Broken Strings (Prodigy: 2)

Intoxicating

"It is unfair, but this world is unfair," Locke replied, walking across the room and throwing open the windows, cold air blasting through the room before he turned towards her and leant back against the windowsill, crossing his legs at the ankles and folding his arms. "But I'm always interested in people who might go somewhere. Now, just so we're clear, you and I no longer have Zane in common."

Madison frowned at him. "What do you mean?" she asked, slowly tying her hair back out of the way.

"I'm not assessing you as someone I'm somehow connected to. If I think you're shit, I'm going to tell you and it won't be me being a jerk because of Zane. If I think you're good, I'm going to tell you and it won't be me being nice because you're Zane's girlfriend. My assessment will be fair and honest."

"You're different."

Locke blinked, then tilted his head slightly, raising an eyebrow at her as she took a seat, looking at the sheet music he had already set up for her.

"In what way?"

"You're how I thought you'd be. Honest and serious, someone who lived and breathed music." She flexed her wrists slightly as she looked at him. "Not some brat who got mad when his best friend moved him aside to make way for a girlfriend."

Locke snorted and waved the comment off. "I don't live and breathe music."

"No?"

"Music is suffocating and intoxicating and kills me every day, driving me insane because I can't get away from it." Madison stared at him for a moment and he settled his hands back on the sill, smiling at her. "Surprised? How's that for honesty?"

"What if I quoted you on that? Isn't it risky to talk like that to people?"

"You won't tell anyone."

"How do you know?"

"Zane wouldn't date a bitch who spreads rumours."

Madison pursed her lips, then smiled slightly and set her fingers on the keys. "True," she said and started to play.

Locke closed his eyes, leaning back and listened.

He didn't move for the first three minutes of the performance, listening to each sound, each sweep of the fingers, each technically, perfectly engineered note.

He let out a yawn and opened his eyes.

Madison looked at him and her fingers paused.

"Is that how you always play?" he asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Don't you feel anything when you play?"

"What? Of course I do."

"Why are you playing like I'm testing you on technical skill?"

"Aren't you?"

"Anyone can be technically perfect," he said, pushing away from the windowsill and pushing her over on the stool, sitting down beside her. "But the best of the best give a performance that captures the audience and never lets them go."

"I know that."

"Good, then why are you boring?"

Madison visibly bristled at the words and Locke settled his fingers on the keys. He figured DD would get off the stool to make room for him but she stayed put – possibly to just make thing awkward – but he let it go.

Closing his eyes, he took a slow breath, then started the play.

It was exactly the same piece of music; in fact he only played the first thirty seconds. He knew she'd hear the difference. All his attention was on the feeling he was trying to portray. He wanted her to feel a heart wrenching pain in a few short seconds and with every move across the keys, every ebb and flow of sound, every rise and fall of volume, he worked to break her heart.