T h i r t e e n

A  M u s i c  P r o d i g y

Music was a part of me when I was growing up. There was never a moment where I wasn't humming the previous piece I was playing or gently tapping my fingers on any surface I lent my arm in support.

Even now, just waiting for the kettle to boil, I could hear the song forming into my head and slowly thumping on the tip if my toes. I looked down and smiled to myself, a little thought of sentiment at the times I'd accidentally trip over something due to the movement of my feet. So to stop myself, I pushed myself back and took a huff.

My smile faded instantly, I didn't exactly know: but the thoughts returned back to my head. Reality returned back to my head, and all I could think was everything that had happened a few weeks back. MCM Comic Con with the Yogscast did not turn as good as I expected.

Instead of waiting around, I bit my lip and walked over to other side of the open planned living room and kitchen. I had my cello tucked between the shelves but my flute and violin just by the television. Two cases had caught my eyes, wondering what I could pass the time with.

Eventually, I picked up the bigger case, leather and a little dusty from the scarce amount of time. Whenever I haven't played an instrument, there was pang in my heart that always made me crease my brows. It wasn't guilt nor any physical pain. It was just there.

So once I unlatched the lock, my face gazed down at the hundred-year-old instrument.

And once my fingers touched the fine wood, I took a breath.

____

Fingers gracefully moved along the neck of the instrument, pressing strongly onto the strings despite the small scale in proportion to the large wooden object. Her knees ached from stabling the fully body as she shook her wrist and pulled back the bow. A gently melodic scale echoed the small music room, and the cello bellowed a deep smooth sound as she pressed the bow once more.

[Y/N]'s eyelids were shut, concentrating on the vibrato as she slowed down to the fourth last bar of the piece. 

It was all in her head; there was not even a sheet that was visible for her. She remained her gentle decrease on pace until she finished with a two different pitches playing at the same time. It was what made her lips crease upwards; a thought of triumph. She had finally mastered it.

When both eyes opened wide, they both stared emotionless at the wall in front of her. Nothing but a painting - a painting of a particular place. He was the one who gave it to her. Her father. It was a simple picture, but it held a lot of sentimental value to her and her father. The painting was from a Dutch street painter, she assumed it by the cheap canvas painting and the viscosity of the oil paint popping out in vibrancy.

To her, the painting didn't make any sense of her. A narrative of two people - man and woman - walking on the bridge in Amsterdam. But as a seven year old, she ignored it all over on the context.

From then, she got up and trudged her cello back into the case, carelessly placing the bow onto the desk which was piled with books and sheets of music. The table creaked as she bumped her hip as she exited the room, and she frowned in annoyance at it.

'I need to fix that,' [Y/N] huffed in her head before she skipped along and hopped downstairs. Abruptly, her instincts could not help but stare outside. It was by mean already the evening, and she was almost desperate in her eyes to find something - or someone - down below in the road. A car perhaps, or a silhouette walking down onto the lamp post spotlight. She wanted to see him, see if he was coming home that night.

Because in truth, she never really saw her father for a year.

Straight after moving in, she was left at the doorstep - her mother by her side. She had watched their old Ford car descending down the road whilst she focused on the horizon, trying to find his face in the side-view mirror. To tell the truth, she was imploring for his smile - to see him once more. But that was a year ago. A year without a father and a large empty house for herself.

When she got down to the  open planned landing, she heard her mother singing along the radio. It was in another language - her mother's language. It was an understanding language, but it took her a while to digest most of it. She found it fascinating: the odd conversations and translations her mother would do in her private study. To her dismay, [Y/N] was never allowed in the study at all.

But overall: she was curious. And when she heard that her father might be home tonight (she found this out a few days ago), she felt something in her chest thump rapidly.

However: one thing to know about [Y/N]: was that she never understood feelings and emotions. She did not notice this, oblivious whenever her mother frowned at her after explaining a whole section on French history in her school's 'Show and Tell'. Her mother was appalled when she told her that she dressed up the bear in a peasant style look to show what it was.

In conclusion: she stood out from the crowd. A genius...and yet no knowledge of the heart.

