When Silence Plays The Melody

Roderic Penn

Modern | Completed

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"Molly's recital is her last dream, Jocelyn. Your hands are a perfect match." That' s what Ethan said, calm as if asking for salt, not for me to give up my entire future. We were in his pristine apartment, my cello, my ticket out, leaning against the wall. He wanted me to sacrifice my livelihood, my identity, my very hands, for his childhood friend, Molly, who claimed a rare nerve condition was destroying her dream of being a pianist. I refused, firmly. His handsome face tightened. "Don' t be selfish. I' ve given you everything. A good life, a way out of that hellhole you came from. The least you can do is help my friend." Before I could process the betrayal in his words, to realize I was just a charity case and the bill was due, he invited me to a "support party" for Molly. I drank the glass he handed me, and that was my last clear memory. I woke up on a leather couch, my left hand wrapped in bandages, a sharp, chemical smell in the air. Panic seized me as two of Ethan's friends held me down. Molly stood over me, triumphant, pointing at my bandaged hand. "Guess you won' t be playing that cello anytime soon." I looked at Ethan, my heart shattering, as he stood by the window, his back to me. He had let them cut into me. He had orchestrated this. I tried to move my fingers; they were numb. A deep, terrifying tremor started in my palm, shaking my entire arm. They violently ripped away my chance, my scholarship, my entire life. Why would he do this to me? How could the man I loved, my supposed savior, betray me so cruelly? I was left on the apartment floor, concussed from his shove, my dreams reduced to a tremor and a hospital bill. But I refused to be disposable. He said I was nothing without him, but he was wrong. I grabbed my phone, and for the first time, I chose myself.

Crime Betrayal Revenge Kickass Heroine Personal growth

Chapter 7

The day before yesterday 20:46

Introduction

"Molly's recital is her last dream, Jocelyn. Your hands are a perfect match."

That' s what Ethan said, calm as if asking for salt, not for me to give up my entire future.

We were in his pristine apartment, my cello, my ticket out, leaning against the wall.

He wanted me to sacrifice my livelihood, my identity, my very hands, for his childhood friend, Molly, who claimed a rare nerve condition was destroying her dream of being a pianist.

I refused, firmly.

His handsome face tightened. "Don' t be selfish. I' ve given you everything. A good life, a way out of that hellhole you came from. The least you can do is help my friend."

Before I could process the betrayal in his words, to realize I was just a charity case and the bill was due, he invited me to a "support party" for Molly.

I drank the glass he handed me, and that was my last clear memory.

I woke up on a leather couch, my left hand wrapped in bandages, a sharp, chemical smell in the air.

Panic seized me as two of Ethan's friends held me down.

Molly stood over me, triumphant, pointing at my bandaged hand. "Guess you won' t be playing that cello anytime soon."

I looked at Ethan, my heart shattering, as he stood by the window, his back to me.

He had let them cut into me. He had orchestrated this.

I tried to move my fingers; they were numb.

A deep, terrifying tremor started in my palm, shaking my entire arm.

They violently ripped away my chance, my scholarship, my entire life.

Why would he do this to me? How could the man I loved, my supposed savior, betray me so cruelly?

I was left on the apartment floor, concussed from his shove, my dreams reduced to a tremor and a hospital bill.

But I refused to be disposable.