Whitney
The weekend flew by too fast for my liking. I kept myself busy tending to my dad and his needs, despite his efforts to tell me he can do the things himself.
All I wanted was to help him heal, but he kept pushing me away. He told me I should be more focused on my studies rather than him, and although I internally agreed because of the pile of homeworks and text messages from my group mates, my dad's injuries were far more important.
"Dad, please! The doctor said to refrain from too much physical movement!" I huffed, growing frustrated with his deaf ear to my words.
"Darling, I appreciate your efforts but I'm fine! You worry too much", he frowned, the wrinkles on his aging face appearing, "Just like your mom."
I pouted at the rememberance of my mom. She died of a car accident too, but that time it was because of a drunk driver who ironically survived in the end but she did not. The man behind the wheel was also one of the reasons why I stayed away from alcohol.
"It's because of her, isn't it?" his eyes had softened at the realization and I couldn't help but sadly nod.
"Whitney, you're a strong girl. Thank God it was a minor accident but even if it wasn't, you would be okay, I know that. Your mom and I will be up there, looking down to protect you when you need us."
I felt tears sting my eyes. "Dad, stop. Don't say things like that."
He smiled, coming closer to me to lift his hand and pat my head. "I know you don't like hearing it, but it's the truth, Whit. I'm not gonna be around forever. You're an adult now, you need to learn how to deal with things when I'm not here anymore."
"But I don't want to, daddy." a whimper made its way out, and suddenly I felt like a little girl again. He mustered up the little strength he had in him to wrap his arms around me as I cried.
I found myself in the choir room again, playing the piano mindlessly. My fingers pressed the keys to flow with the rhythm that played in my head.
I loved music with a burning passion. When I felt like I needed an escape from the disaster in my surroundings, all I had to do was plug in my earphones and turn the volume up. It was similar to my love for painting, but it didn't have the same affect as it did with music. Music was my form of fleet from reality, while painting was my outlet to create an image of my feelings.
"Clair de Lune, I see you have taste." if I wasn't feeling so down, I would have jumped at the recognization of Blair's voice. I still turned to acknowledge her presence, hoping not to disrespect the Queen B.
A small thank you was all I could say. My intuition told me she would take a seat beside me like she did the last time, and I was right. I left a tiny amount of distance between us to show that I understood if she had her boundaries, but she just moved to close the space.
"Keep going." she encouraged, her voice at an oddly cool tone. I was used to hearing her razor-sharp one that kept most people shaking on their toes.
I did as told. The piece exceeded a little more than five minutes, and the whole time I felt Blair's eyes on me. I wanted to curl into a ball and shield myself from her scrutinizing gaze, but I knew if I wanted to impress her I had to keep my chin up.
"Who taught you how to play?" she asked, and I had to clear my throat to answer her clearly.
"My uncle Richard....he died when I was seven."
She nodded, an unreadable emotion flashing in her eyes for a split second. "I'm sorry to hear that, you play the piano beautifully. He taught you well."
I had never expected those words to come out of Blair's mouth, but they did. A blush crept up my cheeks as she smirked when I thanked her for the second time.
"And here I thought all you knew were One Direction songs," she added, teasingly and I got even redder, "Play me another one."
"More One Direction?"
"Whatever you want."
Biting my lip, I racked my mind to find another piece to play. Fortunately her phone had rang and an 'ugh' left her lips when she saw who was calling.
"What is it, mother?" I tensed at the mention of Stephanie.
"No, I can't fly to Berlin tonight. I have to write a paper due tomorrow. What internship are you talking about?"
I felt like I was invading her privacy. It was awkward for me to just sit there while Blair took her call. Hearing her talk more, she no longer sounded like an 18 year old student in high school to me, she sounded like a young heiress of a large company.
"Now is not the time to discuss this with me, mother. I'm still in school. Yes- I will meet you at your office later," with that, she hung up and sighed, "I apologize for that. She picks the most inappropriate of times to disclose about certain things."
"It's okay," I assured her.
"That man she's seeing isn't doing her good. I thought he'd be able to distract her from my life."
She knew?
"O-Oh."
"Unfortunately, I must go. My presence is needed at home before she-" on signal, her phone rings again and her eyes roll, "Now what?" her heel turns to the doorway, sparing me one last glance before leaving.