Merciless Union by Faith Summers

20

Aria

“How have you been?” Dr. Belmont asks as he sits on the patio chair in front of me.

“I’ve been through a lot.” I decide to say. I think that’s all I can tell him at the moment to sum things up since my head is still spinning from Lucca’s clarification of the terms of my freedom.

I didn’t see him again last night, and he wasn’t anywhere this morning.

It’s midday now, and even though I know I’m supposed to focus on my session, I’m thinking about him.

Dr. Belmont brought his guitar and asked me to bring my violin.

Our last consultation was hard. This one looks like it might go either way.

“Lucca has brought me up to speed on what happened to the two of you since we last saw each other. Would you like to talk to me about any of those things?”

“Yes.” I hold on to my violin case, just for comfort. “Did he tell you about Pasha and my father?”

He nods. “Yes, he did. How do you feel about that?”

“I honestly don’t know. Pasha was vile with me when I was at his house. It was the worse experience ever. It was awful reliving my nightmares.”

“I’m so sorry. But I’m happy you’re out of that environment now. As the days go by, you’ll have up and down moments. Please feel free to call me and talk if you need to. Don’t just keep it bottled in.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that a lot.”

“That’s fine. Lucca also mentioned you had more memories about your mother.”

“Yes.” I quickly tell him about what I remembered and the dream I had.

“What were you doing when you remembered?”

I won’t tell him about the awful encounter I had with Lucca when he nearly did kill me. I’ll just skip that part and talk about the things the two incidents had in common.

“I’d learned terrible truths about my father. That’s what made me remember. What I don’t know is what happened to me. My father said what happened after the shooting is what I’ve been told, but I’d like to remember it for myself.” I want the full picture, which I’m sure will involve remembering more of his cruelty toward me.

“That’s understandable. You mentioned seeing this person shooting your mother after your father ordered it. Tell me about that.”

“I can’t see the shooter’s face in my memory. My brain just won’t allow me to. All I know is it was a man.” I sigh, knowing that information doesn’t really say much without a better description of what the man looked like. “I don’t think it was anyone I’d seen before because I would have remembered a name I could have linked with a face.”

I knew the majority of Dad’s guards, so I would have remembered a name if it was one of them.

Dr. Belmont considers my words for a moment then nods. “Okay. We won’t do anything today, but I want to try some techniques that could help you remember that face.”

“What if I don’t remember?”

“We’re not going to push it. The last thing we want to do is that. I think it will give you closure to remember who shot your mother and maybe allow the rest of your memories to flow.”

“That would be great.”

“Good. I’m glad you think so. I think it’s a good idea to take our time and work through the memory. I’d also like it if we can start talking through your dreams like we did today, so you remember it as a memory and not a dream. Perhaps we could start doing so tomorrow. I want us to go easy today with something we both love. Music.”

My gaze drops to my violin case sitting in my lap.

“We haven’t really spoken about music yet,” he adds with a little smile.

“I find it difficult to talk about. I played the piano a few weeks back with Lucca, though. Being with him made the memory come back.”

“That’s interesting. And really good. I’m glad to hear because that means the memory is in you, and we just have to tease it out.”

“Tease?”

“Yes.” He opens his guitar case and takes out a classical guitar.

“Now that I’ve seen pictures of you with an electric guitar, it’s strange seeing you with that,” I state with a little smile.

He runs his fingers over the sleek body of the guitar and beams at me. “I know, but this is for your benefit. I thought of the best way we could connect. That won’t happen with my Jimi Hendrix or Axl Rose beats.” He chuckles. “So classical music it is.” He starts playing the melody to a beautiful Bach piece.

My smile widens when I hear it.

“Go on, take out your violin,” he instructs. “Tell me what you see when you look at it.”

I open the case and take out the violin, and bow.

“I see the strings and the wood,” I smirk, and he chuckles.

“Have you tried to familiarize yourself with finding the notes?”

“No. I haven’t done much.”

“That’s okay. That’s normal.” He nods. “When you see your violin, I want you to visualize the music I’m playing. Sometimes when we play an instrument the way we do, we don’t think of musical notes because their position on the instrument comes second nature to us. Finding them is as simple as breathing. We only refer to notes when we come across something new. Most times, we can hear a tune and play it without referring to the notes. The memory of how to create the music is there, and you bring it to life. I think that’s why you were able to play the piano with Lucca. Why don’t we try the same thing for the violin?”

Hope sparks my heart, and I wonder if I really could do it. “I wish I could do it.”

“Then try.”

“I have before, and I can’t. I keep thinking of how great I was, and it puts me off because everything I do now sounds terrible.”

“This is not about being who you used to be. It’s about being who you are now,” he remarks with a stern arch of his dark brows. “So, think only of your desire to try. Okay?”

“Yeah, I think I can do that.”

“Let’s do it,” he quips.

To my surprise, he starts playing Clair de Lune, the Debussy piece that reminds me of Lucca.

It was what I played with Lucca on the piano.

Lucca must have told him about the piece.

I wonder if he told him, too, how it made me think of what I feel. I can’t start thinking like that now, and not at this moment when this is supposed to help me.

Dr. Belmont plays the piece beautifully on the guitar.

I feel the music, and I know even if I didn’t remember, I would have definitely played it on the violin.

“Look at the violin, Aria,” he motions with his chin, and I do.

I look over the strings on the violin and the bow in my hand. With the music playing, something does spark in my mind, but I don’t know what will become of it. That spark has come to me before, and I get my hopes up that maybe it will trigger the memories locked away. But nothing happens.

“I feel a spark,” I say.

“Then try to play from what that spark makes you feel.”

I position the violin on my collar bone and hold it in place with my jaw.

Placing the flat of the bow between the bridge and the fingerboard, I rest for a few moments and listen. Then I try to feel and remember.

As I slide the bow over the strings, I hope with everything in me that I’ll do it. This could be the moment when I fix the last piece of me that needs to be repaired.

It doesn’t happen, though.

The scratchy fingernails-across-a-chalkboard noise I make instead severs hope, and the moment is gone. The spark dissolves, and disappointment sets in.

Dr. Belmont stops playing and gives me a hopeful smile.

“It’s okay. Baby steps. We have to take them to get where we want to go, and that was the first step.”

“You make me feel like I can do this.”

“You can, and you will. Let’s stop here for today and practice some meditation exercises.”

“Okay.”

“It will help you focus.”

God knows I need to focus on so many things. Right now, I seem to be able to play music when I’m with the man I’m trying to escape.