I immediately stopped playing, took a moment to get a hold of myself and the current situation, and casually replied. "Come in."
The door handle turned slowly and carefully, before pushing open with a creak. Iris' red head peeped inside. I lowered the guitar and tilted my head as she strode inside hesitantly.
"Sorry it took so long, the, uh..."
"... something came up?" I asked, as she carefully placed the glass on the bedside table. The drink itself looked quite fresh, though it was probably just a regular orange juice.
"Yeah... Ivy wanted to help but she accidentally spilled some, and then we had to clean it, and then we had to find another orange..."
I let out a small chuckle at the thought of Ivy fumbling about like some newborn horse, though not in a mean-spirited way. I pictured my youngest sister running about, making a mess in her earnestness to do something for me.
"Thank you, Iris, this must've taken a while." I smiled warmly.
Her ears reddened visibly as I laid those eyes on her face.
"It... was nothing..."
I don't know why my sister was this awkward around me.
For such a delicate-looking, pale redhead to be constantly insecure and afraid of my reaction and disposition around her? You'd figure that women, in general, would be a bit more secure. Maybe in this world not as much, because society made them quite competitive among each other.
"You were playing just now..." She noted, still averting her eyes from me as she asked that.
"A little."
"Could you... maybe play something for me?" She asked, a little too quickly. And then, as if realizing her sudden request made her sound a little too forward or needy, she immediately stammered. "If you don't mind, of course... you play really well, and... and..."
"I don't mind." I cut her off before she could trip over her own words. "Anything you'd like to hear?"
"N-No... not specifically..." She shook her head, closing the door and settling quietly next to me. "Anything is fine..."
I think I got her point. It wasn't specifically about what was on the menu, as long as it came out of my brain. The problem was that I really didn't know what to play. I had a certain, fixed repertoire in mind, the pieces I had often listened to.
The problem with songs I knew was the same problem with everything else I'd brought over from my old life. They weren't mine. Not technically. Not in any way that would hold up if Iris looked at me and said where did you hear that, because the honest answer was a world you don't have access to, from a person I used to be, in a life that was already over.
'Better not risk it.' I thought, and so I went back to the humming I'd been doing before she knocked.
The fingers found their way back to the same sequence from before. I had to close my eyes to not get distracted with my sister looking so adorably coy by my side.
For a few moments, she sat and said nothing as I did what I was doing. In fairness, I wasn't saying anything either. My only defense was that she'd told me to play anything and so I did. I wish I could've sang something, but without prior practice, I doubted anything good could come out of it.
Instead, I hummed. I kept the volume modest, barely above the guitar itself, which meant anyone outside the door would've heard nothing but faint strings.
"Your voice is beautiful, Damien." She finally said, when I found a reasonable place to end my spontaneous solo. It felt somewhat awkward for me doing something like that in front of someone.
A beautiful young woman, no less.
I opened one eye, and smiled slightly at her. "Thanks. So is yours, though I never heard you sing..."
"Well..." Iris' lips turned up. "I never heard you sing either. Why don't you try?"
"In front of you?"
"Oh. Umh…” She blinked, scratching one cheek. “It doesn't have to be me. But if you don't mind, then I don't mind. Though if it makes you nervous, I'm perfectly fine with the humming and guitar, that was absolutely wonderful."
I lifted my eyes and squinted in an endearing manner.
"I don't have any good lyrics in particular, I don't think you want to hear me make them up in the middle of an impromptu act."
"Don't think so hard..." My sister told me softly. "Why not something else you know?"
"......"
That was the problem, I didn't know any songs from this world.
I pretended to think about it for some more, before snapping my fingers in an eureka moment. "Why not let me try coming up with something on my own? Don't you think that'll be fun? You could both listen and give feedback, since you were always my biggest critic."
"Biggest critic." She laughed a little, finding the notion ridiculous since, well, it was impossible for her to be critical of the big bro. "That's fine, Damien. I look forward to it."
She settled herself there. Close, as if waiting patiently for the muse to suddenly hit or something.
A second passed. Another.
I pursed my lips. "It... will take some time, you know? Creative process."
"Oh, right. Yes, creative process..."
Iris stood up, and the two of us gazed at the other for a moment. Her eyes seemed a little uncertain; they'd always been like that when it concerned me.
"Then, uhm..." She gestured awkwardly towards the door. "I'll let you get to it. Just... call me if you need me."
Her hands twisted, and then she paused, looking down at my hands on the guitar. I looked at her. Her hands. The room. Back at her.
I stared as my sister was apparently stuck in a glitch or something, because she was just standing there, in the middle of walking to the door, just staring down.
"What's wrong?" I asked. "You're not going to tell me to write a song about you, are you?"
A laugh, a little breathy and nervous.
"N-No, of course not, Damien."
"Then?"
"Nothing, nothing." She waved her hand.
