Page 23 of Whiskey and Regret

“I’m leaving just give me a minute.” I hopped off her desk and made my way back to Apollo. “Ask her out,” I said, poking his chest. “At least for lunch. If you don’t, I’m going to bother you every chance I get, and trust me, I can be super annoying.”

“I’ve gathered.” He stood up fully and tilted his head down to look at me. “Don’t make it a habit of bothering me with civilian problems when I’m on duty.”

“I’ll make my habits as I please, Apollo. Now, go ask my sister out. Go.” I shooed him in her direction and he ambled over begrudgingly while trying not to glare at me.

“Would you like to grab lunch, Navy?” I wondered if she could tell his voice thawed about a half-degree when he spoke to her? I heard it.

“Um, sure, Apollo. I’m sorry my sister is crazy.”

Good. She used me as the common ground.

“Understatement.”

“I know a restaurant down the block if you like Chinese food.” Navy’s smile was so gorgeous. Seemed like Apollo noticed too.

“Sure.” His conversational skills needed work. Bad.

I made a mental note to help him out when he wasn’t on duty.

…

When I got back to my apartment, I lit candles and pulled in a deeply relaxing breath before sitting in front of my harp. My hands tingled and throbbed from my proximity to Sunshine. I sank my fingers into the strings and plucked out the scales going up then back down over and over until my body hummed and the fine hairs on my arm stood on end.

Beethoven threaded through the muscles in my shoulders, wrapping around my arms and flowing through my fingers. The music was haunting and gorgeous. My feet moved up and down on the pedals while my hands worked to spin notes into the air from nothing.

The feeling of passion coursing through me was unmatched by anything else. Nobody understood my love for the harp. The way it made me feel inside, the way it cleared my mind and turned it into a blank page. The way I could lose myself between the gorgeous sounds.

Nobody understood what that felt like. It was lonely but I was used to it. Most people didn’t experience passion the way I did. Not until it tingled gave you a high that rivaled cocaine hitting your bloodstream. Most people experienced passion in a romanticized sense. They thought about passion as something to be loved that enriched your life for the better. Something you could do forever without stopping.

That was bullshit.

It wasn’t passion at all.

Passion was indeed beautiful but it was hideous first. It was a festering incessant thing that grew inside of you until it consumed you, transforming you into a machine. Passion put pressure on you to compete with yourself time and time again. It did enrich you but not before it shredded you to the marrow and left you questioning your sanity.

Sometimes it left people broke. Sometimes it left people crazy. Sometimes it turned people delusional and made them think they didn’t have to live in the real world. People like me.

Passion itself wasn’t pretty. It only produced pretty results for people to consume. Consumers didn’t see the blood. The tears. The self-doubt. The sour. The bitter. The late nights. The deadlines.

I played the harp until passion rained down my eyes. Until I felt like I’d confessed my sins. All the sins I didn’t even know I committed. They came out when I played.

I let my hands fall to my side then I stood and gave Sunshine a slow stroke. I was going to be a nervous wreck when the movers came for her tomorrow. She was a big girl and it wasn’t easy to maneuver her without proper knowledge. “I won’t let them toss you around, Sunshine.” I sighed, resting my cheek against the ornately carved wood. “I’ll come back home tonight and get you ready to be moved. I have to pick up Frankie though.”

Yes, I talked to my harp…out loud.

…

I pulled up in the car line at Frankie’s school and the nun in charge of pick up eyed me like I was a stranger. I was there to pick her up yesterday. I didn’t get all the extra side-eying.

I inched up to her and put the car in park before rolling the window down and quickly, muting Mary J. Blige on my stereo. “Hi, I’m here for Frankie Freeman.”

The nun narrowed green eyes at me then tipped her nose in the air.

“You were only approved for yesterday. I didn’t see your name or vehicle on today’s list.”

“Oh, okay. Let me call her father to get this all sorted.”

“Next!”