by Lindsey Hart
He was there, as she already knew he’d be. Dallas was slumped over the keys, the bench pulled back, his long legs stretched out below. His shoulders and neck were at an add, painful angle. It looked like he’d simply run out of steam. That, like a wind-up toy, he’d paused where he’d fallen, frozen in place. His hands were out in front of his face, in an attempt to block the bruising force of the piano’s hard edges. His eyes were closed, blonde lashes resting on his cheek and gentle inhales and exhales echoed through the quiet area.
Leena knew she should leave. She’d intruded enough, but her legs refused to move. When she finally unglued her feet from the ancient hardwood floor, she found herself walking towards Dallas, not away. She held her breath, like that alone could keep her from disturbing him.
As she neared, her heart beat harder. Her pulse jumped at her neck and her insides clenched and locked. She didn’t understand the response. She didn’t even know if she was afraid or just anxious, or if it was something else entirely that kicked her body into overdrive, brought every single nerve ending and synapse into a state of utter awareness.
She stopped less than a few inches away. Don’t touch him. Her hand snaked out anyway, her fingers finding soft cotton. His plaid shirt was warm, warm from his body below. Her stomach cramped, and a jolt of adrenaline ripped through her. Her hand trembled as she smoothed out a crease near the shoulder. A wave of something, some feeling washed over her. She finally knew what it was. Longing.
I need to get out of here. Now. Instead, she leaned in, helplessly drawn to him like a moth about to end up in fiery disaster. She inhaled deeply, her face inches from the place where his shirt collar pulled away from the muscular column of his neck. She dragged in a ragged breath and her head swam helplessly at the delicious scent that was Dallas.
He wasn’t some man in a fairy tale. No, he was real. He wore no cologne to mask his scent or impede the beauty of his own deep, raw, maleness. The slightly stale scent of dried sweat mingled with the unguarded innocence of deep sleep. She loved, most of all, that overriding everything was his own scent, the unique, glorious smell of chemistry and daily life. She closed her eyes and imagined the smell of music, all that endless paper, like guarded hope and endless, endless creativity.
Leena was as unprepared for the explosion of movement as Dallas woke to find her there, her face tucked into the crook of his neck. He moved so quickly he nearly knocked her to the floor as he sat up. She literally heard the sharp crack of bone on bone as he righted himself from his awkward, hunched over position. His tired eyes blazed fire as she stumbled back, hands out defensively in front of herself.
“What are you doing in here?” The piano bench scraped back with a sharp groan over the hardwood as Leena backed up a step.
“I…”
“You what? Couldn’t leave well enough alone? This is my room, or did you forget that too?”
“No,” she mumbled, trying not to rise to his purposeful anger. “It’s pretty obvious. I… I just felt bad all day about what happened this afternoon. I’m sorry. I didn’t come in here trying to attack you or start a fight. I really just wanted to know why you hadn’t come. Truly.” She swallowed hard, emotion lodging her throat closed. “Do I really mean nothing to you at all?”
He sighed, and those broad shoulders slumped with the weight of unseen burdens. He ran a hand through his tangled blonde hair and winced when it snagged on one of the many knots. “I… I don’t go out. You know that. That’s why our arrangement works well. I’m sorry if you felt I was harsh in explaining it to you. I don’t have a lot of patience.”
She realized then how pale he was, that it wasn’t just a trick of the moonlight. The dark smudges under his eyes spoke to more than a few sleepless nights. “You don’t look well,” she whispered.
He shrugged. “Well… define that word. I’m never well. Not like other people, but you knew that when you took this on.”
“And now? Now that I don’t know anything?”
He shrugged again. “God, I’d like some tea.”
A tiny light lit up inside of Leena. It swam through her blood, the ounce of hope, the small, almost non-existent olive branch he extended. “I can make some.”
He hedged, eyes roving around the room. Finally, he sighed, as though he knew it was a battle he had to lose, having her there since they so clearly needed to talk.
