Chereads / Notes to the Past / Chapter 2 - The Party II

Chapter 2 - The Party II

[Word Count: 1510]

"Sophie! SOPHIE!" A clearly inebriated girl was stumbling towards them, waving her arms wildly. She nearly face-planted on the beer-sticky floor, saved only by Sophia's quick reflexes as she pulled away from Nico with a regretful sigh to steady her friend.

"Whoa, Jenna, easy there," Sophia murmured soothingly. "I think you've had a little too much, sweetie."

Jenna slumped against Sophia, her eyes glassy and unfocused. "I don' feel so good, Soph," she slurred, her face taking on a distinctly greenish tint. "I think 'm gonna..."

Sophia shot Nico an apologetic look over her shoulder. "I'm so sorry, but I need to get her to the bathroom. Rain check?"

Nico sighed, running a hand through his tousled dark brown curls. "Yeah, of course. Go take care of your friend."

He tried to tamp down on the irrational stab of disappointment as he watched Sophia stagger off with an arm slung around Jenna's waist, murmuring soothing assurances. The abrupt end to their brief interlude left Nico feeling strangely bereft, unmoored. The pleasant buzz from their kiss was already fading, leaving behind a hollow ache in his chest.

Suddenly, the press of bodies around him felt stifling rather than exciting. He needed air, needed space to clear his head. Pushing through the crowd, Nico made his way toward the back of the house, remembering seeing a door that led out to a small patio.

The crisp night air was a welcome relief as Nico burst out onto the patio, but before he could fully savor his fleeting solitude, a familiar pungent scent hit his nostrils. Nico turned to see a small group clustered in the corner, a joint making its way around their little circle.

One of the guys, a lanky dude with bleached hair and an ironic t-shirt, spotted Nico and waved him over, with a friendly grin. "Yo, dude! Want a hit?" He said, holding out the joint.

Well, if he was already out here... Nico shrugged, and made his way over, "Don't mind if I do" he agreed, accepting the offered joint and taking a long drag. The smoke burned his lungs, but he welcomed the sensation.

As the weed began to take effect, Nico found himself relaxing incrementally. He took another hit, then passed the joint along to the next person in the circle. A white dude with questionable dreads and a tie-dye shirt who looked like he'd stepped straight out of a 70s time warp.

"Duuuude," Tie-Dye exhaled, smoke billowing from his nostrils. "You ever think about how we're all, like, made of stardust? The atoms in our bodies were forged in the hearts of ancient stars, man. We're the universe experiencing itself."

Nico snorted, the sound morphing into a cough as the smoke tickled his lungs. "Yeah, well right now this bit of universe is starving. Someone pass the fucking Doritos."

The group cackled, a crumpled bag of nacho cheese making the rounds. As Nico dug in, relishing the artificial cheesy goodness, Bleached Hair piped up, his voice taking on a faux-profound tone. "Whoa, but like, what if the Doritos are also stardust? What if everything is connected, dude?"

Beanie Guy rolled his bloodshot eyes. "Bro, I'm too high for this cosmic shit. Next you'll be saying the universe is just one giant Dorito and we're all living in the cheese dust."

Nico couldn't help but crack a smile at that. "The Dorito Singularity theory. You might be onto something there, man."

"It's the circle of life!" Tie-Dye crowed, gesticulating wildly with a fistful of crushed chips. "We consume the Dorito, then our stardust returns to the Dorito when we die. It's beautiful, man!"

Nico barked out a laugh, reaching for the joint again. "Fuck, if that's the case, sign me up for reincarnation as a Cool Ranch Dorito in the next life."

"Nah man, you're totally a Flamin' Hot," Bleached Hair interjected, pointing at Nico with a sage nod. "I can tell. It's your aura."

Nico raised an eyebrow, taking a slow drag. "My aura, huh? And what, pray tell, does a Flamin' Hot aura entail?"

Bleached Hair squinted at him, tilting his head this way and that as if trying to read invisible script in the air around Nico. "It's like... spicy. Intense. A little bit dangerous, but in a good way, you know?"

