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comfort and anxiety - twisted inside of me. Music had been Elin’s passion and as a gullible child I’d thought by learning to play, I would become a part of her life. She refused to pay for lessons.
    You’re not worth the money it would cost.
    I spent hours teaching myself and loved playing, but for my own sanity, I had given it up. I wasn’t willing let it consume me as it had her. Still, I gravitated toward the baby grand, helpless against its magnetic pull. Running a finger through the thick layer of dust, my hand trembled. A streak of gleaming black shone through and my eyes stared back at me a dark green with a ring of burnt orange blazing around the pupil. I swiped another line of dust away, then another, revealing more of my distorted image.
    In that reflection, I thought I could see the real me. Not the plain, extra ordinary girl that I presented to the world, but the fragmented pieces floating around in a confined space, unsure of how they all fit together. From the moment Elin walked out the front door, I’d felt as if I couldn’t put myself together.
    What was wrong with me? Why had my own parents found it so easy to turn their backs on me? Logically, I knew that despite what Elin had said, I wasn’t the reason she or my father left, but deep inside I also knew that I wasn’t reason enough for them to stay.
    I pulled out the bench and perched myself on the edge. I hadn’t played in almost two years, but at that moment, I needed to. I needed to exorcise her from my mind, my soul. Just once and maybe, I could be free.
    My hands shook as I lifted them into place and I ran a couple of scales to loosen up. A little rusty, but the smooth ivory relaxed me. I knew what I would play. There was no need for sheets. This was the song she left inside of me after fourteen years of torturing me, condemning me, and eventually abandoned me.
    My eyes closed as I began. Only once before had I played this song; two years ago when Elin had briefly walked back into our lives. She brought hope to Tim, but to me she brought more nightmares.
    The song was beautiful on the surface, its notes piercing and clear, but to the careful listener there was a hollowness to it. Missing was the loving emotion between the notes and performer. I hated this song more than I hated her, because in this song I was a victim, I was helpless and hurt. When I reached the end, my hands closed compulsively. My fingers longed to keep playing, but there was nothing left inside of me.
    A cough from the doorway brought me around. Tristan stood in the doorway.
    “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” he said. His voice was thick velvet, smooth and warm.
    “No! No... I was just… I…” I faltered then stopped. Get a grip, girl . Hadn’t I been wishing to see him? For him to see that maybe I was worth the effort to talk to? And still I’m a stammering idiot?
    “I heard the piano. Was that you?”
    “Umm, yeah. I just…I was just playing around.”
    “It sounded as if you knew what you were doing. I’ve never heard that song before. Who’s it by?”
    “Me,” I admitted.
    “You wrote it?” His surprise was evident. “It was beautiful.”
    Standing across the room, I didn’t know if I wanted to run away or move closer to him. I took a compulsive step towards him and felt a confidence in my action, a certainty that my future had just become undetermined.
    He retreated a step, a vaguely confused look on his face and I forced my legs to stop carrying me forwards and tried to think of what to say. My heart beat so loudly, I could barely hear my own thoughts. My skin tingled, as if a cool breeze had blown through the room.
    “I’m Tristan.” The corner of his mouth tipped up. “We met the other day on the hike. Well, we would have met here before then, but you took off like I had some kind of contagious disease.”
    He had eyes that crinkled at the corner even as I watched, eyes that laughed as I stood there completely mute. His smile