Rachel Dyken - Toxic

I jogged past my dorm.

And jumped onto my old Harley. I needed out — an escape. Drugs were out of the question — which left only one thing.

I rode as hard as I could toward the music building. My bike almost fell over as I parked it and ran up the stairs to one of the private rooms. Once inside I locked the door behind me, pulled the blinds down, and sat at the piano.

My heart pounded in my chest as the ivory keys stared back at me — called to me.

My addiction.

Four years.

I’d stayed away from the piano for four damn years.

Not anymore.

The bomb went off, the timer dinged, my hands caressed the piano. I groaned aloud and slumped onto the wooden bench, my body taking its natural position over the instrument.

I wasn’t even sure I knew how to play anymore — how to sing — how to communicate what was eating up my soul — slowly poisoning me.

But I had to try.

The minute I pressed the keys, need poured out until my shaking hands were hovering over the piano, and before I could stop myself, I started playing. I played the songs of my teen years, and then finally — as if my hands couldn’t keep themselves from playing the melody — I played her song.

A strange sort of madness washed over me as I pounded harder and harder. Maybe if I played hard enough she’d come back, maybe I’d get a re-do and the last four years would be nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

I fought tears and then banged my hands across the piano as hard as I could. Cursing the past that was finally catching up to me.

Tick-Tock, Tick-Tock , with each slam of my fingers the cadence in my chest quickened.

I was so done.

Part of me had known I couldn’t last this long.

Hell, it was a miracle I’d been able to put on such a show to begin with — then again I was an incredible actor. I should have won an Oscar.

My life was one big epic joke.

Finally, like a piece of steel getting manipulated and bent — I broke. A tear rolled down my face and dripped onto the piano.

My pointer finger slid over the tear as I wiped it from the ivory keys. Tears had never helped me. But sex? Hell, yeah. I was a freaking god with the right girl — most of the time with the wrong ones. And every conquest made me feel more godlike, impenetrable, stronger, able to withstand everything. Except it had really only been building a fortress around me. But in the moment, I could be everything I ever promised those girls — her — that I’d never really be. I could put away the fractured pieces of my heart and pretend like the past didn’t matter, only the moment. So I took each moment with each girl for what it was, an opportunity to turn into what years ago would have been my worst nightmare.

For a time. It worked.

Because for a second I could believe I’d never been him to begin with. I was Gabe.

The only problem?

It wasn’t even my real name.

Pretty sure using drumsticks to play the piano was frowned upon. —Saylor

Saylor

It was my last practice session before my schedule change. I hated that stupid Freshman Seminar class. Right now it was the bane of my existence! The only way I could keep my scholarship was to have a high grade point average, and that was the one class I’d been slacking in, but only because they didn’t take attendance, which meant I usually skipped in order to gain more practice time.

Unfortunately, it also meant I had no idea what was going on and usually flew by the seat of my pants. Let’s just say the professor was less than impressed with my inability to get my butt into a chair, even when I told him it was because I was working hard in my core classes.

Ugh. I meandered down the hall and paused. The practice room that I usually used was occupied. It wasn’t a big deal, but there was kind of an unspoken rule among music majors, if you were there every day for a year, and practiced at the same time — it was usually your slot. Anyone else was a dirty little poacher.

Okay, so my feathers were ruffled but only a bit. I mean, whoever was playing had some serious issues if the loudness was any indication. Hopefully, they wouldn’t break the piano in the process of self discovery. Though, I probably wouldn’t have chosen Ashton Hyde music to do said discovering. Eight years ago maybe, but not so much right now.

Geez, that music brought back way too many awkward dates, skate nights, and high school parties. All things I’d rather forget, considering I’d been the music nerd.

I sighed and went to the room opposite from where the music was coming, when all of a sudden the notes took a drastic turn.

A haunting melody floated into the air followed by cursing and then pounding on the keys of the piano. I took a few steps toward the room. The blinds were pulled. The pounding continued and then more cursing. Seriously, the dude needed anger management. I wasn’t sure if I should go down and talk to the head of the department about how someone was literally beating the crap out of one of their expensive pianos, or if I should just mind my own business.

My problem was solved when the door flew open. I was so shocked that I fell backward directly onto my butt.

Great.

Now angry piano pounder was going to have something to hold over me — not only was I eavesdropping but I had fallen on my guilty ass.

“S-sorry,” I said in a quiet voice, trying to scramble to my feet.

“For?” the guy asked. His voice was deep and smooth.

I looked up.

He was smiling at me. At me? Why was he smiling? Oh. He was probably trying not to laugh. I pushed down the embarrassment as much as I could and gave him a weak smile back. “I didn’t mean to, um…” I pointed at the door and shrugged. I was still sitting on the floor, like a kindergartner at magic carpet time or something.

“Spy?” His eyes narrowed but his smile stayed. He was beautiful. With dark brown hair that fell just below his ears. His white t-shirt was stretched across a broad, muscled chest. Tattoos covered every square inch of skin on both arms.

“Yeah,” I croaked, nearly choking on that one word as I felt a burning blush spread across my body. I tugged at the corners of my sweatshirt and cursed the fact that I’d thought wearing boots was a good idea. I was officially sweltering…

“No problem.” He held out his hand. Confused as to why he was being so nice when about five seconds ago his playing made it sound like he was getting ready to commit some sort of crime, I examined his hand before taking it. Tattoos and some weird inscription covered a few of his fingers. With a frustrated sigh, I grabbed his hand and let him pull me to my feet.

His blue eyes were so bright and lined by really dark eyelashes. I swear it almost looked like he was wearing eyeliner, but I knew he wasn’t. His eyes were just that beautiful. I’d never seen someone so good-looking up close before. The longer I stared at him the less sense it made. At first glance, all I saw were tattoos covering his arms. Now? I wish I had looked away, because in that moment, I couldn’t. His eyes pierced through me, nailing my body to the wall, holding me captive until I felt like I couldn’t breathe. They were the type of eyes that made you want to either confess your sins, or give in to them. I blinked a few times, hoping to break the connection that was slowly stealing every ounce of self-preservation I had, and finally was able to look away.

“Thanks for helping me up, and again, I’m sorry for all of that…” I waved into the air and walked to the other side of the hall to my own practice room and away from the dangerously sexy tattooed guy with the bright blue eyes.

“You play?” he asked as my hand grazed the door to the other room.