Beanie Guy snickered. "Dude, are you hitting on him? Is this your stoned version of a pickup line? That's some weak game!"

"Shut up, asshole!" Bleached Hair tossed a chip at Beanie Guy's head. "I'm just saying, he's got that Flamin' Hot vibe. You can't deny it."

Nico held up his hands, the joint dangling from his fingers. "Hey, I'll take it. Better than being a fucking, I don't know, Pringle or something."

That set off another round of laughter and good-natured ribbing, the group analyzing each other's snack food auras. Nico leaned back, taking another pull of the joint and letting the absurd conversation wash over him. Content to just soak in the inanity as the weed sanded down the sharper edges of his spiraling thoughts. This was what he needed - mindless, silly bullshit to zone out to. No expectations, no hidden agendas, just stupid stoner talk...

"Holy shit, I knew you looked familiar!" Beanie Guy suddenly crowed, whipping around to stare at Nico with wide eyes. "You're that violinist kid, the famous prodigy! Nico something, right?"

And just like that, the tentative thread of contentment snapped.

Nico felt his spine stiffen, muscles locking up as if bracing for impact. "D'Arias," he replied tersely. "Nico D'Arias."

"Yooooo, you were like a literal child genius! My mom dragged me to one of your concerts when I was a kid and I was shook." Beanie Guy said shaking his head in wonderment before his brow furrowed. "So what the hell happened, dude? You just dropped off the map."

It was an innocent question. But it ripped through Nico's buzz like claws, shredding the fragile fabric of chill vibes he'd been clinging to. He could feel everyone's eyes on him now. His mind raced, scrabbling for some glib answer that wouldn't reveal too much.

"Life, I guess… Shit just... happened," Nico finally managed, jaw clenched so tight he was amazed the words squeezed out. "I don't play anymore."

"Dude, your music slapped so hard! My mom became like obsessed with turning me into the next 'Nico D'Arias.' Total helicopter parent, always making me practice for hours," Beanie Guy laughed, oblivious to the way Nico was spiraling. "She thought if you could do it, her little genius could too."

Nico had to physically bite his tongue to keep from screaming.

Because that casual statement hit far too close to home, unearthing memories Nico had worked so hard to bury. He could almost feel the phantom ache in his fingers, rubbed raw from endless hours of practice as his father loomed over him.

Unbidden, a memory surged to the forefront of his mind, vivid and visceral as the day it happened.

He was 12 years old, his small hands trembling as they clutched the bow of his violin. His father loomed over him, his face set in a stern mask of disapproval.

 

 

"Again, Dominic," his father ordered, his voice sharp as a whip crack. "From the top. And this time, do it right."

Nico swallowed hard, blinking back the tears that threatened to fall. His fingers were raw and bleeding from hours of practice, the strings biting into his tender skin like cruel teeth. But he didn't dare complain. Didn't dare show weakness.

He raised the violin to his chin once more, ignoring the way his muscles screamed in protest. As he drew the bow across the strings, his father's critical gaze bore into him, picking apart every note, every infinitesimal imperfection.

"No, no, no!" his father snapped, slamming his hand down on the music stand. Nico flinched, his bow skittering across the strings in a discordant screech. "Sloppy. Unfocused. Is this the best you can do? Is this what you call dedication?"

Nico's lower lip trembled, hot shame washing over him. "I'm trying, Dad," he whispered, his voice small and broken. "I'm sorry, I'll do better, I promise..."

But his father's eyes were cold and unyielding, his disappointment a palpable weight in the air. "You're not trying hard enough. You have a gift, Dominic. A responsibility. I won't let you squander it with laziness and mediocrity."

He gestured sharply to the sheet music, his meaning clear. Nico took a shuddering breath, blinking hard to clear his blurry vision. Then he set the violin back under his chin, ignoring the blood smeared across the polished wood, and began to play once more.

Again and again, for hours on end, until his fingers were numb and his spirit was broken. He played in pursuit of a perfection he could never quite grasp. Hour after hour, day after day, until there was nothing left inside him but the music, and even that rang hollow...

 

"Parents, man," Beanie Guy laughed, shaking his head, "they're fuckin' nuts sometimes."