Maybe that was why she never got along with her mother. Mrs. [L/N] wanted her to act like all the other girls - for instance Philippa Brindley and Georgia Summers - and 'fit' into a certain group in the nearby infant's school.

To her: the only person who accepted - and to her acknowledgment - was her father.

So once her mother called her to get the table ready, she grinned to herself at the thought of her dad coming home. Three sets of dinner plates, cutlery and glasses were on the table after she had finished and her mother wryly gone with a side smile as she explained her father was definitely coming home.

"You've heard," Her mother stated and she nodded as she got up onto her seat.

She replied, "Yes. So is it possible if we could wait for a little longer? Please." She added at the end, glancing up her mother's eyes.

"You know it's going to get cold, [Y/N]." Her mother retorted. "And your father wouldn't want you eating anything cold just for the sake of waiting."

Then she answered, "Maybe if we keep the cottage pie in the oven in low heat, we could wait longer for him?"

It was as if she knew that her mother was going to sigh. "Just please eat your dinner. I am not going to argue all over this nuisance."

A scoop of pie in her spoon, she took a bite and began to eat. It was true: there wasn't a point of arguing this time. After all, both of them wanted him home - and having an exasperated wife and an upset only child wouldn't be a good spectacle. Instead, she slowly ate on purpose with rare glances in front of her and not even touching her glass of water.

Then she heard the rattling of keys...and the sound of the door unlocking.

"Dad's here!" Her eyes shone so brightly, that is could have popped out so suddenly as she hopped out of her seat and scrambled out of the dining room.

She found her father carrying a brief case and bags under his eyes. It was a sight she had expected after a year away from work. His stature was a tired one, and yet he still stood tall and little bit of pride in his shoulders. Both their eyes connected, and the faint sorrow was replaced by a growing glee and jubilant.

"You stuck to my promise." She faintly spoke with a smile.

He chuckled and had her envelope into an embrace. "Of course I did, little Einstein. I would never break a promise to my only little girl."

He thanked her daughter as she was sturdy and balanced on the stool by the coat hanger. There was a wooden shelf full of shoes. Her father then asked, "Should you not be at the table eating cottage pie?"

There was gleam in his eyes when she looked up, but she was afraid by the tone of voice that slowly crept up to her head. Looking away, she waited for her dad to finish placing the shoes back onto the usual place she left empty. They were always at the top left; it was easy for him to quickly grab and slip on without having to bend down.

He always winced whenever he bent down, and she decided not to ask about it. Politeness was what her mother taught her, but she couldn't resist even making assumptions.

Then, the girl felt a hand on her shoulder. She glanced up and saw her dad and then she said, "I wanted to wait for you. I know mum likes me to eat on time. But..."

"[Y/N]," He sighed. "I know you want to wait for me, tell me what you've done at school. However, you need to consider that my work doesn't have an exact timetable. They need me once in a while."

She nodded. "I know; you told me that you're a consultant for them." The girl didn't say anything else but that. She understood the consequences - and at the age of seven: clearly moving wasn't a change.

Only the scenery had changed for the young girl, and nothing changed for the people in the household. Her mother was still controlling yet motherly as always whilst her father was kind and calculating. They ate normally their dinner, mentioning more about their young daughter's life rather than their own. A reason really, was that the girl didn't exactly knew about their work.

Their jobs were a secret, and that was the biggest mystery [Y/N] wanted to know from then on...

It was a slow finish, gently pulling out the note for a long time as I vibrato my fingers on the string. My eyes flickered open, and I noticed five minutes had passed. The water in the kettle was already boiled - so I decided to place my bow and cello back into the case. But my movements were static, since my mind was right onto the memories I had just opened up.

'Just a memory.' I shook my head. 'Before all shit went to dust and here I am.'

It was an honest statement really, and it was just the anger that surprised me once I slammed my mug down onto the counter table. "That's going to wake George up." Muttering to myself, I took a sip and planned to ignore what just happened in my head.

Once I finished, I could not help but look at the cello case once more. It was as if it radiated of the memories, pulling me closer to it. By then, I shook my head again. I then sighed, "Maybe work would pull my mind off it..."

'Or even of everything.'

____

During my lunch break, I had planned to waste my time at the park.

