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Hope is trembling. Goosebumps litter her skin; she’s as cold as ice. There’s a tune stuck in her head, repeating notes echo inside her thoughts. She’s bent over the piano, fingers barely grazing the keys.
Every time she inhales, all she can smell is the bourbon. It clings to her skin and collects next to her on the piano bench. A glass is toppled over on the floor, its contents staining the carpets.
Sweat is slick against her forehead, gliding down her spine. She can’t stop shaking. All she hears is the piano’s bitter sounds, reverberating through her bones and careening across the walls, but she can’t even press a single lever. It’s all in her head.
It’s all in her head.
Candles illuminate the room, casting shadows everywhere she turns. A sob claws up her throat, ripping past her lips as the blurred memories creep back to her. The flames flicker, apprehending the weight that burdens Hope. They reflect off of azure irises and dance to the tune stranded only in her thoughts.
And then she seesher.
A cacophony of notes crashes through her head. The chords thrash around her skull in a perpetual state of dissonance.
She’s slamming on the piano.
“Hope?” a whisper curls around her ear.
She writhes, gasping for air, searching for her.
She’s falling, crashing onto floorboards.
The room is empty, only filled with her thoughts and an acidic instrument. She scrapes along the floor, straining to reach the liquor bottle. Her fingers are outstretched, muscles cramping as they desperately extend for the alcohol.
She needs to forget.
Let her forget everything, please.
“I want you to stay.”
Hope wails, pounding her fist into stained carpets. She does it again and again, needing to feel anything but the hollowness that’s buried deep within her chest. Her knuckles are bloodied and bruised, but she’ll heal. She always heals.
But this pain that sits in her ventricles and plays melodies with her heart strings never heals. Why won’t she heal?
A soft giggle. The batting of eyelashes. Rosy cheeks.
“Your hand placement is all wrong, Hope.” She wrinkles her nose. “You press it like this…”
No. No, not again. It’s always the same song.
Josie’s eyes gleam under the moonlight, dancing across Hope’s features. They’re hip to hip, squished on a piano bench. As their fingers caper across black and white rectangles, their shoulders knock into each other and they laugh every time.
“Can you replay that again,” Hope asks, resting her chin on Josie’s shoulder. She can hear the younger girl’s heartbeat—it’s pumping excitedly against her sternum. The familiar cadence always returns whenever the siphoner plays the piano.
“Why?” Josie tucks an auburn strand behind Hope’s ear. “You’ve heard me play it a thousand times.”
“I have, but there’s this intensity that draws forth when you perform the piece,” Hope tries to explain, trailing her fingers along the brunette’s forearms. “You transcend.”
“Transcend with me then?” Josie requests, a playful glint held within mocha irises. “Play the right side for me?”
Saying no has never been an option because who is Hope to refuse sharing an intimate moment with the girl beside her. They only work through ten notes before she messes up, forgetting the rhythm she barely memorized this month.
A soft giggle. The batting of eyelashes. Rosy cheeks.
“Your hand placement is all wrong, Hope.” She wrinkles her nose. “You press it like this…”
Tears slip down her cheeks and her chest shudders under the force of her cries. Oxygen isn’t reaching her lungs, and she’s choking on every ounce of air that she shakily inhales. The ceiling looms over her, taunting her with the shadows of reflected firelight.
The fireplace is mirroring off mocha irises, dark pupils look into hers.
Hope refuses the surfacing memory, clambering back onto the seat, forgetting the bottle. If she could only repeat the tempo, repeat the harmonious swing.
1… 2. 3, 4… 5-5.
No. That isn’t right. It’s all wrong.
“Are you sure about this?”
NO, she thinks. I’ll remember the foolish song if it means forgetting you.
Hope reminds herself of the way Josie placed her fingers along the keys. Her forearm and wrist align, her fingers firm and curved. She straightens her spine; Josie would always tell her she’d be hunched back by the time she turned fifty.
The joke was always on her though because Hope would be immortal before then, confined to the youthfulness of her body for eternity.
She inhales sharply, still quivering within her bones. It’s freezing and her legs keep bouncing in a feeble attempt to cause her heart to continue beating.
The second she taps a single key, reality is torn right from under her. It all fades away.
“I need your help,” Hope says, almost demands. She needs to find Landon. Maybe even murder him. And Josie seems like the only other person willing to use black magic here.
“Three more words to me than your annual average.” Josie grabs a book from her desk, rolling her eyes. “Find someone else.”
