Laughter danced off the walls.

Her laughter.

I grinned despite my shitty attitude and the fact that I was sweating. When had I ever been hesitant to visit her? Or any of the patients? I shook it off as the large metal door closed behind me.

“Gabe!” Old man Henry wheeled himself over to me and held out his hand. “Didn’t know you were gracing us with your presence today!”

“Count yourself lucky.” I took his hand and reached into my pocket to pull out a piece of taffy. “Shh, don’t tell Martha.”

“That woman was a drill sergeant in another life.” Henry shook his head, “Last time she caught me with pudding I was on bathroom duty! In my condition!” He pointed at his legs. They were strapped against the chair so he didn’t lose balance and fall out. A farm accident had nearly killed him, but it didn’t keep him from volunteering his time. Once his wife died he decided to move into the retirement home next door — unfortunately, Martha was head nurse for both buildings and had the ear of the cooks, meaning he never got sugar. Poor guy.

“Hey, Gabe!” Sarah practically tripped over Henry’s chair to jump into my arms. She was my age but because of an accident had memory issues. For some reason, though, she remembered my name. Probably because I was the only constant thing in her life.

My heart ached a bit as I set her back on her feet and kissed her cheek. “Do a twirl for me, Sarah. Let’s see this dress.”

She laughed and did a twirl then went to go sit at the far table. Where I knew I was being patiently waited for.

“Henry.” I saluted him and walked toward the table.

“Parker.” A muffled voice rose from the table, nearly bringing me to my knees. I told myself to be strong, but it was so damned hard and getting harder. She reminded me of every mistake I’d made, every bad road I’d traveled.

She looked thinner than when I saw her last week. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a pink scrunchie — her favorite color — and she was wearing her favorite Oregon Ducks sweatshirt.

Another really bad sign.

She only wore the sweatshirt on bad days.

She’d been having bad days for the past two weeks.

And every time I tried asking the doctors what was going on they’d just shake their heads and say the human condition was a mystery. Her health was failing and they had no freaking clue why. She’d already suffered through two bouts of pneumonia where she needed to be physically restrained so they could calm her down enough to put a tube down her throat to help her breathe.

The second time she’d screamed my name over and over again. I’d stayed overnight and prayed that God would just take her. Even though it would hurt like hell, I wanted Him to take her.

Watching her suffer was like going to bed and praying that when you wake up things would be better. I’d been told that all my life, just to sleep on things and they always look better in the morning.

It didn’t work anymore.

Because now when I woke up, things always looked worse.

“Princess?” I knelt down next to her wheelchair and took her hand in mine. She was paralyzed from the neck down, so it was impossible for her to feel the warmth of my skin — but I still held her hand anyway.

One time I forgot to hold it and she thought I was mad at her. When I asked how she could feel my hand in the first place, she said she couldn’t, but she did still have two eyes. I’d laughed and grabbed her hand, promising to never let go.

“You haven’t been here, Park.” Her lower lip jutted out as her mouth dropped open a bit. So she was pouting. Fantastic.

And this was what I was talking about. I’d done my daily duty by showing up for at least a half hour to an hour each day. But it still wasn’t enough. She always forgot, meaning I’d had to start calling at night too. That had begun a month ago, and things still weren’t getting better.

“I’ve had a really busy few months with classes.” I lied, thinking it was easier to brush it off rather than explain to her that I had in fact been by her side like a freaking leach for the past four years and was slowly suffocating to death. She wouldn’t understand. It would hurt her, and I’d already done that enough.

“Oh.” Her empty blue eyes seemed to take the information as truth, “Well, since you’re here, can we play a game?” The emptiness disappeared as excitement flashed across her face.

“Sure.” I sat down next to her and looked at the table. “What are our choices?”

“Hmm…” Her smile was bright and eager. “How about Guess Who?”

“Awesome.” I pulled out the game board just as my phone went off.

Not thinking, I went to answer it, momentarily forgetting how much Princess hated interruptions.

“No phones, Park! No PHONES!” She wailed shaking her head back and forth. “You promised, PARKER, you promised me! You promised!” Loud sobs escaped her mouth as a few nurses came running.

Well, shit.

“I’m so sorry, K, I forgot, I—”

“That’s not my name!” She yelled. “My name’s Princess!”

“You’re right,” I sighed, reaching for my guitar and motioning for the nurses to stop running. They’d do more damage than good. “How about I play you a song?”

She stopped yelling, but her lips quivered. “Play our song, Park. Please?”

“Of course, Princess. I’ll play our song.”

I was five seconds away from losing my shit. I strummed a few chords and started singing. Princess giggled and started singing with me.

She’d once had a beautiful voice. But her voice, just like everything else, had been taken from her. By the very person who promised he would never let anything happen to her.

My stomach clenched. I wasn’t sure how much longer I’d be able to do it. But I had to try — for her I’d try, because I’d broken every other promise I’d ever made her. I had promised to protect her, to save her — sucks that the one person who promises you life — delivers death.

I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Which was so stupid if you asked me. I dreamt of his stupid music note tattoos and that ridiculous kiss. I needed to get out more or something if I was dreaming of the devil and actually looking forward to falling asleep so I could dream of him again. —Saylor

Saylor

It had been two days since my run-in with Blue Eyes, aka Asshat. I was beginning to think he wasn’t real. I mean, he played the piano like a dream but he wasn’t in the music program — at all. Not that I shamelessly searched for any sign of him in all of my classes.

Or Facebook stalked him.

Or asked the dean of the department.

I was curious. That was it.

Besides, he was never in my building.

And I was in that building twenty-four seven.

Great, was I really practicing so hard that I’d started hallucinating?

I shook my head as I walked down the hall toward the practice room. So what if it was at the exact same time I’d been there a few days past? Was it wrong to feel hopeful that I’d hear that music again? It was my practice time —the only time I could manage to fit it in my schedule!

That man could be the devil himself — and probably was if his earlier behavior was any indication — and all it would take would be one song and I’d be putty. That’s why musicians were dangerous, they made you forget yourself. The core of who you are can be so easily lost in music. They were our modern day sirens, wielding the power of persuasion with their gift. And the rest of the human population had no choice but to be caught in the trap. It was worse for a fellow musician because they could actually appreciate the raw talent and skill. It was beyond something sounding good — it was about life coming together for a few brief seconds while notes mixed. I shuddered.

I wondered if anyone had ever taken the time to tell him how amazing he was at the piano. How I’d kill to have that type of talent at my fingertips. My greedy little musician heart wanted to sit in the same practice room as him and just savor the moment.