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…
…..
God how long has it been since she’d stepped foot in here? Dess’s room wasn’t exactly locked or anything, but until Susie had come over, it had felt sort of “off limits”. An unwritten rule.
It remained untouched since the day she left, the only thing different was the placement of the guitar, now resting in Noelle’s hands. She inspected it, not a single scratch out of place, exactly as Dess had left it. She wanted to be confused over her mother’s anger that afternoon, but despite it all she understood. She just wished her mother had the same amount of understanding towards Noelle. All she wanted… was to just hear it played again.
She hesitantly plucks one of the strings, her nails getting in her way. It was a simple G note, a singular note, impossible to mess up. But… it just sounded…wrong.
She tries again, and the uncanny note rings in her ears.
“Fuck…” the swear escapes her breath subconsciously as she grasps tighter on the neck, careful not to let the object escape from her sweaty palms.
Another G note. It’s not quite right.
Tears well in her eyes, blurring her vision.
Again.
G
G
G
G…
She doesn’t even attempt to play a song, Dess never finished teaching her all the chords anyways.
G
G
G
Her fingertips ache as she repeatedly plucks the string, wearing the skin down until she can feel her heartbeat in her unsteady digit.
G
G
G
It still doesn’t sound right. She shifts the angle at which she holds it.
G
G
G
G
G
G
G…
With shaky hands she finally sets the instrument down next to her, bringing her now free hands up to her face and wiping the tears that had formed. Black streaks her hands. (She really ought to invest in some water proof mascara if she was going to make a habit of crying like this.)
With unsteady legs, she brings herself up to her feet. This was pointless, of course it was, at this point it just made sense to walk out and start getting ready for bed. At the door, she stops herself. Or rather, she just stops, no matter how much she wants this moment to be over it just isn’t. Her eyes peer over her shoulder. It’s mocking her. She turns to face it again, and it faces back, like some kind of funhouse mirror. Its warped laughter fills her ears. A mocking laughter, each syllable forming a perfect G note.
Her mind goes blank and the next thing she knows, one of her unsteady fists wraps around the neck of the guitar, mistreating the strings.
CRACK
An abrasive choir of strings snap, another crack, her hands tighten around it. She can’t see what she’s doing past her own tears, and her actions were practically involuntary. The only awareness she had was the strings snapping like elastic and flying back to bruise her white knuckled hands. Another crack. Another.
Her vision momentarily clears, and a moment of clarity hits her. The remnants of her destruction clutched in her hands falls to the ground, and she’s forced to witness her handiwork. Splinters and debris litter the carpet. She hurries off and slams the door behind her, a flurry of thoughts scattering through her head.
…god, she screwed up.