The Chord to my Heart

17: Teach Me Your Ways

                                                         17: Teach Me Your Ways

                                                           [Back to Lyla’s POV]

 

           “It’s almost been a year, Lyla. They haven’t spoken to me since,” he said sadly. He pressed his palms against his eyes, to keep the endless tears from falling. I wiped at my own tears, a throbbing ache in my stomach remaining constant after hearing his story. His parents were crazy to blame him.

           I whispered his name as my hand grasped his. “Mase.”

           He turned towards me, his free hand grabbing a fistful of his hair, trembling slightly. I climbed off the bed and stood in front of him. I reached over to his hand, loosening the grip on his hair. I wanted to stop his hurting but I didn’t know how. And I wanted to tell him how sorry I was, but he wouldn’t want to feel pitied. So instead, I brushed my fingers through his hair and pulled him closer to my body.

           His arms wrapped around my waist, and mine around his shoulders, one hand still lost in his tousled hair. His body trembled beneath my arms and I held him closer, my grip getting tighter. He’d let the tears escape earlier, but it was different now. Everything he kept bottled inside this last year was finally finding its way out, being freed from the dark corners of his soul. His pain was spilling from his heart and dissolving until it was gone. I hoped it was gone forever.

           “She’s gone, and it’s my fault,” he said, his voice cracking at the end.

           I cupped his face between my hands, resting my forehead against his. “It’s not your fault,” I whispered. “It could never be your fault.”

           “It’s true. Even my parents…” he trailed off, shaking his head.

            “Your parents are grieving. They’re broken and in pain. Your mom didn’t mean what she said. Trust me,” I said, looking into those concrete eyes of grey.

            He slightly nodded, and rubbed at his eyes. “I’ve never told anyone about that day,” he said.

            I sat on his bed and turned to face him. “Do you feel any better? I’m sorry if I only made it worse,” I said, the thought never occurring to me before. Maybe reliving it would only double the pain, instead of freeing it.

           “You’ve made things bearable ever since you got here,” he said, his lips tilting into a smile.

            “And I thought I was only depressing everyone around me,” I said, matching his smile with one of my own.

           He shook his head. “You have so much more to offer than you realize,” he said, his gaze locked on mine. I could feel my cheeks warming up to a blush at his words. I averted my gaze towards the guitar in the corner instead.

           “Do you think you’ll ever play again?” I asked, finding it hard to picture Mase with a guitar in his hands. I was used to the rebel Mase. The shooting-guns-and-driving-a-motorcycle Mase I’d gotten to know so well over the weeks.

            “Honestly, I don’t know. It feels wrong just thinking about playing. It takes me right back to that day,” he said, staring at the guitar.