Hope shuts the door, running a hand through her hair. She did expect that response, considering she’s never been on particularly civil terms with the twins. “This stuff with Landon is my fault. I can fix it. I know how to track him, but it involves using dark magic.”
Josie plays with the book in her hands, not able to keep eye contact with Hope. “Well, we’re not allowed to use dark magic here, so…”
“Says the girl who just lit her ex on fire,” she quips, frowning at Josie’s hypocrisy. She really just needs help with one tracking spell.
“Are you blackmailing me?” the siphoner asks, affronted at Hope’s arrogance.
What? Blackmailing isn’t her thing. She didn’t mean for it to come out that way.
“No,” Hope replies, her imposing demeanor faltering. “I’m just looking for a kindred spirit in revenge.”
-
Hope snorts when she sees Josie light a candle with a match. She’s sure the Saltzman twin has memorized a plethora of fire spells, yet she practices such a mundane approach. The brunette gives her a wary look, not quite trusting the tribrid after years of them being on opposing sides.
The grimoire is opened up between them, and Hope pulls the box holding the rat towards her. She mutters an apology under her breath when its neck snaps, and an amused smile quirks up Josie’s lips. Hope raises a single brow at her.
“Nothing,” Josie says, stifling a giggle. She’s never expected the almighty tribrid and Great Evil’s daughter to apologize for having to sacrifice a rat.
Hope drips the blood onto the pages while Josie sprinkles crushed herbs. “Are you sure about this?” Josie questions, still a little hesitant.
“Absolutely.”
When they cross their wrists and link hands, magic swells between them, evident in their connected palms and the air surrounding them. The focused power circulates through Hope, thrumming through her veins, and Josie taps into the flow of it, drawing out energy as their skin radiates a crimson gleam. The headrush of adrenaline causes her to feel dizzy. It’s almost euphoric to be able to have her magic siphoned away willingly.
“Inveniet hostium et tenebrae,” the words are recited in unison, tumbling past their lips. “Inveniet hostium et tenebrae.”
As magic is expelled from them, used to locate the liar, papers flutter around them while a powerful gust blows through the room. Flashes of Landon emerge within her mind. He’s asleep in the bus, fidgeting before waking up fully. Knife in hand, it begins to glow.
“Do you see anything?”
“Just flashes.”
All she sees in Landon, his curly hair and chapped lips, but all she feels is Josie. She’s attuned to the younger witch, feeling her pulse within her hands, hearing her smooth breathing, inhaling her natural scent of jasmine. It’s just Josie.
“I got it. Route 29.”
Then they’re pulling away. Hope looks at Josie with such a fierce intensity, suddenly craving for the balanced moment of unity they shared. There’s a pull between them that she doesn’t want to ignore, but Josie’s already standing up, cleaning the room with a simple spell.
Hope sits there, attempting to calm her ragged inhaling. The potency of their magic is overwhelming. Josie is entirely too electrifying. She needs to breathe.
Hope is slamming on the piano once more. The sounds vibrate along floorboards and resonate within her ribcage. Music runs rampant inside her, clashing through her skull. Sweat drips down her neck. D minor loops continuously.
She’s still shaking to her core. She accidentally stomps on the piano pedals. She never learned how to play with them. Josie always tapped on them for her. Always joked that Hope was too short to reach them.
It’s always the same song. Just play the song.
She’s trying.
A broken whisper. “Play the song, Hope.”
The room is empty. She knows it is, but she still turns around. The nothingness is expected, but there’s a small part of her that will always hope.
Hope is straddling Josie’s lap, leaning over her with a makeup brush in hand. “Jo, stop moving. You’ll ruin it.”
“It tickles,” she giggles, swatting away Hope’s hands. “It’s hard to stay still.”
“Then focus on something else,” Hope says, applying eyeliner on Josie’s eyelids. “I’m almost done anyways.”
Josie stops moving then, staring intently up at Hope who’s concentrated on blending her makeup. The tribrid is filling in Josie’s eyebrows when she notices the twin’s awestruck gaze. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re beautiful.” Josie shrugs, still tracing her eyes over the curve of Hope’s jawline.
Hope smiles, melting into the younger girl and nuzzling her neck. She kisses the hollow of her throat before returning to her task at hand. “You’re gorgeous.”
Hope is smearing highlight across Josie’s cheekbones and nose when they’re flipped over, switching positions. Josie chuckles at the pout that Hope gives her, kissing at her cheeks and forehead until the auburn haired girl is grinning once more.
“You couldn’t even wait until I finished?” Hope teases, biting her lip.
