Music & Lyric: A Standalone New Adult Romance by Jasinda Wilder

Author:Jasinda Wilder [Wilder, Jasinda]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781948445825
Publisher: Jasinda Wilder
Published: 2022-09-15T18:30:00+00:00

Sitting in the front row is weird for me, but it’s the only way to function.

The clarity and sharpness from earlier are fading fast. Things get blurry, and I have trouble reading the board in math class, even from up close. Even more problematic is not being able to see the board in music theory.

Finally I have a free hour for practice. I find an open piano, open my books and start working on the piece—I’m pretty much off-book, but I still have it open for reference in the occasional instance when I lose my place or mess up.

The notes on the page swim, dance, and whorl in fuzzy, blurry shapes.

A dark cloud seems to creep in from the edges, like a thunderstorm inching across Lake Michigan.

No, no, no.

It’s not stopping.

I blink hard, but the notes only get more distant, more shrouded, more blurry.

“No,” I say out loud. “No. No.”

I close my eyes, and in my mind I can see the notes. I know I don’t need the books. I play, and the music flows—spirals of blue and yellow, a piece that alternates between melancholy and spritely.

An errant pink note intrudes as I mess up.

Open my eyes, but it makes nearly no difference at all.

A smashing clash of discordance clangs from the instrument as I slam my fists on the keys, a jumble of redbluepinkyellowpurple, an ugly smear of jarring nonsense.

I rub my eyes, close them. Blink.

I can make out a dim image, a shape in the shadows—the curving line of the piano top, angling up and away. A smear of light and slices of dark—the keys.

I almost wish it would hurt. It should hurt, going blind.

But it doesn’t.

I sit at the piano, staring at the keys as darkness encroaches.

A sudden assault of panic snarls through me. I do something I loathe—I use my phone’s virtual assistant to send a message to Lyric.

Me: 9-1-1 it is happening right now I’m going blind right now I can feel it I can see it please come to the piano practice rooms please I don’t want to be alone

Minutes later, I hear the door slam open behind me, and I hear her panting breath, feel it on the back of my neck as she falls on me, wrapping her arms around me.

She’s radiating heat, gasping for breath—she must have sprinted all the way here.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she whispers, crying. “I’m here. I’m here, Amos.”

I’m choking.

I can’t not cry.

“I don’t want to be blind,” I hiss, the words wet with tears.

“I know. I’m sorry, I know, I’m sorry.”

I twist in place and she sits sideways on my thighs, arms around my neck. I pull away enough that I can almost make out her face, a pale oval smear. Dark smudges where her eyes are. Darker smear for hair.

Like a child’s watercolor painting of a person.

I try again to blink it away, then rub my eyes with my fists so hard it hurts, but it does nothing, not even the flashes that used to happen.

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