m, Jocelyn. Your hands are a perfe

e he was asking me to pass the salt at d

conservatory where we both studied. My cello, my ticket o

voice, my story, the only things of value I had ever truly owned. Ei

my voice quiet but fi

so handsome and ch

olly is going through. Her hands are fa

rare nerve condition was stealing her dream of being a piani

hat about my scholarship? My c

hing. A good life, a way out of that hellhole you came from. The

his side, the love I thought we shared, was just a transac

gue further. He just gave me a look I had never seen be

or Molly, to cheer her up after my refusal. He begged me to come,

d in, the atmosphere felt wrong. Ethan' s friends, the ones

. I took a sip. That wa

, chemical smell filled my nostrils. Two of Ethan' s friends were holding my shoulders

t they felt distant, numb. A deep, terrifying t

phant smirk on her face. She

ice dripping with fake sympathy. "Guess you

ng. He wouldn't meet my eyes. He jus

celyn," he said, his voice f