In honesty, I didn't really know what pulled me and urged me to see the greenery, multiple dog walkers and teenagers who chose to spend their holidays in the city rather than the coast. Maybe it was the procrastinating thinking which got me tugging my bicycle around.

By the time I spotted an empty park bench, I propped it against the black metal arm. I made sure it wouldn't slip off or crash down to the grass whilst I took out my lunch out. As well as that, I took out my book and pen, slipping the pen in the fold of my ear. I could have just taken everything one by one, but I managed to balance everything.

So there I was, sitting down nonchalantly - taking a bite of my apple whilst the world passed around me. Though most of the focus was onto a new page, mainly consisting of main emotions and observations I've had around me today. It was repeated to be honest, and nothing caught my eyes apart from some passerby. The sonder was only a flicker, but it was a slow understanding to my mind.

Yes: people had complex minds and probably a unique life story as well. But there was always the curiosity why we thought of this as if it was a revelation.

'Maybe what George said: all human have care in them.' I nodded to myself, even though to myself: I didn't understand the concept either way. 'Or I've forgotten it, I'm not sure.'

____

The park was fairly small, and yet it felt like a series of mazes for the little girl. A year had passed, she had barely seen her father by then and she was clearly wanting to make up the time lost with him. There was no words or spoken sentences, just a quiet stroll in the park. Her hands were wrapped around his large firm ones, calloused and still fitting perfectly at her small yet strong ones. After all the string playing, she had mastered keeping her fingers still soft and delicate.

They were down the gravel path, right through the beech trees and blackberry thorn bushes until they spotted the open area.

The playground was adequate for it's size, with a metal barred fence surrounding it. There was safety sign, a swing, a slide, roundabout and a set of monkey bars. The slide was a little wet, probably from the rain last night; the swing wasn't exactly stable and the roundabout was screeching and roaring in pain from the lack of oil.

However, she took no notice of these observations and only thought of the time. She tugged her father down to it and urged him to push her on the swings.

"Come on, you can't be that tired at all!" She playfully grinned, making her father almost sigh and grin back. But instead he faintly smiled, the tired eyes eventually slipping through and into her head. She was a little guilty for pulling him up at nine in the morning, but time was time. Her father did not have enough of it.

He spoke, "Only if you push me on the swing as well, [Y/N]." There was no reaction, but a firm nod from his daughter. He tried to make his daughter happy, but it was difficult for a man with a position in a place like his own.

The girl herself, contemplated this too. Nothing was mentioned of a brother nor sister in her family. Not even a cousin or a niece. Maybe that's why she craved for her father's attention; she never got much from her mother - only a control push in school.

"Roundabout, next?" He suggested to her, and she panted a yes and raced to go to hop onto it. Both of them pushed for it to go, and the two of them hopped on. A little smile was fastened onto her face for the rest of the time at the park, and he was relieved and glad about.

Because to him, all he felt were eyes on him and his daughter. Though maybe it was the paranoia he felt, which always was there - but it was just at the back oh his mind whenever she was here. His job was in fact: dangerous. However, he would never admit it to [Y/N] at this age.

She was just a child. A bright and observant child after all. She would eventually know once something happens to him.

____

I finished writing and flicked back to reality again. The sun was still out, but I felt a little blinded when something suddenly impacted my shoulder blade. It was ball, and I turned around to find a group of boys running up to me from the field. I didn't really know what to say, though I did place down my stuff - and gave the ball back at them.

"Thanks, pretty lady." The boy with the muddy jeans and hoodie said. And I replied with a nod.

I then replied with a side smile. "You should get going, but don't try and run too much."

"Oh yeah," He tapped his right leg with a little laugh after - the metal leg glinting in the light. "They wanted me to play, but hell they get rough sometimes."

I knew that my eyes softened at his gaze at me. Maybe it was the sympathy, or that I knew so much by just looking at him. "Just go for it, mate. You seems very good for a football player."

When he grinned back, we both heard his gang of friend shouting in the distance. I didn't say goodbye or vice versa. Both of us nodded, a little surprise between ourselves until he was the one who turned his back to leave. I returned back to my seat - staring in front almost in awe. Nevermind 'sonder', there was no realization of people's life stories. I knew it too well to just justify my answers.

