by Bella Jewel
Oh, God.
What is happening?
Help.
Someone help.
Her lips keep moving, and her brows knit together and concern washes over her face. She waves a hand, probably thinking I’m blind, so I raise my hand, and wave it weakly back. Then I point to my ears and shake my head. She looks puzzled and uses a little flashlight to look into them, then she steps back and holds up a finger, indicating one moment. I think that’s what she means, anyway. She leaves the room in somewhat of a hurry.
Is she coming back?
What is happening?
Where is Caiden?
Oh. God. Caiden.
Is he dead?
My throat clogs up as memories of the terrible accident fill my headspace. I start to cry and shake my head from side to side. My heart hurts. My stomach is sick. My chest is heavy. Is he dead? Did I kill him? Is he gone? Where is he? Oh God. Where is he?
The nurse comes back in with an old, friendly looking doctor who immediately comes over to me and starts speaking. I stare at him too. His pitch is a little deeper, so I know it’s a man speaking, but I still can’t make out any words. Just that awful, faint humming. I clench my eyes shut and shake my head from side to side. A tap on my shoulder a few minutes later, and I open my eyes to see him holding a notepad in front of me.
It says, “Are you having trouble hearing?”
I nod, and more tears roll down my cheeks.
He writes something else on the paper.
“Can you explain it to me?”
He hands me the notepad and I write down what is happening. The odd sounds, the buzzing, the occasional high pitch, the pain, and the way I can hear their voices, but I can’t hear their words. I hand him back the notepad and he reads it, then he turns to the nurse and orders her to do something, at least, it looks like he’s ordering her to.
I snatch the notepad back and he turns, looking at me, puzzled.
“Caiden. Is he alive. Tell me? Please.”
He reads the words, and it feels like it takes forever for him to write down whatever it is he’s about to break to me. He hands the notepad back.
“Yes, he’s alive. He suffered burns to his body, and is struggling with movement of his legs. He’s been into surgery. He’s in ICU. We will keep you updated.”
Oh, God.
No.
I start crying again, pressing my hands over my face. It’s all my fault. I should have waited until I got home to end it with him. What was I thinking trying to do it in the car ride? Of course he was going to get angry. Of course he was going to overreact. Now he’s burned? And has lost use of his legs? All because of me.
The doctor pulls my hands away, and hands me the notepad again.
“Your mother is outside, I’ll bring her in. You need someone. We’ll run some tests on your ears, find out what’s happening. The nurse will be back soon to take you to them.”
Before I can shake my head because I don’t want my mother to come in, he’s already gone and has left the room. I want to cry out, but I don’t know if my voice still works. Does it still work? It takes a few moments for my mother to come into the room, and when she does, she looks hesitant. She walks over, stopping by the bed. She glances at the notepad, and then snatches it up and writes, “Can you hear me?”
I’m fairly certain the doctor just told her I couldn’t, so it makes me frustrated and angry that she is asking such a ridiculous question when she can clearly see I’m in a terrible way. Why, for one single moment, can’t she just be a mother?
I shake my head anyway.
She takes the notepad again, writing on it. “What happened?”
She doesn’t know yet.
Nobody does.
But soon, they’ll know. They’ll know it’s my fault. They’ll know I caused the accident. And they’ll hate me for it. I can’t say I blame them. I’d hate me if I was in their shoes. Still, for a little longer, I don’t want to hear what she’ll have to say about it, so I just shrug, and I start to cry. Not on purpose, it just happens. I’m so … broken. Scared. Alone.
“Don’t cry, everything will be fine,” she says, patting my shoulder as if I’m no more than an acquaintance.
I take the notepad and through my tears I write, “Where’s Daddy?”
She looks at it, and her face scrunches. I need someone. I need someone to put their arms around me and tell me it’s going to be okay, even if it isn’t. My dad is the only person I have that can do that for me. I need him. She exhales and takes the notepad, writing, “He’s getting coffee. He’ll be right in.”
Thank the lord. Thank the sweet lord.
I nod and lean back, closing my eyes.
I don’t hear anything else, just that humming that makes everything inside me panic. Have I lost my hearing forever? Is it forever gone? Will I never hear again? Tears run down my cheeks, and a pain unlike anything I’ve ever felt builds up in my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. I’m so afraid. So scared.
A warm, calloused hand grazes over my cheek and I open my eyes to see my father looking down at me. He smiles, and mouths really really slowly, “It’s going to be okay.”
I lose it.
Sobbing and shaking.
He gets into the bed and he pulls me into his arms. Pain shoots through my side, but I ignore it. I need this, more than anything in the world, I need to know it’s going to be okay. It has to be okay. Please, God, let it be okay.
My dad’s fingers glide through my hair, soothing me. He does this until I stop crying and start drifting off into an exhausted, painful, but mostly silent sleep.
I wished for a silent world.
Is that exactly what I got?
~*~*~*~
NOW – AMALIE
“Oh, my,” I breathe, walking into the massive recording studio. I’ve dreamed every second of every day about seeing one of these, about being inside one, but I never thought I’d see the day I had my two feet planted right in the middle.
