Page 79 of My Lovely Tragedy
How there isalwaysan end. To a moment. A connection. Alife.
Time: short and beautiful and cruel.
“Teach me?” His voice slinks its way right between my muddled thoughts, crystal clear amongst my turmoil.
“Hmm?” I glance over. He dips his head toward the keyboard.
“Teach me to play. I know the basics but not a lot.”
My fingers tap.One, two, three, three, two, one.Brooklyn’s fingers clamp around them, halting their movement.
I blink. Eyes searching his face, but for what, exactly, I cannot be certain. “You want me to teach you?”
He lifts a brow, purely sardonic. “Who else is gonna?”
My mouth twitches. “Fair point, darling.” I lean back, letting my hands fall into my lap. “Well, come on, then. Show me what you know.” I incline my head. Brooklyn’s hands fidget in his lap as a blush spreads across his cheeks, high and bright.
He splays his fingers over the ivories, then winces at the sound of his chains clanking against the wood of my piano. “It’s not going to sound good with these moving all over the fucking place.”
I raise a brow, silent. He swallows, then ducks his head. “Whatever,” he grumbles, then starts to play. It’s nothing to write home about, but he knows more than the basics, the cheeky thing.
My smile cracks the longer he goes on, starting with a nursery rhyme before moving on to something I don’t recognize. It’s as harsh as it is soft. It doesn’t exactly sound nice, but the brutality and inexperience of him playing brings something within it to life.
When his fingers settle, Itsk.“Well, darling, you are certainly a liar.”
“Pot, meet kettle,” he bites back just as quick, startling a laugh from me.
“Touché.” I nod my concession.
“Did you seriously just say touché?”
“I did.”
He side-eyes me with a grimace. “Weird.”
My brow arcs higher as I watch him out of the corner of my eye, fidgeting with his shackles. “Hmm.I suppose there is much for you to learn. But you knowing what you do certainly helps to speed things along,” I quip, causing his flush to bloom.
“Let’s get started then, shall we?” I slide off the bench and press a hand to his shoulder, urging him to move center. He obliges without a word, hands still poised in his lap. I lean down, running my nose through his silky hair until my lips reach his ear. “If you would like to play, you must actuallytouchthe piano, darling.” And while he twitches against the gooseflesh prickling across his skin, he doesn’t move more than to do exactly as he was told.
“Good placement. All right, so first, I want you to play that children’s lullaby again.”
“Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star? Seriously?”
“Yes, that is what I said.”
He glares at me over his shoulder but indulges me. I let my smile break loose watching the muscles in his forearms flex as he makes his way through the song once more.
“Again.”
“Tobias—”
“Again, darling. Please,” I add. And, of course, he gives it to me.
“I already know how to do this. You’re supposed to be teaching me something,” he grumbles as he slams his fingers on a few of the keys, making a harsh noise.
“I am—if you would have some patience. Rome wasn’t built in a day, as you know.”
“Fuck off.” I grip his shoulders, flexing my fingers into his plaint muscle until I hear him hiss. “I’m not apologizing,” he says after a moment.
