Page 36 of Total Exposure

Something leaves me in this moment.

Something not worth keeping, I think. It’s dread, maybe. Or anxiety. Or fear. Maybe it’s fear?

Or, I think, maybe it’s something returning and not leaving. Maybe it’s curiosity.

When was the last time I was curious about a person? Or anything?

And the recordings of child prodigies don’t count. Because I know why I was doing that now. That was the very first thing Lucinda and I worked out.

I wanted to feel safe in their failures so I didn’t judge myself too harshly.

Almost all of them had trouble as adults. Most of them stopped playing just like me. They made me feel like a statistic. I wanted to feel like a statistic.

When I finally said all that out loud Lucinda smiled at me and said, “How does it feel to be reduced to a number?”

That was the first time I really thought about why I had this fear of being watched.

“Not good,” I said back.

I felt very used, honestly. Like I was nothing but a fulfilled expectation.

I’d worked that out as a teenager too. I remember feeling used, voicing that feeling to my parents. And I remember their reaction. And what my father said next. How I agreed, and did what he asked. Let him use me again. And then…and then, when it came right down to it, I didn’t. I refused. I took a step away. A step forward. I fixed things. Made them better.

But then why did everything get worse?

Fuck. Let it go!

Anyway, when I called up my old agent and told her to schedule the performance, Lucinda said, “How does it feel to want something?”

“Exciting,” I said. “And scary. Mostly scary.”

And now I know why. Because it was a lie.

She was right. I was never going to go through with it. That’s why I was getting worse instead of better. I needed an excuse to back out.

But then every time I thought about backing out I just wanted to vomit.

The birds are suddenly gone, the room quiet.

And then the light on the bedside table, the soft one lighting up a porcelain moon that absolutely belongs in a child’s bedroom, dims and then darkens. Like it was on a timer.

Maybe my whole life is on a timer and now it’s over?

I close my eyes and force myself to stop thinking, listen to the winter wind outside the windows of this stranger’s bedroom, and pretend I hear a whisper in its blowing gale.

The wind says, “Good night.”

Chapter Eleven -Bric

To call myself mesmerized at how the evening plays out would be an understatement. Once I decided on the substance of the note and placed it next to her sleeping body in the library, I went up to the third floor and pulled back the bed covers. I found the little moon nightlight in the nursery and set the timer for ninety minutes, which was as long as it would set to.

I got a little lost in the family who no longer lives here. Who were they? Where did they go? Who owns the house and how the hell are the two of us in here playing this sick little game without them knowing? Objecting?

I made a note to ask Jordan about it the next time we talked, knowing I’d never get that answer. For all I know, this is his house. Maybe he has a family? Maybe he sent them all off on vacation until this little experiment was over? How the hell would I know? I haven’t really talked to him in years. Why the hell do I care?

I convince myself I don’t. Care.

But then I went back down to my basement control room, searched the internet for recordings of songbirds, pumped one through the library speakers at a soft volume, and made myself comfortable while I waited her out.