Errol

Doctor Brown had assured me that in due time I would make a full recovery, but only if I took it easy. I think that was just one of his many ploys to assure I wouldn't touch the piano keys for a while, thus ruining my career. He thought he was slick but I was on to the motherfucker.

He insisted I continue to make visits for progress check ins and schedule massages, but I assured him that after this last cast was removed, he would never be seeing me again. I kept true to that as well, forcing Hendrix to find a new doctor right after my last visit. She of course continued to insist I was overreacting, but there was just something about him.

Dinkleberg.

Of course I didn't take it easy. How could I? I was at the height of my career before the accident, and all I had left was the damn piano. How does one gently let go of something that helps them sleep easier? Helps with all the anxiety? Literally tethers their existence?

Yeah, no. It was like free therapy.

My father tried to do that parental thing after the accident, where they lay down rules, but the look I gave him from the hospital bed let him know I'd break every finger trying to play again if I wanted to... and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. I wasn't a child anymore, at least not in the eyes of this countries healthcare system, seeing how they ripped me off my parents plan almost a year ago when I turned 26.

The dynamic between my father and I was never like that anyways. He could lay down all the rules he wanted, but he and I both knew who truly held the gavel in this family... and she wasn't here anymore.

Or maybe she passed it off to Hendrix, because that witch was perfect at getting me to do things. Well, not perfect but pretty damn close. Her and my mum were like two peas in pod, bouncing off each others energy as they both tore into me with jokes. They were also the two most supportive people in my life, and it was a lot of pressure on Hendrix to hold the fort down now.

I couldn't be more grateful that she was a tough nut to crack, especially under pressure.

I'd put her through it this last year, and every time I thought about it, I felt guilty. Guilty with my mother, and how I was handling my career after her death. Stressing Hendrix who put her neck out on the line for me constantly. My mother poured her soul into my talent, and every time I found myself in bed with a hangover and another naked woman, it felt like I was taking everything she did and shoving it down a garbage disposal.

It made me sick to my stomach.

When Monday morning finally came around, I managed to get up early for maybe the first time since my mothers funeral. Somehow, I had put myself to sleep before midnight on Sunday, and when the seven o'clock alarm went off on my phone, I felt myself stirring awake almost immediately.

My first reaction was usually the snooze button. I could hit snooze on an alarm well into the afternoon, no problem. I couldn't figure out how to fix that part of myself either, I even tried removing the option to hit snooze, but then I'd just turn off the alarm and who knows when I'd get up again.

It was a lose lose situation.

This time around though, I had some newfound energy. Enough to do a quick scramble around my room and pick up some clothes.

The amount of clothes I found that weren't mine, made me uncomfortable. I couldn't tell whether I was more disappointed with myself, or women that left very nice bras behind so carelessly.

Wouldn't you, I don't know, feel that missing?

I tried not to think about it much as I tossed them in the trash. There was no reason to try hunting down the owners, I couldn't remember half of them, and the other half probably had me blocked by now. That was, if they even had my number to begin with.

After the quick clean up, I got ready to go see Atlas.

At first, I tried to look more presentable. The day we met, I was looking rough. Like very fucking rough. A night out heavily drinking just to deal with Hendrix and work issues after, had changed my whole appearance completely. That hangover might've deterred me from drinking for the next few months... although it always took just one minor inconvenience to reel me back in.

I was about halfway through styling my hair before my hand froze, and realization hit me like a fleet truck.

"Oh..." I thought, thinking back to those pale blue eyes. "He can't even- what the fuck am I doing?" I asked myself in the large bathroom mirror. My idiot of a self just stared back. We looked at each other, daring the other to explain themselves. "Confidence?" I asked questioningly, thinking back to something Hendrix had mentioned at my mothers funeral.

She was helping me fix my tie in one of those extra funeral home rooms, as I tried to pull it together...

"No one's going to see it. I don't know why I care," I had mumbled to myself, holding my hands at the side. They were both in braces from the accident, and no pain killers in the world could help with the pain I was feeling. A horse tranquilizer would come close though, I thought to myself.

Hendrix slipped the tie through the loop correctly, giving the fabric a firm tug up. "You noticed," she replied with a small smile. "Even if someone else can't see it, you see it. You know. Fixing something so seemingly useless could give you more confidence... maybe a little more courage too." That smile felt painful. "We all could use some of that right about now."

She whispered that last part to me, before she flattened out the tie and stepped back to give me a nod of approval.

"And courage, or whatever." I added, still speaking to my reflection as I gave myself a firm nod. My hands resumed styling my hair, and I couldn't help but smirk a bit. It genuinely felt good to go the nine yards with getting ready, like I used to. To care about some of those things that I had let slip after my mothers death.

I grabbed the razor next, and freshened up the beard that had started to form over months of laziness. Even the smallest bit of facial hair aged me at least ten years, and this was just embarrassing now.

Once I was finally content with my morning routine, the person staring back at me through the mirror was a familiar old friend.

"Let's rock and roll," I mumbled to myself, flipping the bathroom light off on my way out.

The one thing I didn't account for this morning, was the amount of traffic on the road. That was stupid on my part considering it was a Monday morning, but this bumper to bumper ride added an additional twenty minutes to my already far drive. By the time I made it to the studio, I was late.

"So much for an early start." I sighed aloud as my feet carried me through the familiar entrance.

Just like before, there wasn't anyone at the front desk. I was starting to think the whole office setup was just for show. My memory served me well, as I found Atlas's studio room with ease. His was the only studio with its metal door cracked open, and I could hear voices carrying through to the corridor.

"What time was he supposed to get here?" A woman said.

"About fifteen minutes ago," A man's voice replied. I recognized it as Atlas immediately.

"Well, I'll stay another few minutes just in case."

"I think I can manage without you Nyra, it's just a quick meeting," Atlas replied. Nyra I guess her name was, just responded with a laugh. "Is there someone there?" Atlas added, throwing me off completely as it took me a moment to realize he was talking to me. The person who was currently lurking behind the cracked door like a creep.

"I-" I started awkwardly, stepping in front of the open door to reveal myself. There was a woman standing besides Atlas, who was sitting in the same spot he was last week, molding clay. She was beautiful, I noticed that almost instantly. Her deeply tanned skin looked like it was glowing from the sun pouring through the large open ceiling to floor windows. When my eyes panned from hers to Atlas, I realized just how picture perfect they both looked.

Like they were in the middle of some pottery photoshoot or something. It made me respect my decision to work on my appearance, regardless of whether or not it made me late.

"It's so creepy how you can do that," Nyra whispered to Atlas. His lips tugged into a slight smirk. I watched as his hands delicately handled the clay, smoothing out the rougher parts with more water. Something about him working was fascinating, besides the obvious- like him being able to do all this without his sight. "You must be Errol," Nyra continued, turning her attention back to me.

"Yes- I'm sorry, I'm a bit late." I replied, offering one awkward embarrassed smile to Nyra.

"Believe me when I say... we weren't holding our breath," Atlas replied in the same uninterested tone he had last week.

And that was the start to what became one of the longest meetings of my life.

••