Page 76 of A Wish for Us

When he looked at me again, there was only conviction in his face. “She’s the best of us both. I’ve always known that.” He looked as if he wanted to say something else, but instead he left the room, leaving the shadow of his blacks and navy blues behind. I wasn’t sure anything else would color this room until Bonnie got the heart she needed.

I lay staring at the ceiling for an hour before getting up and taking a shower. As the water fell over my head, running down my body and hitting the tiles at my feet, Bonnie’s question wouldn’t leave my head. The one about the unfinished piece I had accidently played that night. The one I hadn’t touched in three years. I laid my forehead against the wall and closed my eyes. But the water from the shower, like rain on the window, like the sound of the tears that fell all those nights ago, brought that piece to my mind.

Easton’s dark colors danced in my eyes as the piece grew in volume.And I couldn’t shut it off. Like a flood, it stormed the dam, demolishing the walls.

The shower room was silent, empty but for me this late at night. And I was glad. I was glad as my hands slapped at the tiles when my legs became weak, the music playing in my head, the opening bars crushing my heart. Only now, instead of just my father’s face in my mind, Bonnie’s was there too. I shook my head, trying to get them all to leave me alone. I couldn’t cope with the emotions they brought. The emotions that were too much, too bloody much for me to take.

Colors burst like fireworks in my head. My stomach tightened, my heart pulled, and my legs gave way. I dropped to the floor, the hot water turning cold as it battered my head in rhythmic beats. And then the tears fell. The water and the tears were a blur as they collided and crashed to the floor. Though neither felt cleansing.

Nothing but the “gift” I’d been given would take these feelings from me. I sat back on my knees and stared down at my hands. They were shaking. They curled into fists, and I wanted to smash them against the tiles. But I didn’t. Because the need to create governed my choices right. My hands were my tools. They were the only things that could take these emotions away.

Some saw synesthesia as a God-given gift. Some parts were; that I couldn’t deny. But this part, the part that made my emotions so strong I couldn’t take it, was a curse. I could see them. Feel them. Taste them. And it was too much. As I thought of Bonnie, as I pictured my father that last time I saw him…I bent over, the pain in my stomach becoming too much to bear. It was like someone had taken a bat to my ribs, my heart carrying so much sadness it couldn’t cope.

I took a deep breath and got to my feet. Still wet, I threw my clothes on. And I ran. I ran across the quad to the music building, bursting through the door and into the closest music room. I didn’t even bother with the light. I just sat at the piano and lifted the lid. The moon shone in through the high window, bathing the ivory and black keys in a silver glow.

Silver.

It was if my father were watching over me. Showing me the way back tohappiness. This—music—my greatest lost love, only found again thanks to one girl in a purple dress.

Shewas my God-given gift. The girl who brought me back life.

My hands splayed on the piano. And, closing my eyes, I started to play. The piece that had inspired my change to dance music flowed out of me as though a prisoner locked inside a cell for too many years to count had been freed. I was lost to the notes. Lost as I replayed my mum walking into my room telling me he was gone. The army officer showing up on our doorstep with a set of dog tags in his hand. And the night I learned he’d gone missing, my heart shattering with regret and pain. The music filled every inch of space, leaving nothing but this piece for me to breathe in. My hands ached as I played and played it again. The new bars of notes pouring from me like they had always been. My hands never faltered even though my heart stuttered. Memories like grenades were thrown at my feet. But my fingers were ready and fought through the minefield.

Then, when the piece had ended, the sound of gunshots in my head, a goodbye to a fallen soldier, a war hero…myhero…my hands stilled. My eyes opened, feeling swollen and beaten…but I could breathe.

The colored pattern was imprinted in my mind. A tribute to my dad. Peter Dean.

“Dad,” I whispered, the word echoing in the room. I leaned my head on the piano and knew, without a doubt, that it was the greatest piece I’d ever composed. Half the heaviness had lifted from inside me. And when I lifted my head, wiping the silent tears from my face, I knew there was someone who needed to hear it.

I had to play it one more time.

When she was back, she’d hear it.

I needed her to hear it.

I just needed her, full stop.

Chapter Eighteen

Bonnie

I was on my bed, listening to my music, when Easton walked in. I sat up, swallowing back the sadness that infused me when I looked at his face.

I slipped my headphones off and held out my hand. “East,” I whispered, my voice hoarse. I tried to breathe, take full inhales of air, but my lungs would no longer let me. I shifted where I sat, gritting my teeth at the effort it took me to move.

But when Easton’s hand slipped into mine, I found strength in his touch. He sat on the edge of the bed. His eyes were red and his face was pale.

“I’m okay,” I said and tried to grip his hand tighter.

Easton gave me a weak smile. “You don’t lie to me, Bonn. Don’t start now.”

This time I was the one who gave a weak smile. “I’m determined to be,” I said instead.

“I know.” He moved beside me and we rested our backs against the headboard. I didn’t let go of his hand. Ever since we were kids, holding his hand had given me strength.

“It’s been ten years,” he said, his voice graveled. I nodded. Ten years since the problems in my heart had been found. Easton’s eyes shone with…pride? “You’ve fought hard, Bonn.”

I couldn’t stop my eyes from filling with water. “You have too.”