“No,” Josie shakes her head, peppering kisses along Hope’s jaw. “You get the cutest little crease between your brows when you concentrate hard enough.”
Hope feels Josie’s smile more than she sees it, mocha eyes gently falling shut, a ghost of warm breath on her lips before hers are against them.
Everything stills. It’s just them in perfect synchronicity.
Josie was soft. Her mouth moving smoothly against her, the tip of a tongue barely touching hers. Hope loses all sense of herself as she yields under Josie, delicate lips and a clever tongue, her hand massaging her hips.
It’s intoxicating.
They pull apart, breathing heavily as they linger close.
“I love you, Hope.”
All she hears are murmured echoes. Words spoken between them. They circle through her mind like an off key melody.
“But, um, I won’t come back if my being here… brings you anymore pain.”
“Landon or no Landon, you belong here. I want you to stay.”
“This is the most normal I’ve felt all day.”
“You’re a trusting person. And you’re more powerful than you know.”
“But that doesn’t mean we can’t try again.”
“Hey, you made it.”
“I’m back.”
“I had to make a choice. And… I didn’t choose Landon.”
“I know that you think she’s weak, but I know the truth—she’s strong. You’re strong.”
“No one could shoulder the burdens that you carry. And you’re always there for your friends when they need you. So, please, Jo, we really need you right now.”
“I-I was the pig.”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Tell yourself a different story.”
“Josie! Change the story!”
“Hope is strong. And she’s good.”
Hope inhales unsteadily, her chest and back juddering. Her breath condenses into puffs of smoke, and her cheeks are flushed, stained with salty tears. Josie, Josie, Josie.
She can feel Josie’s fingers tracing up her spine, tickling her ribcage, cupping her chin. The feeling is faint, barely there, hardly feasible. Tender press of her lips. Nimble hands as they press into her skin. The warmth of her body as they held each other close.
All she feels is her ghost.
Another ruthless sob. Her throat is raw. Fingers numb. Lungs exhausted from crying. The frigidness of the midnight winter crawls in. It seeps into her pores and freezes her bones. More tears drip down her neck—the only warmth she’s felt in ages.
A powerful zephyr swirls around the room. Flames die out. Sheet music scattered. Chills claw up Hope’s spine. She’s still trembling.
She forces herself to touch the keys.
The tune reverberates throughout all around her, encasing her in an elevated harmony. She swallows thickly, mouth arid. Sniffling, she remembers the rhythm and plays the inane song.
She imagines Josie beside her, humming along and pressing the pedals for her. They coexist in perfect rapport, tapping elbows and muttering that there isn’t enough space. There always was space. They could only ever place close, hips meshed together.
Her bright smile. The twinkle that glinted off of her dark eyes. The cute little scrunch of her nose. Her immaculate collarbones. Toned biceps. The furrow between her brows when she was particularly focused.
She can’t stop weeping as the song continues. She misses a few chords, the numbness burrowed into her fingertips never left. She knows Josie would chuckle and tell her it’s okay to miss a few.
It’s about the entire performance, she would say. It’s about continuing to push through even when you mess up. A recital won’t be perfect, much like how life isn’t.
Hope’s choking on air, unable to breathe because all she can think about is Josie Saltzman. Her thoughts are a permanent storm of the brunette’s mellifluous voice and captivating presence.
Hope was completely enamored with her.
The song is hitting its final notes. It’s reaching its resolution. It’s almost over now.
“I really need you right now.” Josie chokes out.
Hope drops her paintbrush and rushes to her, uncaring for the violet hues that stain the floor. “Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?”
Josie collapses into her arms, whimpering as tears roll down her face. Her knees buckles, forcing Hope to carry all of the weight. She gently guides her to sit on the floor, knowing the younger girl doesn’t have the strength to reach the bed.
Hope holds onto her as Josie lets out her emotions into the crook of her neck. She whispers little reassurances into her ear, kissing her temple and massaging her knuckles. They sit there, wrapped in each other’s arms until Josie musters the strength to speak. Hope doesn’t rush her, knowing that whatever caused this will all be painfully clear soon enough.
Josie takes a deep, wobbly breath. She pulls away just enough to look Hope in the eye. A single world tumbles past her lips before another sob rakes up her throat. Hope tucks a strand of her behind her ear, placing another subtle kiss to the crown of her head.
“He’s dead,” she eventually breathes out, entire body quivering like a leaf in the wind. “My dad’s gone.”
She’s gone.
The final note drifts around her.
Hope stops trembling.
The silence that ensues is deafening.
Her heartbeat is slow in her ears.
