my ass, and I jump down off of my own stool and move to stand directly in front of him.
“What the hell are you doing?” I hiss angrily at him as he lazily continues to pluck the strings.
“I’m accompanying you on guitar. Isn’t that what the whole nod was for?” he asks nonchalantly without looking up.
His careless attitude just pisses me off even more, and I reach out and yank the guitar away from him roughly before he can play it a second longer.
He crosses his arms in front of him and stares me down as I stand there holding my guitar awkwardly, out away from my body like it has a disease and I don’t want to get it too close to it for fear that it will rub off on me.
“This is MY guitar. It stays in MY house and no one plays it but ME,” I tell him angrily, sounding like a five-year-old throwing a temper tantrum. I should just stomp my foot and hold my breath while I’m at it. I don’t care how juvenile I’m behaving. He knows how important this instrument is to me, and he knows why it stays hidden away in a closet where no one can see it.
“Then play it.”
Finn speaks softly, his eyes never leaving mine. The crowd in the bar has disappeared and now it’s only the two of us on stage: two friends who know everything about the other and who are slowly using those things to destroy years of love and trust.
“What?” I ask dumbly.
He nods in the direction of my outstretched hand.
“Then. Play. It,” he repeats again slowly, enunciating each word. “If that piece of wood means so much to you, prove it.”
My hands start to shake and the weight of the guitar is beginning to hurt my arm, so I bring it in close to my body, swallowing roughly and trying not to cry.
“You treat that fucking thing like it’s the Holy Grail, but you never show it off. You want more out of your life, but you never do a God damned thing to make it happen,” he argues.
“You know why,” I whisper to him angrily. “You know why I can’t do this. You of all people should understand.”
He laughs cynically and shakes his head at me.
“You can’t use Eve as an excuse. Not this time. She’s not here. It’s just you, me, and a handful of people who just want to drink and listen to some good music. Stop being afraid for once in your fucking life. Stop listening to all of the voices in your head telling you why this is a bad idea and just listen to your heart. Bring out that firecracker I saw this morning that stood her ground, told me where to go, and smacked me across the face.”
Shame washes through me when he brings up what I did this morning. Shame for letting myself get so worked up over his words and letting my emotions take over.
“Wipe that look off your face right now,” Finn reprimands as he unfolds his arms and leans towards me. “I said some things I shouldn’t have, and you put me in my place. I deserved it. End of story. Do you want to always be the woman who does what she’s told or the woman who does what she loves and to hell with everything else? Because now is your chance to make that decision. Who do you want to be, Layla?”
My heart is pounding and the hands wrapped around the neck of my guitar are sweating as I contemplate his words. I know who I want to be. I’ve always known who I want to be. Could it really be as simple as making a decision and jumping off of the ledge into the unknown?
I turn away from Finn and scan the crowd. They are all laughing and having a good time, slinging back drinks with friends, and listening to the music piped through the sound system. They have no idea that a monumental decision is being made up here on this stage.
“Who do you want to be, Layla?”
I want to be free. For one moment in time, I just want to be free.
I clear my throat, my decision made, and perch on the edge of my stool with my guitar resting in my lap, one foot hooked on the top rung of the stool to balance my guitar and the other one planted on the ground. I hum a