Him

The cold air was biting through the lightly falling rain at midnight, every drop stung my skin harshly. My hand shook and shivered numbly as it held onto the handle of my violin case, the other arm wrapped tightly in a cast; begging to be held by the man I loved. The two of us were walking back to his apartment under the burning glow of the city lights in silence after yet another one of my unsuccessful performance in a small basement of a bar uptown. We veered towards the familiar park instead of the sidewalk as we walked home. I looked up at him as we entered the treeline, he was looking straight ahead seemingly ignoring my piercing gaze. On this walk home I knew that he would have a lot to say to me when we got there, but at that moment the silence felt unbearable. This just may be it for us.
It’s hard to tell exactly when all of this, us,  started. I used to love the violin; the way the strings flawlessly danced and sang for me without an effort. Every moment I could spare before was spent making music, hearing the singing melody that me and only me could make. There was nothing on this earth that could bring me more joy, or so I thought. When I was younger my mother couldn’t stand the sound of it and would force me to practice at the park near our home, far away from her delicate ears. There people would often stop and watch me play, some even left me a little bit of money; not that I cared all that much about that stuff. It was there at the park that fate brought me him. It was a Friday afternoon and I was walking down the street toward my usual spot in the park. I set my things down on the grass hill near the sidewalk. My skin was bathing in the sun on the drying grass as I breathed in the warm heat stirred by the wind. It felt like time was neither moving forward or backwards, but as if in this exact moment the hourglass of time was broken. I started a soft sweet tune on the violin, and my body practically melted into the music. I could feel an intense gaze upon me and I looked up from the strings to see him standing there mere inches before me. He had a face so sharp it may have been carved from stone. His eyes shined brightly at me and my cheeks began to burn, if only at the time I knew that they had only been gleaming with dollar signs. I had never before been a victim to the charm of a man, until that very moment.
“I like your sound,” he said coolly, eyeing me up and down. I couldn’t stop the smile spreading across my face.
“Do you have a manager?” he questioned me, almost genuinely.
“Oh no, I normally just play as a hobby,” I responded, avoiding any direct eye contact. He looked at my violin case, littered with coins and bills before continuing.
“Look like more than a hobby,” he joked. We talked for what felt like only a few minutes but before I knew it the sun was setting, and the park vendors we packing up their stands.
“Call me sometime,” he said before carelessly throwing his card into my case. I felt starstruck at the possibility that I could do what I love as a career.
The first time I played for him alone in his apartment, my body trembled as I wrapped my fingers around the bow and brought it to the strings. His apartment had industrial concrete walls decorated with various ammateur musician posters mixed with professionals. The rest of the apartment had that almost dirty feel, but it was so lacking in decorations and furniture it looked neat by default. I quickly gazed around his apartment one more time before committing myself to the music. I had played the song more than a hundred times, but I couldn’t help feeling nervous with his eyes watching me so intently. I drew in a deep breath as I began rocking the bow back and forth; slowly at first, but as the music took its hold, each note became more powerful. My fingers danced wildly as I began improvising, I don’t think that I had even played this fast before. He kept his eyes upon me and my heart raced. The voice of the violin singing higher and higher until silence. I breathed out shakily when I was done, looking towards him earnestly for his opinion.
“You know what...you need some work, but with that raw talent I can really make you a star” he finally said.
He told me that he could make me a star and soon afterwards I was playing my music in bars and clubs all over town. I didn’t care much about success, or even the money, but to be playing my violin and be standing at his side were all I really needed. Each night I would play somewhere new and afterwards he would take me back to his house to divide the profit, or plan my next show. I suppose at some point I was able to trick myself into thinking that he loved me too. He never tried to be a kind man, he said whatever was on his mind, but I was almost attracted to that. He had a way of making  the sharp words he said taste just like honey.
I wanted so badly to please him that I pushed myself harder and harder each day. Some nights my wrists would ache and my fingers would bleed, but it was all for a job well done. I pushed myself farther than I had ever gone before and I was exhilarated. The harder I worked the more I could see him. It didn’t make him happy, but rather held him off from being disappointed. Unfortunately, pushing yourself to your limits has its drawbacks. Some mornings I would wake up with my fingers stuck as though they were still holding the bow. I was angry and disappointed at myself for not being strong enough. But those days I couldn’t play as well, which meant less money in tips, and that meant less love from him. If there was ever a night that I didn’t make the right numbers, I would never hear the end of it.
One night, I must have done something wrong, because during the break I went to go see him, but he wasn’t even watching me. I asked a few people backstage where he had gone, but only one person could suffice an answer.
“I think I saw him go out that door, into the alley.” the woman told me before walking away, obviously in a hurry.
I pushed out the back door, feeling the moonlight bathe my skin. I saw him leaned up against the wall, his back turned to me, his hand on another girl. I swallowed hard, struggling to keep my stomach in its place. I looked at him one last time; confused as to whether I should be disgusted with him or myself. I brought myself back on stage to continue the rest of my performance before I could retreat back to the comforts of my own home to cry. My music got even worse when I saw him reappear back in the audience like nothing was wrong. His face in a twisted grimace at every off note I played.
At the end of my performance, I got off stage to go see him, he had this mean glare of disgust in his eyes. He didn’t even take me back to his place that night. As we left out the back door with no one else around, he hit me hard up against the brick wall and I ended up falling onto my wrist. I cried out in pain, but he was already gone. I sat on the ground in the same place he was with that girl, pitying myself. I ended up fracturing my hand, but still couldn’t bring myself to stop playing even with my arm wrapped up. I had to be better, for him. Unfortunately, my playing only got worse.
Another awful performance followed a few days later, my wrist ached more than ever and my playing was awful. I could tell he was angry with me as we walked in silence. I thought back to how long it had been since he had held me in his arms. That sweet taste of his words had gone bitter. The rain had soaked through my warm coat and my whole body shivered, I desperately needed his warmth. Yet as I stopped to think about it I realized that he had always left me in the cold. Now that I wasn’t bringing him the money he wanted, I was nothing to him.
As my aching hand clutched the violin case, I noticed that it had become a burden. I no longer enjoyed playing the instrument I once dedicated all my time to. It had become a means to make him happy, to make him love me. He never loved me, though, and only success made him happy. The rain was falling down even harder than before. I looked over at him and noticed the light had gone from his eyes.
We passed the spot in the park that I had once practiced at day after day, where he discovered me as a star. Without a word, I walked off the path and through the wet grass of the park. I wasn’t sure if he even noticed that I left at first. I found the bench that I liked and took a seat. The rain was slowing as I pulled the violin out of the case. I tightened the bow and applied the resin to the horsehair before bringing the instrument up to my chin. My wrist was hurting badly, so I decided to play something soft and sweet. I could hear the sound of someone approaching; I felt his intense gaze pouring over me again, he found me. I ignored him and kept on playing the delicate tune; it felt like an old friend I missed dearly.