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It was gone, for the time being. That wretched soul, glowing bright red with determination, strewn away in some gift box the Holiday’s stored. Gone, cast away, leaving Kris a sense of being themselves again. But only for the time being.
Kris knew this, knew it’d be back again to dictate their every move, to make them lie through their teeth and insult the people they love.
But for the time being, it was bliss. Something that Kris had learnt to cherish these past few days when they were finally able to achieve it.
Bliss, despite the burning in their chest. Peace, albeit the ache in their bones when they even dare to move. Tranquillity, even when it takes tremendous effort to get up, let alone pierce the earth.
But it was bliss nonetheless. A bliss they’d cherish.
Eating their mother’s pie was the first indicator of how free they felt without being a cage, encasing this puppet master inside to do as it pleases. Being able to taste it, taste the love put into it. Returning a sense of autonomy to them.
Watching their living room get engulfed by darkness, looking up as it consumed them whole. It felt freeing; freeing to be in so much control of what happens, of their new adventure. They had hoped Susie would like it.
In Noelle’s kitchen, alone and free, they pour chocolate syrup into a glass of milk as they listen to the garbled nonsense coming out of their phone.
Freedom, freedom returned back to them, but at what cost? Everything aches. It takes so much energy to lift their head up, to pour the syrup into their cup of milk just to be able to taste again. Their shaky hands lifting the glass tentatively to their chapped lips – they never listened whenever their mother told them to wear chapstick – letting the homemade chocolate milk trickle down their throat. It tasted of nostalgia.
Their eyes drifted to the piano.
There was a time when they’d be at the Holiday household every day. They’d leave to get a snack, sit down at the bench and place their calloused hands on the keys. Sometimes they could play for hours at a time.
Every slow step they take sends waves of pain throughout their bones. It hurts – more than anything, more than anything they’ve ever done to themselves.
They sit down at the bench, placing calloused hands on the black and white keys.
The ache in their chest persists; it burns fiercer than a blazing fire, more tortuous than a lack of control. They take a deep breath, letting the cool air from the freezing air conditioner fill their lungs and freeze them over.
They move their fingers, and play a friendly melody by memory.
With every press of the keys, each time they put the maximum amount of weight they can on each white key, it hurts; it feels like they are putting their all into each note, each chord. In a way, they were.
In losing their autonomy, the desperation to play again, properly this time, grew ever so stronger.
They make mistakes; they press the wrong notes sometimes, but in a way it makes them feel more in control. The fact that they don’t do everything flawlessly, that they can make mistakes instead of doing things perfectly like an automated machine (or a puppet with strings), gives them more autonomy than they could ever dream of. Their hands grow shaky.
They wonder if Noelle and Susie could hear this, could hear the melodies float down the hall as they finally did something they enjoyed. Noelle has heard them play multiple times, even having the courtesy to listen in for their hour-long sessions. Maybe they were too busy talking to notice. Kris wouldn’t have minded.
For the first time in what felt like decades, Kris could do something they liked, something they enjoyed. Something they had missed. They felt their throat tighten, as if it were being chained up by barbed wire.
They recalled previous battles, playing the themes of beloved (and not-so-beloved) bosses by memory.
It was never perfect, how could it be, but it was perfect to them because it was of their own choosing. To choose to drag their feet, to choose to sit down and play, to choose to persist despite the agony.
Kris knew, deep, deep down that this wouldn’t last, and that they’d need the soul sooner or later. But, for the time being, while they could, they’d like to settle for this exact moment. Where they could finally enjoy themselves, even if they ached, even if they felt like they could collapse any second.
They could settle for this agony, because it was of their own accord. They could settle for this fleeting moment, because it was spent enjoying themselves as they finally got to put their hands on black and white keys. They could settle for the faintness they felt, because they could finally do what they longed to do, and play the piano.
For once in their life, they finally felt in charge as they played mellifluous, imperfect melodies by ear.