章 19: Chapter 18
Malcolm came to get me the following morning, as Ramona and Naja were too. . . preoccupied to drop me off. We got in his car, which seemed to be pretty expensive with its sleek black coloring and shiny wheels.
"Do you live far?" I asked, in hopes of striking up conversation.
He nodded. "Not too far, though. I drive because I do not like the bus."
"Ah, I see. Buses can get pretty crowded sometimes." The short conversation dropped, only the sounds of passing cars and classical music filling the gap. I studied his side profile, from his strong jaw to his gray-green eyes. He was handsome, but in a calm, polite way.
"We're here," he said about fifteen minutes later, pulling under an overhang. "Valet parking. They take the car from me and park it," Malcolm explained, seeing my confused expression.
He got out of the car with me following, watching as he gave the keys to a nicely dressed employee. "Let's go."
"Mhm."
The interior of the building was grand with plush velvet sofas in the reception halls and crystal chandeliers hanging from the tall, domed ceiling. By this point I knew he was wealthy, being able to afford such great living conditions in a big city like this.
<To be fair, he does give off this 'I'm rich' vibe,> Echo offered, sniffing the air. I silently agreed, stepping into the elevator after Malcolm. He pressed a button and we were off, my stomach dropping as we gained elevation.
"This one," Malcolm said, tugging my elbow, pulling me though the doorway and into his. . . apartment?
That was an understatement. His place was nothing like Ramona and Naja's cozy apartment. His was clean, in colors of beige and white and the occasional dash of sage green. Neat house plants sat in clay pots around the room-- the kitchen counter, coffee table, the stand by the door. Everything suited Malcolm in a strange way, his calm, unproblematic personality taking the form of his living space.
"Your room," he said, opening a door. "I'll leave for you to get settled. The bathroom is down the hall to the left. Call if you need anything."
With that, he left, leaving me to explore my new room. Like the rest of his place, it was organized with light green bedsheets, a dresser, nightstand, and closet. A small, potted succulent was next to the lamp on the nightstand. This small detail made the corners of my lips quirk up; you could see how caring he really was from how he treated his plants.
Nothing like Damon or Axel.
I sighed and plopped my suitcase on the bed, flopping down next to it. My muscles were still sore from the workout Naja put me through, but I wouldn't have it any other way. This was proof of my hard work, the changes I've been though since I left the Red Brook pack.
<You still have to unpack,> Echo pointed out.
<Yeah, yeah,> I grumbled, propping myself up to unzip the suitcase, taking out the clothes and shoving them in the dresser drawers. <You happy now?>
<It is acceptable,> she sniffed, <though, I would have used that closet.>
<Oh, shut up.> I rolled my eyes, lying spread-eagle on the bed. <I'm bored.>
<Organize your clothes.>
<No, that's boring.>
<Not my problem.>
<I can tell you're bored, too.>
<So?>
<So, we can find something to do together.>
<Go bother Malcolm,> she huffed. <I'm tired.>
<Hmm. . . Good idea!> I sprang up from the bed, skipping down the hallway to find my host.
A strange sound stopped me in my tracks. An instrument-- a violin, I think-- could be heard coming from a room down the hall. The notes were long and steady, smooth, and held emotions so clear that even someone like me could understand them.
I crept toward the cracked door and peered in. The lean form of Malcolm's back faced me, his posture pristine, holding an instrument, slowing gliding the bow along the violin's strings. The melancholy sound echoed off the high ceiling and walls, creating a chorus of returned sound that somehow managed to sound like a jumbled mess and a beautiful composition all in one.
The notes cut off with a sharp squeal and a curse from Malcolm, who leaned over to read the sheet music. He took a pencil and scrawled a quick note before lifting the violin back up to his chin. As light as a feather, almost as if he were caressing it, he placed the bow back on the strings and resumed his playing.
I snuck in the room, disguised by the violin's music, taking in everything. A shiny, black grand piano sat in the corner, a cello in a stand next to it. I perched on a single velvet covered bench pushed against the wall near the door, mesmerized by Malcolm from the way he swayed with the music to his straightened back.
Perhaps if I had a better way with words I could paint the scene perfectly. But alas, my mind was unable to conjure up the right words despite them being on the tip of my tongue, ready to leap off and take flight.
The music stopped again, and this time Malcolm whipped around, his chest heaving slightly. He looked surprised, and from the pale pink tinging his ears, even a bit shy. "You snuck in." It wasn't a question.
"Ah, yeah. . . Sorry about that." I scratched my neck. "But! You sounded so good, it would've been more surprising if I hadn't snuck in. . ."
He shook his head, a ghost of a smile gracing his face. "No, it's quite alright. I'm still learning the violin, anyhow."
"Still learning? That sounded like a professional!" I exclaimed. Not because I was trying to kiss ass, but because it truly did sound amazing.
Malcolm chuckled. "Then, you can't have heard a many professionals."
"I suppose not," I replied, smiling back at him. "So, you like music?"
A far-away look came to his eyes, and for a moment I though I had offended him. "Yes," he answered after a few beats of silence. "I enjoy it."
I decided to push my limits. "Why?"
He thought again, bending down to carefully place his violin back in its case. "It is like an escape. At least, that's the best way I can explain it."
"Then, can you really play all these instruments, or are you 'still learning'?"
Malcolm snorted. "No, I can say I am able to play the piano quite well. I have for my whole life. As for the cello. . . for about four years now."
I strode up to the piano, sitting down on the bench, not daring to touch the gleaming surface in fear that I smudge it. I looked back at Malcolm, who was organizing the sheet music. "Can you show me?"
He glanced up, his eyebrows furrowed a bit. "Hm?"
"Can you show me how to play the piano?"
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