It took a minute, but he moved. He stalked across the room and sat down heavily on the antique couch, a settee upholstered in green fabric, probably silk, that didn’t look at all like it would hold his weight. It did, though it almost groaned when he sat down so carelessly on the old springs.
Leena figured she was once likely a little familiar with the kitchen. She finally found a light switch under one of the cabinets and flicked it on. Dallas didn’t offer any help or instruction as to where to find anything. She felt entirely self-conscious as she fumbled her way around, getting out a kettle and mugs.
Sugar. He likes sugar. She didn’t know where the thought came from, or the memory, if that’s what it was, but she found a bag of sugar that was mostly hard lumps and placed a spoonful in the chipped, plain white mug.
She brought over two mugs of steaming dark tea when it was done. There was no place to put them, so she set hers on the floor by the settee and gave Dallas his carefully. She sat down with hers, far too close. She felt him want to draw away, but there was no other piece of furniture in the room unless the bed counted. She closed her mind off of that thought right away. She didn’t need to add the strange desire that swirled through her veins to the mix at the moment.
“Have you eaten today?” She finally asked, when Dallas remained silent. He sat upright, holding his mug, unmoving, unblinking.
He considered that, frowning deeply. “No,” he finally responded. “I don’t think so.”
“Do you want me to make you something?”
“No.”
“When did you last sleep?”
Dallas’ frown faded, and he smiled sarcastically. “You know, it’s funny. You can’t remember anything, but here you are, asking me the same questions you always have.”
Leena bit her lip. He wasn’t exactly mocking her, but she wasn’t sure what to feel. She finally decided the best way to deal with him was just to ignore the parts of him that were so hard to get along with. I must have married him for a reason. Not just for the money, like he said before. She could tell, as that tender feeling flooded her chest again, that he meant something to her. No, it wasn’t just for the money that she was there.
“Are you going to be okay, Dallas?” She couldn’t believe her words when she spoke after a long, uncomfortable silence.
“Okay?” He scoffed. “I doubt I’ve ever been that.” He took a sip of the tea and nearly spat it back into the cup. “What is this?”
“Just black tea. It was the only thing I found in the cupboard,” she said defensively. It would be a lot easier to like him if he stopped trying to be an asshole all the time.
“What did you put in it?”
“Sugar. I thought… I had this idea that you liked it that way.”
“I like it with honey. Not sugar. Never sugar.” He shuddered and set the cup aside.
Even though her annoyance was rising, she tried her best to be patient and kind. She didn’t want another blow out fight like that afternoon. She had come to apologize, after all. “Well… uh- mine doesn’t have sugar. I can put honey in it and you can have that. Or I can make you something fresh, if you want.”
Dallas looked at her strangely, his light eyes cloudy and mysterious in the near darkness. “Why would you do that?”
“Because it will only take a few minutes. It’s not like it’s going to be any trouble to do it. I messed it up and I want to fix it.”
He sighed hard, his eyes leaving her face and sweeping around the room. “You know, Leena, that’s the one thing you’ve always done. You’ve always been so damn nice to me. I don’t get it. I tried everything to chase you aw
ay. I tried for years to just… disappear. I wanted to not exist anymore, when the pain was too much.”
She leaned forward when he paused. “What pain, Dallas?”
The abject misery in his eyes, when they landed back on her face, was heartbreaking. She felt it in her own body. It hurt. Her stomach. Her lungs. Her ribs. Her heart. Everything. The weight of his despair was absolutely crushing.
“Nothing.” He swiped a hand over his eyes and the emotion was gone. They were just a flat grey once again.
She knew that he wasn’t going to say more. She literally watched him shut down and her heart ached at the pain he carried inside, a pain she no longer knew anything about. It frustrated her to the point of tears that she couldn’t remember when she wanted to so very badly.
“Why do you not go outside?” she whispered. She waited, sure he wasn’t going to tell her. When he did, she was a little amazed.
