of me. That fucking party will haunt me forever unless I put a stop to this now. I’m done. I’ll find another fucking band to join. One without so much history.
Fifteen
Naomi
“Aren’t you supposed to be at rehearsal tonight?,” Kylie asks as I join her behind the bar to help with setup. “I thought you swapped shifts with Dave.”
“Change of plans,” I tell her, ignoring the insistent buzzing of my phone in my back pocket. There’s no way I’m going back there. They’ll need to find someone else to play violin. I’m not the only one capable.
“You got the night off and you’re spending it here?” She laughs. “Band life must pay bad.”
I heft a bucket of ice into the basin then stab the scoop into it. “It’s not all riches and parties,” I say, even though there have been a stack of parties and the money semi-ok. I just don’t want to get into it.
“That sucks. The movies make out like it's a crazy drug-fuelled sexfest”
<
br /> I grab a cloth and wipe down the counter. “Maybe for the lead singers. But I play violin. Not really rock’n’roll.”
“Yeah. That makes sense.”
My phone quits ringing, and I wonder if the guys have finally given up on me. I should have been at Theo’s over an hour ago. But I just can’t bring myself to be there. I’m hurt by the way Theo treated me. And to be honest, I'm hurt by the way Marcus has treated me too, the way he disregards mine and everyone else’s feelings. If Theo punched him in the face for sleeping with me, then he knows why Theo has been a jerk all this time. That means he asked me to join the band knowing my presence would torment his brother. It’s fucked up. And I don’t want to be part of their messed up sibling rivalry anymore.
But I feel bad. I feel bad for me. For Aramis/Theo. For Jack and Lachlan; they’re getting caught in the middle of this. And for the fans who have been so accepting of me. I’m letting them all down. But if I don’t walk away, this is just going to get messier. I need to be done.
“I think your butt is vibrating,” Kylie says when my phone starts up again.
I guess they haven’t given up.
“Telemarketers,” I say, kneeling to rotate stock in the fridge.
“Ugh. They suck. You should block totally their numbers.”
I pull out my phone and watch Marcus’s face light up the screen. "You know, that’s an excellent idea."
* * *
Marcus
I ring Naomi for the ninth time in a row and she’s still not picking up. In fact, I think she just blocked me. “What the fuck did you do to her?” I demand of Theo. “You were the last one of us to see her.”
He bounces a shoulder, twirling a drumstick in the air. “Maybe she got sick of watching you hook up with randos every other night.”
Melody: Beautiful Series, book three Page 10