Chapter Eight

December 21st 

I feel like a proper fool as I sit at the piano and see Sam out of the corner of my eye. Tonight, he is sharing his table with a red-haired woman, chatting and laughing like they’re the only people in the room.

She has her long fingers wrapped around his wrist, and he’s only looking at her. His big curious eyes focused on hers, the rest of us unworthy of his attention. I wonder why he didn’t think of having some class and going somewhere else.


I close my eyes and breathe in, thanking myself for replying vaguely to his texts this week about visiting him. I school my face back to casual boredom, trying to stop my hands from shaking. These feelings of rejection, I can handle. I’m familiar with them.

Thank Christ it ends here. I can’t look at him again.

I start playing Chopin’s nocturnes to match my mood and try to mute everyone around me. If I can get this set d

Marie A. Ciner


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