“I just- don’t. I can’t. I- have a lot of anxiety on top of everything else. Panic attacks. They make me physically sick. It’s more than that though. It’s music. It’s just always there. Always, always in my head, always inside. It drives me insane. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. I can’t- do anything. Just the music. You used to know that, so I’ll tell you. You won’t survive this, if you don’t understand that.” He wasn’t being unkind, just spoke in a flat, bland voice.
“Can I… what can I do? What did I do to make this work?”
He sighed. He looked so very tired. “Just what you’re doing now. You try and feed me. You try and make me sleep. You make sure I don’t get sick and if I am, you bring a doctor here.”
“That actually works?”
“It always has.”
“And what else? What else, Dallas?” Leena leaned forward, hoping, sensing he was going to tell her something important.
“You- when it gets too much, everything inside, sometimes you just sit with me and you- you read over what I’ve written, and you sing it and I sing it and we finish, even if takes days and then, then when it’s finally over, then I rest. Sometimes I sleep for days.”
Leena swallowed hard. “What kind of life is that? It doesn’t seem like I’m really able to help you at all.”
His throat bobbed hard as well as he gulped. “You do. You take care of me.” His voice was strained and husky with more than just lack of sleep. “And as for what kind of life it is? I don’t know. The only one I have I guess.”
She nodded slowly. “I’m sorry for this afternoon. I’ll do better. I wasn’t trying to be mean, I’m just… upset I guess, over not being able to remember. It’s frustrating.”
“No, don’t apologize to me. The one thing you always did was call me on my bullshit. It’s something that no one else could do. You were always painfully blunt. And you knew what I was like. You were just used to it. I realize you’re not now. I’ll try and be more- uh- gentle.”
She wanted to laugh, he looked so uncomfortable trying to apologize. We have a lot to learn. It’s not just me. She thought before that he was trying so hard to push her away, to be an asshole and now, it was like he was trying so hard to be the exact opposite and neither of them knew truly who he was. She had a terrible feeling that even if she could remember everything, she wouldn’t have any of the answers she needed. The questions she was asking, the questions from the depths of her soul, didn’t have answers.
CHAPTER 7
Dallas
Three days. It had been three days since his own wife bothered to come and check if he was even still alive. He had work. Work for her to look over, parts for her to sing. He was stuck. He’d been writing for hours, hoping to get the music just right, but he just couldn’t get it down on paper the way it was in his head. It frustrated him which in turn made it even more impossible for him to get the damn notes out.
He cursed under his breath as he stared at the composition book laid out on the piano in front of him. He’d been there all damn night. Or was it two? Three? He couldn’t remember. He just knew that he hadn’t seen Leena in a while. Days. At least. He was sure it was three.
There was a time when he just wished she’d leave well enough alone. After Hannah… all he wanted to do was not exist. Not die really, just- not feel anything at all. She’d refused to leave him to it and he hated her for it. Or rather, he hated the fact that she brought him more pain than he was already in.
Now, after years, the pain was still there, the sting of loss, the burn of the one chance at happiness that he might have had, but he was used to Leena now. He was used to her popping in and out, trying to force him to eat or sleep. He actually missed the beauty of her voice when she sang for him.
All the while he was teaching Hannah, giving her everything, every single part of himself including his soul, Leena was listening. And after years, when she finally opened her mouth, he was stunned at the gift he’d given her through his teaching. He missed her voice and he missed her input. She’d stab a finger at the composition book and ask for his pen. He’d give it blindly, trusting her implicitly.
As though his thoughts finally had the power to summon her, the door behind him creaked open. He’d chosen to work in the main room, the studio room they shared, a room where musicals and operas and love songs were born.
Annoyance rose in his chest. Dallas turned slightly on the bench, his hand gripping the edge to stave off the swarm of black spots that suddenly swarmed in front of his eyes.
“Leena,” he breathed. Her visage swam in the doorway. Why did it suddenly appear that there was two of her? “Did you finally run out of work? Finally come to see if I was still breathing in here?”
