MELANCHOLIA AND MADNESS

BRIELLE

I roll over in the dark and pick up my phone. I’m momentarily blinded by the light from my screen as I squint my eyes and stare at the time. 3 a.m. The soft tinkling of the piano keys call to me from the room across the hall. I shake my head and switch on my bedside lamp. Does this man never sleep? Fucking rock stars.

Climbing out of bed, I throw on a silk robe and yawn, then I open the door and pad softly to the ballroom. The door is partially closed, and the rock star in question is perched at the piano, his hair a mess, his body half naked. His usual bottle of whisky sits atop the baby grand.

“What is wrong with you that you never sleep?”

He doesn’t turn and look at me, he doesn’t stop playing either and I cross the room. Dog lays on the floor between my chair and Levi’s. His tail wags as I look into his strange eyes and scratch him behind the ears as he gives sleepy kisses and buries his mottled furry head against my palm.

“Have you come to ravish me after your sex dreams about my giant cock filling your—”

“If you finish that sentence, I will leave,” I say, my voice silly and high pitched as I coo to Dog.

“So leave. Everyone does in the end anyway, right?”

I narrow my gaze and straighten. “You’re drunk.”

“I’m always drunk.”

This is true, so I don’t refute it.

“Do you wish me to play with you?” As soon as the words are out, I grimace. My choice of words could have been better.

“I thought you already were.” He laughs and brings the song to a close, but he doesn’t say anything more. I’m glad because I’m tired, and Levi Quinn is exhausting, especially when my guard is not up. I could leave him to his depression and liquor, and go back to sleep, but something tells me I would toss and turn and lie awake listening to his heart bleed out over the ivory keys. I don’t know if loneliness and heartbreak are the cause or if he has always been this way, but Levi is at his very best musically when he’s at his very worst personally. If I had a heart that beat for such things, I could easily fall for the melancholiac musician, but I learned my lesson long ago not to fall for men who fall in love with tragedy. Besides, I seem to have acclimatised to his sleeping patterns—mostly. And I figure that if I play now, I can go back to bed when he does, and I won’t lose any sleep.

Levi turns to look at me as I take my bow from its case, along with my tin of rosin. I sit opposite him and he watches me closely as I rosin the hairs of my bow. I probably should have dressed. This long silk robe dips low in the front, and it’s too revealing. My legs are exposed through the slit, and Levi is not a man afraid of showing his appreciation for the female form. I’m glad for the distance that yawns between us, any closer and he might see how my skin turns to goose flesh with the way he looks at me.

Stupid. So stupid. I bet he looks at every girl like this, as if she were the only one— special. None of us are though, we’re just instruments. A warm body to fill the void. He may be the most infuriating and enigmatic man I’ve ever met, but I will never be a notch on his bed post. I have to be smarter than that, despite how my heart behaves and skips a beat when he looks at me like this. My heart may be a damn fool. But I am not.

Ignoring his stares, I set my rosin down and pick up my cello. I open my legs. I don’t miss how he tilts his head a fraction, attempting to get a better look at my panties as I nestle the cello between my thighs. He doesn’t apologise for it, and a soft chuckle escapes me despite my better judgement.

I take a moment to tune my instrument and then I close my eyes and play the hook from his last melody. His lips curl up in the corners, and I can tell he’s impressed by my ear. I might have been half asleep when I heard it, but nothing makes more sense to me than music. Even if I lost the ability to speak I could communicate through my strings and my bow. The challenge would be finding someone compatible enough to hear me even when my words are lost.

Levi watches me a beat longer before diving in, and I follow his melody as if it were a trail of breadcrumbs, as if I could never get lost again so long as I followed the sound of his strong hands working over the keys.

When I slide my bow across the strings and he plays his final chord, I glance up. His gaze locks with mine. His Adam’s apple bobs, that strong throat covered with ink working hard, as if he’s having trouble swallowing, as much trouble as I am catching my breath. We’re both covered with a light sheen of sweat, and I long to take off this robe, or at least open it to the crisp early morning air, but I don’t need to invite trouble. I already live with it.

“You have lyrics?”

He taps his forehead. “All up here, baby.”

“Will you sing it to me?”

He makes a face but begins playing again. I follow him, my fingers dancing across the notes as sure and certain as if I had been the one to compose the melody. His voice is low and deep, husky. His words are beautiful, but the delivery is a little bit thrown-away, like a folk singer. I wonder if he knows the effect his timbre has on me. I wonder if he can see at all, because surely if he could, he would be mocking me right now.

“Why don’t you sing?” I blurt, and then wonder what the hell is wrong with me.

Levi’s hands leave the keys and he shrugs. “It’s not my thing.”

“Maybe it should be.”

“You like that, huh?”

“Yeah, I like that.” Too much. God, way too much. I’d have to be dead or not into men not to like that. I needed to dial it way back because I was suddenly feeling hot and bothered, but more than that, I was feeling ... well ... things I shouldn’t be for a rock star who drives me mad as much as he makes me weak in the knees.

I cannot do this. I can not feel that way about him. I refuse. He’s a job. I will leave soon with enough money to take care of my family, and I need to remember that’s the reason I’m here. I need to focus on making music and only music with him.

“Brie?”

“Yes.”

“You’re staring.” His lips tip up in the corners, as if he knows what I’m thinking.

“I am not.”

He chuckles, a deep throaty laugh that reverberates through my insides and maddens me to no end. “It’s okay, AFG. You can admit you want me.”

“You’re ridiculous.” I stand and set my cello back in its case and slam the lid. Packing up my bow and rosin in order to make a hasty exit. I’ve had about all I can take from this man tonight.

“Ridiculous doesn’t make me wrong,” he calls, as I walk through the ballroom doors and slam them behind me. It’s true. I had been staring. I’d looked at Levi as if I were seeing him for the first time, and I had no right to look upon him that way.

He is a job. Nothing more.

You cannot lose your heart, Brielle. I tell myself this as I pace the room. Then I realise I am fine. I’m safe, because you cannot lose your heart if you no longer have one.

We should both know that by now.