by Calia Read
I quirked a brow and gestured to the open space next to me. “Then come stand next to me.”
Mathias didn’t move.
“Live a little,” I challenged. I held my hand out, not expecting him to take it. My hand wavered in the cold air, and I smiled softly and said, “Please?”
His eyes narrowed, as if he was trying to call my bluff. My disappointment was sharp and swift. My fingers skimmed through the crisp air, moving slowly to my side and at the last second, his hand shot out and linked with mine.
He stepped out onto the ledge, his entire body rigid. “You owe me.”
I laughed. “What do I owe you?”
“I haven’t thought that far ahead.” His other hand grabbed onto the rail.
“You’ll thank me later,” I stated confidently.
“Doubt it,” he bit out.
We looked at the front of Neuschwanstein. His grip was so tight I thought he broke all the bones in my hand.
I expected him to not stay next to me and move back to solid ground, but he stayed right next to me, seeming to enjoy this moment as much as I did.
He broke the silence first. “This place is beautiful.”
“Are you glad you came here?”
His eyes met mine. “It’s the best thing I’ve done.”
The emotion behind his gaze was too much for me. If I held his gaze I’d hope for that look for the rest of my life.
I averted my eyes, but it was too late for me.
I was done for.
I stared down at the ravine, down at jagged rocks. I squinted my eyes. It was impossible to see but my heart was lying down there. Broken and destroyed by the man next to me.
K A T J A
We arrived back in Garmisch in the early evening. Mathias dropped me off at my apartment. I told him I had fun, and he smiled and said he did too.
I spent the rest of the night listening to Carmen Fantasy on repeat, trying to ignore the day’s events and miserably failing.
You. Love. Him.
I groaned and dropped my face into my hands.
“No, you don’t,” I whispered out loud.
Like a crazy person.
But I had to rationalize this out.
Abruptly, I stood up and paced the room. I’d been in love before. Of course I had. Hasn’t everyone? At seventeen I met Peter, a fellow pianist from Hamburg. We toured around Europe together, bonding over the fact that we were the youngest and only German pianists touring. We had sex in a practice room at a venue in Italy. Not exactly the most ideal place, but at the time I thought it was perfect.
And that was my experience.
Thinking over it now, I realized that I’d never been love. I’d been young and in lust.
Peter didn’t make me feel like I could jump out of my skin.
Peter couldn’t make my heartbeat go from zero to one hundred with just one smile.
Peter didn’t control my every waking thought.
Mathias did that.
“I’m done thinking about you,” I said to the air, as though Mathias was standing in front of me.
I sat down on the couch, opened up my laptop, and put Carmen Fantasy on repeat. The notes took me over. Listening to it the third time, I sat up and went through my music. I wanted to scan the notes, following them as the song played. I had other pieces but no Carmen Fantasy.
I must have left it in the studio. I looked up at the clock. 9:35 PM. I could leave it there and just grab it tomorrow, or I could get it now so when I played I would look prepared and organized. I got up and slipped on my shoes and grabbed my keys. I had nothing else to do, and, besides, fresh air might be the thing I needed.
I speed walked over to my grandparents. The kitchen light was on. I quietly walked inside. Oma peeked her head out of the kitchen doorway and I saw she was dressed for bed, wearing a long robe and slippers and rollers in her hair.
“Katinka, what are you doing here?”
“I forgot a few music pieces,” I whispered as I shut the door quietly behind me.
I walked toward her but stopped short. I could hear the faint notes of Rhapsody coming from my studio.
“Who’s up there?” There was an edge to my words. No one ever played on my Steinway.
Oma was back in the kitchen making hot tea. “Mathias,” she said over her shoulder. She said it so flippantly, as if Mathias played daily.
“What? Why?”
Oma shrugged and stirred her tea. “He asked Opa if he could use it, and he’s been up there for hours.”
I looked toward the stair. “Does he do this a lot?”
“No. This is the first time.”
As Oma said those words, the music stopped, as if Mathias could hear us talking about him.
“I’m tired. Good night, mein Mädchen.” Oma kissed my cheek and padded back to her bedroom, holding the cup between her hands.
I went upstairs to my studio. As I moved down the hallway I tiptoed like an intruder breaking in. Which, if you thought about it, was exactly what I was doing. Sneaking up on Mathias. Catching him off guard.
Shamelessly I peeked inside the room. I found Mathias sitting on the bench, staring down at the keys. I wanted to say something. But his shoulders were dropped down. He looked crushed. Defeated. Completely obliterated, as though something or someone had stolen his very soul and he didn’t know how to get it back.
I wasn’t expecting this. Anyone else would’ve quietly walked away and pretended that they never saw a thing. Yet I leaned against the doorframe, holding my breath, waiting to see what Mathias would do next.
He started the piece over. Now that I was close enough to really hear him play, each note vibrated through me. His fingers touched the keys with confidence, producing power in each note. So much power that I flinched. I felt the emotions in this piece. Pain and sadness and frustration. His hands moved across the ivory keys with ease, and I wished, for a painful second, that he would run his finger across my skin like that.