“I… what? I’m sorry. You know that we have a production underway. I was doing my best to try and remember my parts, relearning it and trying to find another male lead. I was told that you fired the last one.” She closed the door behind her softly, eyes shining with light and life. She looked better than when he’d seen her the last time. Her bruises were fading to a yellow that was hardly there at all. The cuts had healed. Her long, honey hair flowed unbound over her shoulder in a radiant mass of silk that he found his fingers actually ached to touch. The response baffled and annoyed him, and he turned back to the piano. He gripped his composition book and held it out, jabbing a finger at the part he saved for her.
“Sing this,” he commanded gruffly, ignoring her statement about Howard. He didn’t want to talk about the very object of the fight that had caused her to be hurt in the first place. His stomach swam with nausea and bile crawled into the back of his throat when his mind flashed through the images. He’d almost lost her, and he had no one to blame but himself and his own damn cruelty. And then where would he be? Left alone? Alone to rot or go truly insane? He wished he could be gentle, wished he could control the anger choking his throat, the damn black sea closing in on the corners of his eyes. I won’t let it win. I have to keep working.
“What?” She crept closer, her footsteps soft. She wore black leggings and a flowy emerald green blouse that fell almost to her knees. It was more of a dress and though it was loose it defined her narrow waist and lush breasts. She wore knee-high boots, a faded grey leather pair which were her favorite. Funny how even with no memory, she gravitated towards her old favorites.
“Sing. This.”
He passed over the notebook and watched as Leena’s flawless pale forehead creased into a frown. Her eyes swept over the pages, the notes, the notations, the scrawl and scratch of his work. He waited, breath locked in his lungs. Waited for her to finally sing.
“No.”
“What? What do you mean, no?” His fingers curled into the pant leg of his jeans in annoyance. “I need you to sing it, Leena. Now.”
She shook her head, gossamer strands of hair floating around her face. The room was dark, but annoying tendrils of late afternoon sunshine crept through behind the drawn shades. The highlights in the mass of her hair shone brightly even in those dull beams.
“No.” The book was closed softly and placed, with
the utmost care, back on the piano.
Fury rose in his chest so swiftly it felt as though he might burst open with the pressure of it. Rage and- and panic. He needed the music out. Out of his head. Out of his body.
“I need you to sing it,” he growled, trying to keep his temper in check. He knew that she wouldn’t do anything for him if he was unkind. Another fight wasn’t going to get him any closer to relief.
Leena bent beside him. She knelt, coming down to his level. She dared to reach out and touch the edge of his jaw. He started at the contact, the heat of her hand burning into him. She would never have dared touch him before in anything that was not a purely utilitarian manner. Her fingers scraped over the fresh growth of a beard he didn’t even realize was there.
Her beautiful green eyes burned into his. She had no damn memory and she still looked at him as though she’d known him for years, cared for him for years. I should never have said she was in this for the money. That was never it.
“Dallas… it’s not that I don’t want to sing it for you. I just think you’ve had enough for today. You look- uh-you don’t look well. You have black smudges under your eyes. When was the last time you ate? Slept? Showered?” She moved her hand along his jaw, so very slowly, the heat of her body melting into his. His eyes burned, and his sinuses inflamed and he had no idea why. “Why am I always asking you these questions?” She sighed. “Please, can you just let me make you something to eat and can you lie down? We had this conversation the last time I was here.”
“Days ago,” he ground out, condescendingly.
“Yes. I’m sorry. Like I said, I’ve been busy. Minnie can’t understand why you’d fire a talented lead like Howard when his voice was perfect for the role. It’s not easy trying to find a replacement. And I’ve been dealing with- everything else. You have no idea how frustrating-” she caught herself and sighed, as though she didn’t want to burden him with her problems.
“Howard wasn’t right for that role,” Dallas ground out, surprised that he even answered her at all considering how he wanted to skirt around the conversation.