Melody's Muse ✓

2. Chopin - Nocturnes No. 1 in B Major, Op. 32

Melody

Even by the time we've quietly left the theatre through the back doors and headed towards the car, that guy is still etched into my mind. That tiny little smirk he gave me for a split second, his messy brown hair, the bluest eyes I've ever seen, and he was tall, so tall. Who was he? What did he want? Why do I care?

"Ms. Aria?" I'm snapped back to reality by Mr. Carter. I realize he's holding the car door open for me while I've just been staring into space, whoops. He chuckles slightly in his deep, gruff voice. "Distracted tonight, aren't we?"

I shrug casually and brush it off. "No, it's nothing." Though I'm sure he knows it's not nothing. Mr. Carter's known me since mom hired him when I was eleven, and he can pretty much read me like a book. He decides not to push it though, and we drive in peaceful silence back to the hotel. 

I stare out the window at the buildings and sidewalks coated in a pristine white layer of snow as we drive through downtown. Buildings are piled high with brightly lit advertisements on digital billboards, reminding me of Times Square. Who knew Canada had cities like this? The quiet squeaking of the windshield wipers remind me of a metronome, and my brain can't help but imagine a piece that fits with that tempo. Traffic slows to a crawl as drivers struggle to get their cars through the slippery and unshoveled roads.

Mr. Carter sighs. "Looks like we're going to be here for a while." He peers at me through the rearview mirror. "You never fail to impress me, Ms. Aria. Four concerts, four nights in a row this week."

"Thank you," I chuckle, giving him a tired smile. "I'm relieved I'm done with this tour though, I'm absolutely exhausted."

It's been a long year and I'm utterly drained. As much as I've loved it, I miss having free time. Not spending every waking minute sitting in front of a piano. Getting up without having to immediately head to an airport or into venues for terribly dull soundchecks. Not feeling the incessant anxiety before while waiting for reviews on my performances. Regular clothes and comfortable shoes instead of fancy gowns and painful high heels. Living in a permanent home instead of a tour bus.

I'm just looking forward to things returning to normal, though I suppose I have no real sense of what normalcy even is - I never have. Most people my age would be in college, finding jobs, starting relationships, and beginning new chapters in their lives. I'm aware of the fact that I'm most likely reaching my peak soon, and it's all just going to be downhill from there. A depressing thought, sure, but hey, this is my life.

He gives me a sympathetic smile. "Are you looking forward to going home?"

I hesitate for a moment, anxiously chewing on my lip. "I was actually thinking of staying here for a bit." I see him raise an eyebrow, as expected. "I've been on tour without a break for nearly a year now, I thought this would be a nice place to rest for a little bit. Maybe rent a studio or small apartment for a month or so."

He laughs. "It sounds like a nice idea, does your mother know though?"

Mom, or momager, as she likes to call herself, flew back home yesterday. Some meeting with a record company she couldn't reschedule apparently, so she had to leave early without me. "Not yet, I'll call her now." I figured she'd be against it, so why not tell her when she's too far away to stop me?

Mom has never been the best at listening. I know she has good intentions at heart, but it's incredibly draining trying to reason with her. She hears me, but she doesn't listen. Fighting with her for my autonomy is a waste of breath. How dare I have the audacity to want to be an adult and handle my own life. I might as well just be a puppet.