Whispers from the Symphony

(i)What you met was a small-town girl filled with the naivete of youth and the desire to own and control everything in her path. What you see is that same little girl. Or do you?(/i)

Mariah was fussing again. The hours passed quickly, and as she stumbled over another pile of rubbish, she cursed herself quietly. Nothing was clean. She would sooner take her entire bedroom and strip it to pieces than try and neaten the place to her liking. The sweat from her brow and the fever in her hands and heart were causing her to tremble as she pressed the creases from her favorite blouse.

(i)I have to look good. I have to be drop-dead gorgeous. I want him to look at me.(/i)

She tossed her hair back, the tousled mess of brown-gold beauty fell heavily over and behind her shoulderblades. In a second, she recalled that one evening when he slid his fingertips over those shoulderblades, removed her blouse, took her away from the world...

(i)No. It was a one night stand. We haven't talked about it since. It's been a year, almost two, in fact. Cal probably doesn't even remember. There is no reason to get excited.(/i)

But already she could feel herself shivering with nervous anticipation. Months ago, she had broken off her engagement...her finger still seemed to have the imprint where the precious diamond ring had positioned itself, as though it would not allow her to forget. They were not right for each other; somehow she had known it all along. It was in the way he held her, the way he didn't hold her...the way he never seemed to need her like she thought she needed him. The sex was dull, at best...a mutual climax to nowhere and a filthy act to clean up afterward. She felt, as days turned to months, that there was nothing left, and so in a fit, she had told him how empty she felt. He simply shrugged, took back the ring, and ambled off into the sunset. "No hard feelings," he said, "I hope we can still be friends." And that was it. He didn't even shed a tear, just waved and made his peace and left. The bastard. Why had she wasted her time? She remembered picking up the phone that night. She remembered crawling into her empty queen bed, burying herself under the sheets like a little child. She remembered hearing Cal's voice on the other end, soothing and sweet, asking her what was wrong. And when the flood of tears finally burst forth and she told him what had happened, he was kind and said "Oh, Mariah, baby, I wish I could be there for you right now. I am so sorry." They talked all through the night and well into the morning. For hours, she cried while he consoled her, told her she wasn't a horrible person, told her she was worthy of love. When she had finally gone to sleep, she was nestled in the crook of the phone, still listening to his soothing voice until he knew she had fallen asleep and hung up.

It seemed like such a long time ago, their affair. It was such a silly little thing. She was young, and he was moving on- new job, halfway across the country. Yet she remembered every detail...the smell of his hair, the roughness of his hands, the pounding of skin on skin against the cold wooden floor of the empty living room. The warmth and sheer delight of their mutual climax still hung heavily in her mind, and shamefully she shook it out. How could she think this? He very well ruined her potential marriage...how could she feel such a leap in her chest in knowing that he was coming back?

The sun had now risen up just over the eastern horizon, and Mariah knew she did not want to be late. Tossing her blouse over her shoulders and donning a little mascara, she grabbed her violin and dashed out the door. Rehearsal was in a matter of hours...she could only imagine what it would be like, sitting concertmistress in this major orchestra, her first real debut in the big business, with Cal stridently playing alongside her...as the guest soloist.

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If you like this so far, there's a lot more, trust me!!!! Please send feedback as I continue to edit this!