Chapter 1
There’s something magical about putting your hair in a bun that will only stay messy, not neat, and staring at the blank canvas, hoping something will stick.
Whatever inspiration was supposed to come my way, has floated off towards someplace that isn’t this canvas. Someone had been sending me gifts for no reason. And it’s been sitting unopened on the floor for nearly days.
The person who requested the art work needs it by this week. And yet my mind cannot find something worth painting.
“Eliza!!!” A scratchy throat-sound makes its way to my room. The nun. I’ve been living here ever since I was found here as a three year old. I sigh. That woman is not gonna let me have any peace.
I put the paint brush, now covered in oil paint, into the stained water. I should have thrown it out. It looks a lot like my soul right now.
“Yeah?” I shout back and take my apron off. I don’t volunteer at the elementary school for nothing. “Am I late again?”
“It’s another... gift....” She replies. Who even wants to give me gifts? Unless it’s my long lost family? I do have them... don’t I?
But all of the ones this person has send are: Dresses, Jewelry and shoes. High heels. Nothing like a teddy bear, a ticket for a concert. She walks into the room, and hands me flowers.
An arranged set of flowers. Can’t tell which is the star here either. “You can send that back... along with the rest of them. I don’t need heels... I’ll break my leg. It’s fine if I got these converse. I know it’s worn out you know...”
The sassy reply of mine? She expects that and sighs before saying, “I can’t send them back.”
“Then you keep it.”
And then she goes on about how God will not allow these things in. Oh my goodness.
“Look I am late as it is to teach the kids about art and music... So let me please leave in peace?” I add and push the flowers into her hands.
I push past her and grab my stuff to leave. Walking there isn’t tough since it’s close. Those kids love me.
He’s been showing up to all those sessions without a kid. I wonder if he’s the one sending me these stupid gifts? It’s creepy as it is. Like getting a kid to go with them just cause they have them candy. Ugh.
When I swing the door open, he is leaning on the white column—smugly in a black suit and no tie. I scan him frozen in the hallway–sizing him up like there’s something good about him.
He’s watching me, but the smirk fades—like I have disappointed him. Or something. I walk past him and a rough hand tugs me back causing me to stumble a little.
“Going somewhere, Mia Cara?” His voice rumbled. A breath hitches between my throat at this little nickname he’s already given me.
“Stalking…. Isn’t cute or sexy, Mr…?” I reply, my voice coming out like a strangled cry for help.
“Who said I stalked you? I was simply… admiring my muse…. From afar…”
My blood was boiling at how easily he twisted my words. I want to kick him in the shins or punch him but I maintain my control on my emotions before I do anything stupid. If I get fired then…. I’ll be done for.
His grip tightened—a little purple bruise beginning to form, my arms starting numb up. I wince and yet he doesn’t let go.
“You should wear what I choose....” He adds before letting my arm go. Finally.
I wince again, staring at him. His eyes—dark as they are, pierced more than my heart at the moment. He tried to reach out to take my arm to inspect it but I stepped back.
“Did I—?” He said, hand hovering near my shoulder.
“No.... It’s fine. I have to get to class.... To teach the children,” I reply.
What is wrong with him?
**
The whole time he stared, like he might be analyzing my soul with his x-ray eyes while I was teaching class. I do a different kind of piano lesson with every kid inside with the actual piano which was gifted again by him.
Which I only found out two weeks prior and I couldn’t return them or else these poor kids will have a tantrum. Not the best idea but, I was walking on a thin rope here.
There was this kid who, apparently, looked like he didn’t want to be here but when I asked him, well his answer was just... “Parents.”
That was what I needed to piece together that this wasn’t something he wanted but his parents thought it would help. I’m gonna have to do something where both parties are happy.
The hall filled with uneven Beethoven music and Mozart on low-pitch while a certain eyes bored into my back. He will not look away is he?
Creepy. And just plain insane. I catch him watching me but he doesn’t shy away from my gaze.
“Fran Fran!” A girl about 4 years old comes up to me. “Look what I can do...”
I’m sure she is a prodigy cause she always impresses me from simple music to complicated tunes half the time. She’s also in the orphanage. But hers is a very different story than mine.
Her parents used drugs so there’s not much to say. “Oh really?”
She tugs on my sleeve and then calls to him, “Mr tough suit! Come! Listen!”
From where he is he shakes his head but she drags me towards him and also tugs on his suit sleeve. She is a relentless little firework. And when she calls me Fran Fran and not the intended Miss Moretti I feel as if I’m free from the weight of it.
No one can refuse this little charm of hers, and if they did, they are a fool. We sat on either side of her as her hands flew across the keys in expert precision.