She turns to the bottle resting on the floor beneath her.
Her grasp finally contacts it. Grabbing the cup from the carpet, she ignores the stain and goes to fill her glass. The smell is pungent, inebriating even before she can pull it to her lips.
The tears have finally stopped.
The song no longer replays in her head.
She’s alive, but she hates it.
The monotonous melody is finally gone.
It’s all over now.
“Hope?”
Hope drops the glass, whipping around. The piano bench is tossed onto its side. Bourbon soaks into her clothes. She’s frantically looking around.
This isn’t a trick of the mind.
She knows that voice. Desperately trying to forget it—never able to. The ceiling, the candles, the piano, the carpet, the windows, the wall, the door.
No ones here.
That’s perfectly splendid then. She’s driving herself mad.
She lifts the piano bench upright, sitting upon its cushion once more.
What was she doing again?
Hope is trembling. Goosebumps litter her skin; she’s as cold as ice. There’s a tune stuck in her head, repeating notes echo inside her thoughts. She’s bent over the piano, fingers barely grazing the keys.
Every time she inhales, all she can smell is the bourbon. It clings to her skin and collects next to her on the piano bench. A glass is toppled over on the floor, its contents staining the carpets.
Sweat is slick against her forehead, gliding down her spine. She can’t stop shaking. All she hears is the piano’s bitter sounds, reverberating through her bones and careening across the walls, but she can’t even press a single lever. It’s all in her head.
It’s all in her head.
Candles illuminate the room, casting shadows everywhere she turns. A sob claws up her throat, ripping past her lips as the blurred memories creep back to her. The flames flicker, apprehending the weight that burdens Hope. They reflect off of azure irises and dance to the tune stranded only in her thoughts.
And then she seesher.
A cacophony of notes crashes through her head. The chords thrash around her skull in a perpetual state of dissonance.
She’s slamming on the piano.
“Hope?” a whisper curls around her ear.
Hope shoots to her feet. Every fiber of her being standing on edge. She doesn’t dare look around. The black and white keys presented before her are her only comfort. She’s apprehensive, continuing to stare at the instrument in front of her.
She’s terrified of what she’ll find.
Can she live in ignorant bliss? Never to turn around?
“Since when have you ever feared anyone in your life?” They ask curiously. No malice hidden in their undertones. They almost seem amused.
“What if I don’t want to turn around,” Hope mumbles, frantically searching every inch of the piano. She wants to turn around. Of course she wants to turn around.
It’s a test. It has to be. If she turns around, she won’t ever be able to see Josie again. This is a test from Hades. This is a tale of Orpheus all over again.
She won’t be weak like him. She won’t turn around. She loves Josie more than Orpehus loved Eurydice.
“Hope, turn around,” Josie requests, sounding almost desperate.
Hope swallows thickly, sweat slipping down her skin. She concentrated on the condensation of her breath. “I can’t. I don’t want to lose you.”
“You won’t lose me,” Josie insists. God, Hope has missed her so much. “Just look at me, please.”
No. She can’t. She won’t. An eternity without Josie is an eternal damnation. She can’t live forever like this. She refuses to. “I’m going to play our song, okay?”
“You can’t live like this,” Josie pleads with her. Hope can imagine her eyes tearing up, feeling broken because Hope is invalidating her feelings. “I want you to be free.”
“I am free,” Hope lies without a second thought. She desperately wanted to forget earlier. Having Josie’s memory haunt her is an infinite torture. But she was lying to herself when she said she wanted to forget.
She just doesn’t want to live like this anymore.
Hope sits once more, popping her knuckles as she prepares to play.
“You love me, don’t you?” Josie’s voice cracks.
Hope smashes the keys. “Never question my love for you.”
“Then turn around.”
Hope sobs, collapsing against the instrument. Her entire body is convulsing at the thought that Josie might actually be behind her. She wants to continue weeping for infinity, releasing emotions she's pent up for the past millennia. “I love you. I love you. I love you,” she mutters to herself with every breath.
“Look at me, please?” Josie begs. “Promise me Always and Forever one last time.”
Hope sits up straight, wiping the tears from her face.
Rubbing her hands across her thighs, she draws together all of her courage.
Saying no has never been an option because who is Hope to refuse sharing an intimate moment with the girl beside her.
Hope stands.
“I love you, Josie,” she whispers one final time.
Hope finally walks away.
The piano collects dust for the next millenia.
The bourbon dries and stains the carpet.
The room remains empty for eternity.
The candles are never relit.
And Hope never turns back.