It’s everything I could have ever dreamed and more.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Scarlett smiles at me, then she reaches down and takes my hand.
She tugs me into the massive recording room with the equipment and the chairs and the microphone and headphones, just like in the movies. I look at the big glass window, and I know outside there will be people adjusting the pitch as she sings, changing it, making it sound even more incredible.
My heart feels funny. Happy. Free.
This is incredible.
“I can’t believe we’re actually doing this,” I say to her.
“We’re doing it,” she tells me, taking both my hands and holding them. “I spoke to Susan, she is drawing up the contract so you can play on my new album, but of course I didn’t tell her you were going to help me write some songs, too. If that’s okay?”
I nod. “Of course! I can’t wait to help out. I can’t wait to play in here. Gosh, it’s all so incredible.”
“Well, get used to it, chicky. We’ll be spending a lot of time here.”
My heart explodes with happiness.
“Come on, I want to show you something,” she says before turning her back and pulling me out of the room then leading me down a hall until we reach another door.
She opens it and we step inside, and my heart skips a beat. A music room. Full of instruments. And right in the middle a big, white piano. Its shine is unlike anything I’ve ever seen. Its beauty is out of this world. I press a hand to my heart and hiccup with overwhelming emotion. I look to Scarlett, and she’s smiling at me. She nods. “Go ahead, it’s yours to practice on. We’ll be using it a fair bit.”
“We will?” I screech.
“Yes, get onto it.”
I glance down at my fingers. They’re still sore, tender when I move them too much. Scarlett nudges me with her shoulder and I look back up at her. “Screw your damn fingers, play that piano!”
I laugh softly and rush over, sitting down. After my accident, I though
t I’d never play again. It took me so long to figure out the pitch, because I couldn’t hear it right. I learned if I put my feet at the base, I could tell if I was pushing too hard, or if I was going too soft. But eventually, I just needed to trust myself. To close my eyes and know that my fingers knew what they had to do.
And they did.
They didn’t let me down.
Not in the end.
I take a seat at the breathtaking piano, and I close my eyes. Closing my eyes takes the focus away from everything else. It puts it all on the piano and me. It’s as if the whole world has stopped, and it’s just us. My fingers graze over the hard, cool keys and my heart races. I get this feeling every time I play. Like a piece of me is being formed, like a part of my soul is being bound together.
I start playing, softly at first, and then I get carried away. My fingers forget their ache, and they sail across the keys as if that’s what they were born to do. I press a foot to the side of the piano, feeling its vibrations run up my leg, and then I let the music rip into my soul, opening me wide, telling the world everything I can’t.
All my pain. My agony. My happiness.
It all pours out, even if nobody can hear the words.
When I stopped trying to hear the music, I finally learned to feel it, and feeling it is so much more powerful. When I first started playing again after I lost my hearing, frustration would bubble, and I felt as though my passion was being stripped away from me. Because if I couldn’t hear it, what was the point? Over time, I learned to feel it, to feel the vibrations through my body, to let it soak into my soul and bring me the same kind of peace it always did.
Of course, I can hear it enough, but never the loud, booming way I could before.
That doesn’t matter now.
I keep playing, eyes closed, fingers moving effortlessly. When the song comes to an end, I smile and exhale, opening my eyes. It takes a moment, but I realize quickly we’re not alone in the room anymore. Malakai and Maverick are both here now, and all three of them are staring at me, a different expression in their eyes.
Scarlett, hers is pride. Pure, raw, pride.
Maverick looks blown away, impressed, disbelieving.
But Malakai. His face. His expression. It’s one I want to keep for the rest of my life. It’s one I want to hide in my memory and pull out any time I need to see someone look at me like that. With that kind of passion, and feeling, and depth.
His green eyes are intense and locked on mine, his jaw is tight, but not angry, just tense. His hands are by his side and his breathing is a little deeper than usual. But it’s the emotion coming from his eyes. He’s looking at me in a way I’ve never been looked at before. It’s the look a husband gives a wife when she walks down the aisle. It’s a look of falling in love. It’s a look of pure, raw, pride.
And I want that look to stay with me.
Always.
My heart slams against my ribcage and, for a moment, I don’t really know what to do. Scarlett tugs at Maverick, and the two of them leave them room. Before I can protest, Mal is striding toward me, eyes still on mine. Oh, God. What is he about to do? I should get up. I should walk away. Run even. I need to do something, because he’s getting closer.
He stops when he reaches me and I tip my head back, looking at him. For a moment, I don’t think he’s going to do or say anything. He just stares down at me, those eyes still speaking for him. Then, he reaches out and very gently cups my jaw. He leans down, so close his eyes are level with mine, his breath tickling my lips. I part my lips with a slight gasp, not knowing what to do, knowing I should pull away but also knowing I can’t.
He leans back just enough that my eyes can drop down to see what he’s saying, but this close, with his rugged voice, I can faintly hear the words anyway.
