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Masked Mistress Chapter 7

Naughty

By N MPublished 6 years ago 6 min read
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Joe let me go home for the night. I was wanting to stay to try and forget about this incident, but he demanded that I went home for obvious reasons.

Did this really happen? Was I just about to become a victim or a survivor?

My mind trailed into the endless possibilities of what would have happened. I felt disgusting, like a piece of meat, an object. I could still feel his aged skin against my body. I really needed to take a shower. I could still feel his tongue on my skin. I know he would have been seriously hurt by the guys and that he would've never been allowed back in but I couldn't shake the feeling of him being close to me right now, in this very second. What would have happened if he took my mask off? I don't even want to go there...

The trip back home was uneventful; my mind was too busy to notice anything in particular. The lights were the same, the night sky was the same, everything was the same. It was just me who had changed.

I got home. Finally, I thought climbing into the fresh warm water of the shower. Showers give me time to reflect. I tried to think of the positives of this situation but as much as I wanted to feel okay, I knew deep down I couldn't. I looked down at my bruising writs, noticed the pain on my jaw coagulating to form a fresh bruise and some of my hair falling out from the tugging. I must look like a mess.

I caught sight of my physique in the mirror. Eyes bloodshot, jaw slowly bruising, redness on my neck progressing. Scratches dominated my shoulders and forearms and I would see the muscles in my legs shake. My wrists looked painful but I felt numb. I knew if I felt something I would break down.

I wrapped myself in my white towel, walked precariously to my room. I changed into my tank top and boxers. Tonight I needed to write. I had to write music like the old me. Music that will be gone into the realms of my emotional baggage of uncompleted and un-notated music, to drift afar, forever to be forgotten, but the memory remains, creating an unrealistic drift on the passage of time. Giving one peace of mind, and hope to complete the next.

Well, that's how I think of it...

I stumbled to the piano, wincing at the pain that engulfs my body and feeling the cold warmth of the laminated flooring below my feet. The suede stool takes me in like a mother holding her child. I feel at home. I place my exposed feet upon the icy pedals, pressing down gently to create my favourite sound of silence. I place my delicately bruised hands to the keys, feeling the softness of the ivory. I close my eyes, knowing whatever music follows will sure help me in recovering from the precedents of the night.

I create my emotion. It engulfs the piano and makes it come alive. I see him, touching me, overpowering my very existence. I know my hands are hurting but the emotion I convey numbs the feeling of anything, as here I can let it go. I don't know what I create. I just go with whatever picture replays in my head.

I finish, feeling the sense of relief. I really needed that, creating music always helps me. I don't know why. I can't explain it. I just feel free.

As I let the pedal drift I hear creaking from my door. I jump out of my zone, starting to shake as I slowly turn my head to the direction of the sound. My eyes rest on Sam, looking stunned.

"What was that?" he asked with shock.

"What was what?" I explained I am honestly confused.

"That piece of music, who's the composer? It sounded so intricate yet so overpowering! And how did you play that with so much emotion? There is no music!" He was getting overly excited at the prospect of an unknown composer.

"That..... that was me," I said shyly looking and my wrists, trying so desperately to hide them.

"Yes, I know it's you playing but who wrote it?" He seemed annoyed by this point.

"Me Sam... That's me, I wrote it, just then." I was nervous. I don't compose like that in front of others. I tend to do that privately so no one sees my emotions.

Sam looked at me, staring at the piano, then me. His brain was ticking away, I don't know what at. He stared at me, deeply.

"That was one of the best pieces I have ever heard. Why haven't I seen this side to you before?" he asked softly. He had a hint of sadness in his eyes. What did I do?

"You didn't do anything wrong. You just... I can't put it into words.... but the way you write... touched me," he said,

"And yes you did say that out loud." He smirked.

I laughed a little, he always knew how to cheer me up.

He looked at me with proud eyes. He came closer, still keeping eye contact. I smelled his aftershave swift from his perfect skin and was engulfed in the feeling of safety. I was so distracted that I didn't notice him staring at my jaw.

"What happened to your jaw?" he asked innocently with a hint of concern, dwelling from his expression.

"I... I fell," I answered nervously, keeping the lie for obvious reasons. He could tell it was a lie.

"Tell me the truth, Noni, why are you all bruised up? Your wrists are bruised! Who did this to you?" He seemed angry at this point. I can't let him know! He grabbed my wrists to closer inspect the damage, looking concerned.

"I fell, Sam. Can we just drop it!" I demanded, shaking at the prospect of this situation.

"I need to know, Noni!" He stared at me protectively, a look I haven't seen from him before.

Just as the tension was thick enough to slice with a butter knife I heard the relieving sound of my phone. I quickly grabbed it and saw a text from Pat. Thank you, Pat!

"Hey guuurrrrrrlll, quick question about the essay......."

"Fuck, the essay!" I sighed. I forgot about that. Of all days, of all nights, why does it have to be now?

"Sorry, Sam, I have work to do for tomorrow, so can you leave me be?" I said in a monotoned voice, annoyed to think if he would question me anymore and at the fact I have a huge essay due, no thanks to his bitch of an ex-wife.

He left without saying a word and I got to work. Trying not to dwell on the way I spoke to him, I felt guilty as he was just concerned. I blocked out that feeling and set myself up for a long night of writing.

12 AM

...So with this chord, we can see the development of time and history, ....using the interval, augmented 4th, for this chord right back in the ninth century was deemed "the devils' chord" and created too much sexual tension when compared to today...... Major chords were predominant during the era where modes dominated.....

2 AM

....but with the use of bachs' Toccata, there is evidence to suggest this way of chord development is not new........ the use of added 7ths, 9ths, 11ths to chord brought a whole new colour to the music, which interestingly was used back in the medieval period.... without chords music would be bland and have no tension....... this is due to the biological and psychological effects of the human brain, noticing patterns and creating structure.......

5 AM

thus with the evidence shown and with other aspects to back up my argument, I believe chords to important in music......... to further emphasise Michaels' point of development.......

I had finally finished. I was exhausted. I had a 9 AM start the next morning—well, this morning. I saved my work and crashed, sleeping on my chair, head on the desk, finally drifting off to my craved sleep.

fiction
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About the Creator

N M

I want to be anonymous

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