Then one of his fingers slipped. The wrong key rang across the room. Mathias abruptly stopped. His shoulders became hunched and then he brought his fist down against the keys. A violent outburst that made a multitude of keys ring out. He closed his eyes.
The silence was painful.
He’s going to give up, I thought to myself. He’s done playing.
But he did the very opposite and started over. I realized that all the expectations he put on me, he placed on himself.
I should go. I should quickly walk downstairs and pretend that I didn’t see a thing. But I stepped into the room.
Mathias was so absorbed with the song that he didn’t hear me enter. Quietly, I moved, listening to each note he played. I slid next to him on the bench. His head jerked my way. The music stopped. I saw nothing but frustration and helplessness in his eyes. This man was a savant at the piano, and it broke me that the one thing he loved was the very thing he couldn’t have.
“Keep going,” I whispered.
He lowered his eyes but flickered them in my direction. Slowly, he started from where he left off. The wrong note rang out. I watched his right hand jerk down, like it had a mind of its own. Without saying a word, I slipped my hand under Mathias’ and played the right note. I could feel his eyes sharp and intense on me. I kept my eyes on the keys, praying that he didn’t stop playing.
He didn’t.
We remained seated, and soon his right hand slipped away, onto his thigh and my left hand took over. It was thrilling to play with him. To hear the notes ringing out across the room. We were creating this beautiful noise.
We.
We.
We.
This song could’ve never ended and I would’ve been okay with that. Mathias and I fed off each other’s energy. Our arms and legs touched and collided and we didn’t care. We were hypnotized by the keys. All too quickly, the song ended. I think I could’ve sat there the whole night and played.
We sat there in silence. The notes no longer rang in the room, but I fel
t them in my body. Here it was: my chance to tell Mathias that I knew about his accident. The words threatened to fall from my lips, but I pushed them back and stared straight ahead.
I couldn’t do it.
My fingers idly pressed down on a few keys. The noise was horrible, but it kept me occupied. “What did my Steinway ever do to you?”
“Spying were you?” His voice was deep and gruff, making my stomach twist into knots.
“This is my studio,” I pointed out.
“Why are you here?”
“I left some music here.”
Mathias blinked and gestured to Carmen Fantasy propped right in front of us. “Well, there it is.”
I took the sheets, but I didn’t leave. Mathias hands were curled around the edge. Legs slightly spread. I wanted to step in between his legs. Then, instead of touching the piano, he would have to touch me.
I cleared my throat and straightened the papers on my lap. The noise seemed to ricochet loudly in the room.
“You play well,” I finally said.
Mathias laughed. It was dark and raw, like he wasn’t used to laughing. It shot pleasure up and down my spine because, dark or happy, I knew I was privy to something no one ever saw.
“You didn’t hear me play the entire time then,” he replied. “It was shit.”
“I did hear you play, and it was beautiful.”
He shrugged and kept his eyes rooted on the piano. Oh, if he actually looked at me instead of avoiding my eyes, he’d see just how honest I was being.
“How long have you played?” I asked.
He finally looked up at me. “I used to play. I don’t anymore.”
“What happened?”
I held my breath, hoping that he would tell me. Confide in me. Trust me. I wouldn’t tell a single soul. He had to know that, right?
But in typical Mathias fashion, he said nothing. Just shifted away.
Away from me.
Away from the conversation.
I twisted around, until I was facing him. My palm settled on the place where he’d sat just seconds ago. I leaned in and touched his arm.
“Don’t,” he said gruffly.
I tilted my head back and looked him in the eye. His eyes drifted across my face, lingering on my lips. Instinctively, I licked them.
“I’m not doing anything.”
Mathias swallowed. I watched his Adam’s apple bob with fascination.
“I don’t know what you think I can give you, Katja.”
“Everything,” I whispered. “You can give me everything. I know it.” My honesty gave me the courage to step closer. Mathias gave me a searing look that made something flare up inside me.
“You’re wrong,” Mathias said, but his voice was less convincing.
I leaned in, my hands gliding down his forearms, running over bluish veins. His body was frozen, as if he was carved from granite. But very slowly, he raised his arms. His thumbs brushed against my cheeks as he cradled my face. He looked me straight in the eye.
I knew I was crossing that fine line he had made for us.
Teacher. Student.
Student. Teacher.
I hated that line more than anything. I wanted to obliterate it. Make it disappear. I wanted my heart to have what it wanted so much: him.
Mathias leaned in. The air changed around us. It was nothing but heat. I was finding it harder and harder to breathe. His fingers tightened as he kissed the corner of my mouth and then the other side. And then he really kissed me. It was so different than that first kiss, which was nothing but heat and lust and intensity.
This one was achingly slow. Almost deliberate from the way his tongue glided across the seam of my lips, right down to the way he tilted my head back and increased the pressure.
My fingers wrapped around his wrist, desperate for this to last forever. And I think he wanted the very same thing. He half-dragged me across the bench. My palms slapped against the polished wood for support. He groaned.
The position made me rise above him and I had control of the kiss. I loved it. It was a heady feeling.
My knees started to ache and I didn’t care. There had been a hole in my heart the second I spotted Mathias.