“I don’t know what happened to you, Amalie, but I know that there is something inside of you that I want to reach in and curl my hands around, holdin’ onto it until it heals, until it’s put back together again, because what comes out when you play is pure, and it’s raw, and it’s so fuckin’ broken. You’re the perfect kind of jagged pieces, angel, and fuck knows I want to put them back together for you.”
Oh.
God.
My heart feels like it’s going to explode. And I know, I know in that exact moment, that Malakai is the one I always imagined. The man I could fall in love with. That man that would make me forget how to breathe. And, like all good fantasies, reality has a way of crashing right back in.
I can’t let him in.
I can’t be doing this.
It wouldn’t be fair.
I turn my face away, closing my eyes, fighting the tears. For a moment, his hand stays cupped against my cheek, and I really really want it to stay there. I really want him to make it all go away. To put my pieces back together. To make me believe again. But I can’t allow that. And he has to know that. He has to know before he tries to get any closer.
I keep my head turned away, and my eyes closed.
I feel his exhale, and his warm breath puff against my cheek.
Then he lets me go.
And a few minutes later he’s gone.
And my heart breaks a tiny bit more.
-3-
AMALIE - NOW
“Isaac is staring at you,” Scarlett tells me, grinning.
I glance over at Isaac, who joined us today to work on some music. Scarlett likes him and said she wants him on the album too. I’ve heard him play, and he’s incredible, so I don’t blame her for that. I meet Isaac’s eyes, and he grins at me. I smile back and turn to Scarlett.
“He’s being friendly. Stop playing matchmaker.”
She pushes her bottom lip out, and I can see why the whole of America is in love with her. She’s beautiful, in a soft, country way. All that blond hair and those big brown eyes. She fits the part perfectly, and she has a personality to match.
“I’m not,” she says, throwing her hands up. “I was simply saying he was staring at you. He told me he finds you fascinating.”
I shake my head, and my cheeks flush.
“You should consider dating, Amalie. You’re so beautiful. Any man would fall to their knees to be able to take you out.”
I shake my head quickly. “No, I don’t want to.”
Her face drops, and a softness washes over it. I love that about her. She’s never too much. “Is it because of your hearing?”
I go to shake my head, but decide to let her think that it is. I nod. “Yeah, it’s embarrassing, and I just … I don’t know … I’m not ready.”
“Can it be fixed?” she asks, staring right into my eyes.
She’s like a human lie detector. I swear. She can read your soul with just one glance. Thank God, I’m a good liar. Except I won’t lie to her about this, because, well, even I have a threshold.
“There is a doctor that said he’s seen this kind of injury and can operate to try and correct it. There is no guarantee it can be fixed, but he said he could improve one ear enough that I can hear a little out of it, but he isn’t sure of the other. One is more badly damaged.”
Her eyes get wide. “How come you haven’t done it then?”
Because I don’t deserve to get fixed when Caiden can’t be.
Fear?
I don’t know. I honestly don’t know why I haven’t done it. Having just enough hearing in one ear would change everything for me. Especially now I’m working with Scarlett and may go on tour again, but the guilt that I feel when I think about going in and doing it makes me back away fairly quickly.
“I’m afraid, I guess,” I tell her.
Her eyes get soft again. “I could come with you, if you like?”
Why does she have to be so incredible?
“I don’t … I don’t know,” I say, staring at my hands. “What if it ended up worse? Right now, I can hear a tiny, little bit. If I could hear nothing, nothing at all, my world would collapse and I’m afraid of that.”
She reaches over and ta
kes my hand. “And what if you could hear a little more? Your world would shine.”
She’s right.
I know that.
But the idea of doing it terrifies me. Both out of guilt and fear. My doctor sends information letters often, because I know he doesn’t understand why I won’t do it. There are hundreds of thousands of people in the world that would jump at the chance, and I’m running from it.
“Yeah, maybe I’ll look into it again,” I tell her, and then look away so I can’t see any more of what she says.
My eyes fall on Isaac’s once more, and he smiles at me. I smile back. Yet again. He is an incredibly striking man, but so is Malakai and I won’t allow myself near him. Scarlett taps my shoulder, and I turn to her. “I have some lyrics in my head, want to see if you can add to them?”
I nod, and she starts writing down her lyrics. She’s incredibly talented like that. She can come up with a song and just write it down, better yet she can sing it as if she was born to do just that. I’m not so talented. I can play the music, I can feel the music, but I can’t write the music. Still, I read her song, and I’m impressed by the beauty she pushes out through her lyrics.
“This is amazing,” I tell her. “I’m beginning to think you really don’t need my help.”
She flushes and smiles. “Trust me, I do. Even if it’s just to make it sound exactly how I want, which I know you playing will do for me. You hear music in a way others don’t, and that’s because you feel it. You’re going to add something to this album that nobody else can. It’ll be incredible.”
I beam at her.
Two bikers fill my vision, and I turn my head to see Mal and Maverick coming into the recording studio, food in their hands. They’ve been backward and forward all day while we’ve been in here working, bringing us food and drink. I haven’t made eye contact with Mal after what happened in the instrument room, and even now, I don’t look into his eyes.