My Broken Bond, Their Unending Pain

ed, the cold winter air biting at my exposed skin. I heard the muffled sounds of renewed laughter from inside the house, th

od had dried, a sticky crust against my skin. I started the engine, the

as from Professor Middleton, a reminder about the fellowship appl

just left. I worked late into the night, the symphony playing in my head, the notes a balm to my aching heart. I i

of scores, lost in my work. My phone vibrated. A text from a mutual fr

ing a tiny macaroon. Clinton and Edgar stood on either side of her, their arms around

chest, making it hard to breathe. I pushed away

e to soothe the burning in my throat. When I returned, Faye was sitting at my tab

are you doing?" I asked, my voice a strang

just looking. It's so pretty." Her fingers, those fragile, pi

k," I pleaded, my voice ri

and Edgar had appeared, drawn by the commotion. "Why wo

mperceptibly. A tiny, cruel smile touched her lips. Then, she tore the page. Slo

No. Not the symphon

ried, lungi

riek and stumbled backward, her elbow hitting the corner of the

ngerous shade of red. He pushed me aside with a force

, scrambling to my feet. "She ri

e, his voice a soothing murmur. "Shh,

ust wanted to look at her music, and she got so angry! She hated that I even touche

picked up the torn page. "This amateurish scribbling? It's hard

lly blurring my vision. "It's the application

ye. "To go where, Clara? To compose more 'noise'? You think you're some ki

s arm tightening around Faye. "Always has been. Trying to sabo

ed out, pointing at the torn sc

the one who can't control her temper. This is what happens when you get too possessive over your lit

want to push away everyone who cares about you? Fine. But don't expect us to tolerate your destruct

r of uncertainty in his eyes, but Clin

, Edgar. This is

desperate to escape. I looked at the crumpled ba

her sobs echoing in the cavernous lib

bled. My legs felt like jelly. I was alone. Utterly, completely alone. All my life, I had longed for their love, their approva

last flicker of hope. But something else was sparking inside me now. A cold

lication still open on my laptop screen. It asked for a com

was Bailey Wong, a fellow composer, whose desk was nearby.

ice was gone. My tears were gone. All

ked up each torn fragment of paper. My symp

fellowship application. There was no going back. They had made sure of that. T

hand. I didn't need their approval. I didn't need their love.