Melody's Muse ✓

4. Rachmaninoff - Etude-tableau, Op. 39 No. 5.

Melody

I finish my song just as I hear the door open. It's probably Mr. Carter telling me he's back from the washroom. I turn around and my heart suddenly skips a beat.

It's him.

My fight or flight senses kick in, and I quickly hop up from the bench and scurry to the other side of the grand piano. I peek at him from behind the raised lid, as if it's a shield that will somehow protect myself from him.

"Hey it's you again." He flashes a bright smile and walks into the room.

"U-uh," I stammer, my mouth feels too dry to speak. The room suddenly feels ten times smaller and my heart is palpitating wildly as if I had just run a marathon. "C-could you leave, please?" I whisper.

His smile falters a bit. "Oh, I'm sorry if I startled you," he apologizes and rubs the back of his neck. "I'm not sure if you remember me but we sort of met last weekend," he laughs. His laugh is as smooth and sweet as honey. I mentally kick myself for noticing that.

I quickly nod. "Yeah," I mumble. How could I forget?

He casually strolls around the piano and comes up next to me. My heartbeat grows quicker and quicker the closer he gets. It feels as if my feet are glued to the floor, stopping me from bolting away. I keep one shaky hand glued to the smooth, cool rim of the piano. Pianos have always been my security blanket when I'm stressed for as long as I can remember.

He grins and extends his hand. "I'm Cole Flynn, nice to meet you."

I swallow back the painful lump in my throat. "Melody." His large hand is warm and soft, contrasting with my small and suddenly very cold hand.

His sapphire eyes widen for a second, and it's as if a lightbulb lights up above his head. "Oh! You must be the famous musician I've been looking for," he chuckles. I bite my lip, I definitely don't like the sound of that. "I write for U of M's newspaper, we wanted to get an interview with you for the next issue's arts and culture section."

How in the world did they even know I'd be here? "I-I'm sorry but n-no," I mumble and shake my head. "I don't do interviews."

He gives me a puzzled look. "Err, yeah I noticed. Why not though?"

None of your business. "I just don't," I murmur. "I'm sorry but I need to practice."

He doesn't seem to take the hint. Or maybe he does and he's just stubborn. "Oh, it'll be quick I promise." He flashes me a charming smile and opens the light grey notebook he's carrying. 

I gulp and regain control of my legs to take a wobbly step back. I feel like a helpless baby bird nudged out of the nest too early, exposed to the terrors of the real world without anyone to protect me. Where is Mr. Carter? I silently pray for him to hurry back, desperately glancing at the door. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out besides a tiny, terrified squeak. 

"Huh?" He looks confused but also amused at my unintentional impression of a mouse. 

Heat rushes to my face, and I bite my lip so hard I nearly draw blood. 

Before I can say anything, we both slightly jump at Mr. Carter's voice. I somehow feel simultaneously relieved and on-edge. "Excuse me, you shouldn't be in here." His blaring voice echoes through the room. He looks a bit confused when he sees Cole. "Oh, it's you again."

"Um, Mr. Carter, could you get him to leave, p-please?" I ask meekly.

Cole slightly raises his hands innocently, with a small smirk on his face. "Ok, ok, I'm leaving." He turns back as he's leaving and gives me a quick wink out of Mr. Carter's view. I feel my face flushing, and my gaze drops to the floor.