Broken Strings (Prodigy: 2)

Heart Beat Rhythm

"Stop. You're mad as all hell with the desire to murder the man you love and you're telling me you're quiet and soft at this moment?" Locke said the next evening, looking at the sheet music he held.

Madison's hands stopped and she looked at the music before her. "Rage can be quiet," she said.

"I heard that as giving up. Come on, you're mad, get those fingers down hard. Remember the story you created. I want to be scared of you. I want to believe you really may kill this guy."

Madison started again. The power that flowed through her fingers echoed around in Locke's head and he nodded, straightening up.

"See? Now you can bring fear the hearts of your audience," he said, snapping the pages closed.

"Are you exhausted at the end of performances? Anyone who puts this much emotion into every piece of music for two hours with all the attention on him must crash afterwards."

"No, I'm not. You know the feeling, that adrenaline rush hits me the same way it hits you."

"So you do find some excitement in performance."

"No, it comes from a strong desire to throw up from stage nerves."

Madison gaped at him. "You suffer stage fright?"

"I do."

"You? How do you cope?"

Locke's eyes flicked over to her before looking away again, putting the music in his bag. "I imagine Zane is there."

Madison's amazement vanished and she frowned at him. "Zane?"

"He makes my stage fright go away."

"You know I asked him about you two last night."

Locke glanced at her as she picked up her bags and slipped on her coat. "What about us?"

"About what happened between you two."

"And what did he say?"

"He clammed up and went to sleep," she said bluntly as she walked through the door he held open for her.

"Why do you even care?"

"Shouldn't I take an interest in my boyfriend?"

"If he doesn't want to discuss it, isn't it better to leave it?" he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets and walking past.

"He told me that you probably hated him now and that he didn't want to talk about you anymore."

Locke stopped.

"I think he's depressed because you're around but he won't tell me anything," she continued, passing him by. Her hair drifted out behind her and the smell of her shampoo met him, mixed with something else, a deeper smell – a male cologne.

"I don't hate him, I'm just mad at him," Locke muttered, following her.

"Why?"

"That's a little personal for a girl I met only a few days ago."

"True." She shrugged. "Well, no matter. You're leaving soon, right?"

"Yeah, so?"

"He'll get better once you're gone."

Silence followed her statement and she eventually looked over her shoulder. She stopped, staring, confused then looking around.

Locke was gone.