The Why
SARAH
Well, well, well. Ronan began.
But my father gave him a short look as he said, "Ronan, to my office."
Ronan was about to utter a retort when he thundered, "Now!"
Ronan gave me the stank eye before he turned and walked towards my father's study. My father then turned back towards me and Ryan saying,
"Right this way."
We went towards the library where I realised my father had set up everything ready. And then he said, "If you need anything else, just call me or call out."
He started laughing. The laugh was awkward and I realised he was also maybe not sure about this. Maybe he had second thoughts about this. And I was waiting for him to say, I'll stay with you. But instead, he said,
"I don't want Ronan to wreck my office. I'll see you in a little while."
And then he kissed my forehead and left us in the library. Of course, for his credit, he didn't close it behind him.
I turned to look at Ryan and found him already watching me. I swallowed.
"So, let's begin," I suggested, to get this over with as soon as possible.
Ryan nodded. He pulled out a seat, sat down, and then said towards me, “Shall we begin?”
I took the seat next to him but made sure there was a lot of space between us. He didn’t say anything else but was able to keep the conversation going. It seemed like he didn’t want to be here either.
He pulled the laptop closer but a bit towards my side so both of us could see through it as his fingers started working on it before he asked,
“So what do you want to study?”
I swallowed. It felt weird to tell him what I wanted to, but I guess he was going to know, so I better tell him now.
“I don’t know, music therapy, I think.”
“Do you think or have you already decided? Because I'm not here to caress your feelings.”
Wow. I just realised that Ryan is an asshole.
With a tight smile, I say, “Music therapy.”
“Hmm,” he says, and then he looks at me almost like he's just seeing me for the first time. “Are you back to playing the piano again?” he asks.
That surprises me as my eyes guard towards him. I never really knew they ever really noticed what I did.
“Yeah, but I haven't played for a very long time. I think I will need to take classes or something.”
“No, you don't,” he says, his eyes back on the laptop screen again. “You are a natural,” he says.
It's almost like he doesn't realise the compliment he just gave me, and I try to make it normal, try to make it like it doesn't mean anything. It's not anything really, but it gives me a stupid hope I know I shouldn't have.
Thereafter, we don't say anything that doesn't have to do with the application. It's just where he's asking me things and putting in details without even asking me most of the time about my details like: you know, my birthday, my address, my phone numbers, those kinds of things. He doesn't even ask me. I'm watching so I can see the details he's putting in.
And then he asked me, “Did you prepare, your essay?”
I say, surprised. “I didn't know I was supposed to.”
“Of course you didn’t,” he says.
The way he says it, it sounds condescending. Almost like, of course, I’m an idiot. How would I know I was supposed to write an essay?
“I’ll, I’ll, I’ll do it today,” I say.
“No worries. I can do it right now.”
He then opens a page and starts going and going and going. I read, I try reading through the lines of what he is typing. And I mean, he's typing almost like it's me. And he is writing all the right details about me, about being born without my mother, looking so much like her.
Although he can't say how much I used to detest that. He writes about what a blessing it was, talking about starting school and then living with my brothers and then getting homeschooled from there on. He's saying all the right things until he reaches the place where he has to explore, he wants to write why he wants to study music therapy, which is why I did.
And that's when he turns towards me and says, “Why do you want to study music therapy?”
I realised then that when I talked to Cullen, when I told my dad, the people who, I can say, are the only people in the world that care about me, they never really asked me that question.
Why?
“Why music therapy?”
And I can't come up with one single reason. So I say the closest one.
“It just seemed obvious. I thought about music and I found myself going through music courses when I thought it would be good to offer help to people who need it.”
But he was still watching me. And not watching me as if I'm a car. Not watching me as if he hated me. But watching me as if he had suddenly found me curious. I don't know if that's bad or good.
But then his next words really shocked me to the core.
“Please don't tell me you decided to study this course because of Ronan,” he says.
My eyes narrow. “So you mean....” his starts leaning into his chair. It’s almost like he has started relaxing, like he wants to be a normal human being for once.
“We both know Ronan is a psycho,” he says. “And if you think that studying this is going to help him in some way, you're very wrong.”
“Well, I never really thought about Ronan when I was choosing my courses. I don't want to be anywhere near him.”
“Good choice. That's a very good move. Stay away from him.”
His hands go towards the screen again. He starts typing. He clears it, deletes it. He writes and then he deletes it again. And then he's like,
“Is this about you?” He asks, but he's not really looking at me. He's looking at the screen.
I kind of know what he's asking about. I don't want to admit it.
“What do you mean?” I ask instead.
“Is this about what happened to you with Ronan? The drowning? That trauma you carried? Is that why you want to study this course?” he asks.
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