Then she seemed to force herself to move.
The click of the latch felt final, leaving me alone again with the half-drunk juice, the guitar, and the strange sensation that out of everyone in this world so far, Iris was probably the one I needed to watch out for.
"......"
xXx
“So, I’ve heard that you’re playing the guitar again?”
In a house full of women, rumors spread wild and fast. Or maybe Willow had simply happened to catch my strumming when I thought I wasn't being loud.
"Only a little." I replied non-committally. "Trying to get back into it."
"Getting back into it is good." Willow nodded approvingly—at least, it was something she ranked above going to the gym. "You always had such a talent for it, Damien."
It was just the two of us, in the kitchen, somewhere between 2:00 and 2:30 in the morning. I had come down for a glass of milk, and my mother apparently had insomnia, sitting at the kitchen table with a half-full mug of something that smelled like herbal tea.
She looked tired, and I could only imagine this bout of restless sleep was a direct consequence of my taking over Damien's life. Being rebellious, while fun at first, caused nothing but anxiety for everyone else around.
Or maybe she was like that all the time. Though I figured OG Damien hadn't given her too many sleepless nights.
I didn't ask, but I might be over-thinking this.
We sat, face to face, quietly.
"Are you going to the gym tomorrow?" Willow broke the silence after a minute.
I nodded.
"I'll take you there."
"Thanks."
Another minute of silence.
I took a sip of milk, and she took a sip of tea. It'd definitely be suspicious and rude if I chugged the entire damn thing in one breath and bolted away from this awkward, tense atmosphere.
That would be the coward's way out. My mother had done nothing to warrant that.
And I had no way out of this mess unless I found a portal back home under my bed or something. So I had to adapt.
And my mother was, technically, my mother now.
"Damien..." Her voice dropped a little, silver eyes that must've been a blessing from genome editing or something equally ridiculous that was actually normal in this world. Whatever she was about to say, she decided that it was probably not worth the stress to her mental well-being, and took a deep, deep breath instead. "Nothing, just... keep playing."
She smiled.
Me playing the guitar likely made her see a fragment of the old Damien she was used to.
Two blurry versions of one self finally merging into a single, whole one.
I smiled back. "I will. In fact, I'll try to write a new song. A new me."
"A new song...?" Willow muttered in surprise. "You want to write a song?"
"Sure. Why not? I have some ideas. I've written down and scrapped a couple of lines." I shrugged. "Nothing's final, but it's a start."
"That's... wonderful." She tilted her head, relieving the poor mug of her anxious grip. "What kind of song is it?"
"......"
That's where, out of nowhere, I heard that familiar beat of Who Wants to be A Millionaire theme in my head, and was painfully reminded that my answer to the million dollar question here could very well result in me getting disowned.
Four possible answers presented themselves in front of me.
A. Love song.
B. Self-discovery piece.
C. Complaint-slash-rage against a corrupt establishment and society.
Or D. All of the above.
Any one of those could trigger a dangerous degree of maternal possessiveness, depending on the content and context and various other hidden factors. So I opted for a diplomatic option, or the option that's socially acceptable in 99.99% of any world.
"It's a song, Mom. How about we save the surprise till later?" I chuckled disarmingly.
She blinked, probably didn't anticipate me shutting down like this, the tone was a little too clipped there.
But rather than question it further, she chose to roll with it.
"Sure..." Willow slowly replied. She must've concluded that this was my 'creative process', and should not be messed with or interfered with. And it indeed should not. "Will I ever get to listen to it, though? One day?"
"I don't see why not."
I did have plans on possibly giving her a little snippet soon, at least a fragment, as proof-of-existence, as a good way to reassure and soothe the worry in her heart. If Damien could sing, Damien could sing love songs, ergo he couldn't possibly be an asexual sociopath incapable of forming proper relationships.
But until then...
"You should... I mean..." There was some hesitation there. The same type of hesitation that a mother had when she wanted to talk about something she'd normally be uncomfortable discussing. So, unless she was about to give me the talk, which I figured was unavoidable with no male figures to do it, she was probably about to bring up something equally awkward. "You should ask Calista for advice, she does this for a living, after all."
Wait. Calista?
My oldest sister, the 'Sydney Sweeney lookalike', with the perpetually unimpressed expression, and probably hated my guts for whatever reason?
"Oh... right?"
I didn't want to sound surprised, because that could've been something OG Damien already knew.
"Right." Willow gauged my expression. "She's a producer.”
A producer.
No way.
"......"
Willow must've misinterpreted my silence for something else, because she added warily but encouragingly. "You... it's about time you let it go already, Damien." She sighed. "It's been years. I thought things would’ve slowly gotten better over time. Can’t you… forgive her? And... you always looked up to her, remember? Before..."
Before.
Before.
That word, again.
What the fuck happened between Calista and I?
A/N: To be rev