I’d trade one pain for another if it meant this.
He breathed through his nose when my tongue brushed against his own. He sucked on my bottom lip and pulled away. My eyes opened. I stared at him in a complete daze. That kiss was intoxicating and addicting and I need more.
Much more.
My right hand curled around the collar of his shirt. I slid my tongue into his mouth, moving against his. I changed pace and intensity, knowing the whole time that with this kiss I was in control.
Our lips were still connected as my hands slipped underneath this shirt. His skin was hot to the touch. My fingers drifted, touching every rope of muscle along his stomach.
I spread my fingers, trying to touch as much of him as I could. My fingers grazed the sides of his ribcage before circling to his back. My body arched. He pressed me closer. My breast brushed against his chest, instantly tightening, reacting.
This need for Mathias was crazy and unhealthy. I knew he was my addiction. And like every addiction I couldn’t pull away after one hit. I had to keep touching him, and kissing as his fingers glided up my stomach, across my ribs. Then his thumbs brushed the underside of my breast.
Suddenly air touched my lips. My eyes opened, blinking rapidly like butterfly wings. A noise came from the back of my throat. This couldn’t end yet.
“Shirt off,” he panted.
Before I could respond, he gathered the material of my shirt and pulled it over my head. There was a single second where I felt his gaze on me, racking me from head to toe. My body started to shake.
His fingers skimmed over the swell of my breasts.
My eyes closed. “Mathias,” I moaned.
He grunted, and as he worked the clasp of my bra he gently sucked on the skin above my breast.
Outside, a dog barked loudly.
The two of us stopped dead. His lips disappeared from my skin. His hands dropped to his sides like dead weights. He slowly turned his head so we were looking each other in the eye. He stared at me in a half-daze, like he had no idea how he got here.
The dog continued to bark.
Mathias gently extracted my hands. I sat back on the bench and he bolted.
My gaze was glued to the keys and I tried to catch my breath, I really did.
He was on the other side of the room. One hand pressed against the wall as he panted heavily. When I stood, his eyes widened, as if he was afraid of me. I stayed put.
“What am I doing?” he whispered.
There was nothing for me to say to that because in my eyes what he was doing was right. It made my heart feel at peace. Anything bad wasn’t supposed to feel this good.
I searched his face. “If we were alone, would you have stopped?”
He swallowed and stroked his golden stubble down to his chin. “No.”
“Look me in the eye and say it.” I tossed my words out like a gauntlet, hoping he would take it.
He never did.
“I’m nineteen, Mathias,” I whispered. “I know what I want.”
His gaze shot to mine. “No, you don’t. And that’s the problem.” His eyes closed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Mere seconds ago we lit the room up in heat. Now it was cold.
“How do you know what I want?” I shot back.
He didn’t answer immediately, just stared at me with all the intensity that could make a person burst into flames.
“Put your shirt back on … please,” he said hoarsely.
Shooting him a dirty look, I grabbed my shirt from the floor and put it on with quick, angry jerks. Fully clothed, I faced him. “Answer me.”
“Your whole fucking life has been controlled by your grandparents. Telling you where to go and what to do. Do you really know what’s out there, Katinka?”
I laughed at
the absurdity of his question. “Of course I do.”
Mathias exhaled loudly. “You’re just so damn innocent,” he said in an anguished tone.
Coming from his mouth that wasn’t a compliment. More like a strike against me. Another thing on his never-ending list of why we shouldn’t be together.
“I’d rather be innocent than cold and bitter like you. I’d rather think that there’s good in this world because it beats living in hate like you do. What kind of life is that?”
Hurt to your heart could make you say and do the most shocking things. The deeper your ache, the further you try to inflict pain.
It was on the tip of my tongue to apologize.
He looked up, his eyes tortured. “Exactly what you said. You stay naive. I’ll stay cold and bitter and our personalities will never intersect with each other.”
Never.
Out of all the things he said, never was the only word I could hang onto. It echoed in my head.
I didn’t stick around to see what he did next. I bolted out of the room and was out the door in a second. I ran back to my apartment and when I was safely inside, I leaned heavily against the oak.
I was shrouded in darkness, and silence, and left with the imprint of Mathias’ kiss.
It felt like a brand.
K A T J A
“You’re stabbing me!” I shrieked.
“Katja,” Oma spoke around the pin. “If you would stand still that wouldn’t happen.”
I was one week away from my performance in Munich. Every one—including me—was in a tizzy. All the bustle and energy bouncing around my grandparents’ house gave no room for Mathias and me to talk about what happened just a month ago.
How was that kiss a month ago? In my mind it was still fresh. There it stayed, refusing to be old news.
I tilted my head to the side and stared at myself in the full-length mirror. I was in Oma and Opa’s living room trying to stay as perfectly still as I could, so I didn’t get stabbed with another needle. Oma had me standing on a small stool, and she moved around me slowly with sewing pins between her lips. She would take a step away, give me a thorough once over, and would pin material in, only to take it out the next second.
Every year she made my dress and I was completely okay with that for two reasons: she was a perfectionist in everything she did, and she always made me the perfect dress.
