Curing the infection. 4

“This isn’t going to be some big revelation where I have this amazing voice.” Her voice is framed by the shine of streetlights outside, leaking through the gaps either side of the curtains behind her.
“That’s okay.” I can see the outline of her slouched shoulders, elbows resting on her knees.
“I’m serious.” She pauses. “A four out of ten.”
“Forty percent’s good enough to be heard out loud I reckon.”
She sighs and suddenly leans back, pushing her hair up and tying it.
“Is tying your hair up gonna make you sing better?”
“Can you see me!?” She straightens up, startled.
“I can see you moving a bit, yeah.”
“I don’t want to feel it around my face, it’s crowding me.”
“Okay, whatever.”
She inhales, then reaches up and pulls at the tie. The silhouette of hair falling back down around her cuts in front of the limited light, and I have to press my lips together to stop a laugh escaping.
“Shut up.”
“Are you gonna do this or what?”
A pause.
“Okay.”
“Stop fidgeting and just make noise, I’m not gonna do anything.”

“So this is love, mmmm, so this is love,
So this is what makes life divine,
I’m all aglow, mmmm, and now I know,
The key to our heaven is mine.
My heart has wings, mmmm,
And I can fly,
I’ll touch every star in the sky.
So this is the miracle that I’ve been dreaming of
-”
Her laugher breaks her singing and her head tips forward. Her head is inches from my face. She laughs until there’s silence.
“Keep going.”
“Mmmm, mmmm,
So this is love.”
Her note wanes, and eventually there’s silence again.
“You can sing.”
“I fucking can’t.”

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