Like him: somehow he caught up on how I knew about his injury. He hadn't reached my age yet, but it almost made me so vulnerable. To see a child that grew up with a pain that will last him fro a long time. My hands began to sake, and water filled my eyes.

I shut my eyes closed.

Around my neck, I fiddled with the pendant on the chain.

However, I quickly wiped the tears. 

With a deep breath, I decided to remove that memory.

____

I got back to work after lunch at the park, situating my bike at the usual spot and asking any questions at my coworkers as they stopped me on my way to my desk. They were discussing more on the new project that my manager was simply eager to keep my eyes on, and it was a little pushy. 

But of course it was my job to make sure the software and computer systems were running smoothly, not arguing over the amount of work place in my shoulders.

So after the fifteen minute prelude of my afternoon work, I did manage to get back to my desk. Huffing, I sat down and turned on my computer once again. My papers and pen were still placed on the desk as I put it and I noticed a new coffee stain. It was probably the new intern, always putting down a coffee even though I ignored anyone surrounding me or whenever I was gone out.

The hour passed by smoothly, and I got a third of the planning done and tweaked to improvement. Even my colleague who I worked with this had needed a little explanation as we discussed it over hand, she was interrupted when a familiar silhouette stood behind me. I flicked around: finding my manager once again with a smile.

"Afternoon, [Y/N]." They spoke.

I nodded and said the same thing, but all I focused on was someone completely different. It was the woman right next to them. She has a sharp facial feature, and yet it glowed and softened in the bright lights of our office. She had [H/C] that was tied back in an intricate bun and a glossed up nude shade of lipstick and eye shadow.

She was single due to the lack of ring that possessed on her left finger and her nails were painted red. Tight clothing showed her slim figure, but the clothes were of a middle class background. She was studious by the understanding whilst my manager spoke to me about the project and always jotted down the notes as I explained.

But by the time she checked her phone, I almost seemed to turn rigid.

On her contacts was someone very familiar.

Lewis.

'There are lots of people named Lewis, idiot.' I told myself, but by Lewis' previous description on his girlfriend (which was intelligent, sexy and a listener) it might narrow it down.

"Is that okay with you?" My manager repeated again.

I vigorously nodded and spoke: "Yes of course. I'll check over the files again before I send them to the California company."

The two thanked me and my coworker once again. And before they left to walk out, they then mentioned the woman beside them. "Oh by the way, this is our new secretary. Miss Matthews. Dare I say, she is incredible at her work. Apparently, she knows you, [Y/N]."

"Oh really," It's all I could say, restraining a sarcastic remark and a raised eyebrow.

She then spoke, perfectly in a London accent: "Lewis has told me about you, [Y/N]. I didn't know you worked for the government?"

It was't a question.

"Well yes." I replied, a little wary of her niceness, but still warming very softly at her. She was Lewis' new girlfriend after all: I was't going to go all ape on her because he didn't tell me about her. "This company does work with British Intelligence. Confidential and all."

'Confidential, my ass.' I thought in my head.

"Of course," It was then my manager interrupted. Finally. They then told her to follow them and I forced to watch her smile faintly back before racing due to our manager's large steps.

My coworker luckily didn't say anything, and I was relieved that they didn't even speak at me for my actions. It was clearly the first time I face someone who quickly pried my emotions out. And that was what shaken my head. It was always a slow process until you could sense my sarcasm. But not to her.

It could be my paranoia. Or just the amount of memories once I heard her say those words. Government and M16.

I narrowed my eyes when she was in the distance. 'I need keep an eye on her.'

However: I planned to keep this memory in my head. It was interesting... and I thought then that this would be a very interesting project with Miss Matthews.

____

A/N: Here's an extra long chapter. And I am so sorry for posting this so late! So much revision for GCSEs (UK Examinations) and I feel very behind in my courses.

But let's conclude this chapter:

- We get an insight on Her family relationships. (Particularly her father)

- Her hobbies and more on her personality

-And finding out Lewis' new girlfriend. Is she going to be nice? Why does she feel a bit off when she mentions the very words defined?

More coming soon :) Hoped you enjoyed this chapter.

-SierraOwls