Make Me Bad(Private Lessons)

Chapter Three




Luc





I watch Madison pick up my guitar, an endearing air of apprehension about her. My eyes slide down the delicate skin of her slender arms. The sweater she’s wearing today is thick and baggy, but I know underneath the garment her body is trim and supple. I'd assumed all of this before last night, but now I know it for certain.

I try not to let on as if anything happened last night, after all, we shouldn't have hooked up, but Madison let me go much farther than I had ever dreamed she would. And yet, somehow I knew she would follow me down that dark hall last night, I wanted her to.

I could tell by the glasses of red wine she drank almost dutifully and by the way her eyes lingered on me longer that what was socially acceptable, that she was as down as I was to throw inhibition to the wind. But as incredible as last night was, I know deep down that she's everything that I should stay far, far away from.

Young.

Beautiful.

A pupil.

It wouldn’t be the first time that I'd become involved with a student, but they were always grad students, and much closer to my age. At thirty-two, I'm pretty sure I have a good ten years on Madison.

But for Christ's sake, I can't get her out of my mind, and after last night I don't think I'll ever be able to forget her. Her thighs were so smooth and her breasts were perky and soft. I'd forgotten what it was like to feel such a young eager body. It was so f*cking hot pushing her up against the locked door, teasing her slowly, practically making her beg before sliding into her tight p-ssy.

Christ. I’m getting hard now just thinking about it.

I bring my focus back to her as she starts to strum the guitar. Suddenly, I forget about f*cking and I'm consumed by the haunting and elaborate melody she's playing. This can't be her own piece.

Didn’t I ask her to play something she composed?

“Wait.” I interrupt, sounding ruder than I'd intended. “Something that you composed, please.”

She stares at me blankly. “This is something I composed.”

“You composed this?”

“Yes.” she says, her brows furrowed, looking incredibly annoyed.

“Play it again.” I order.

She rolls her eyes and starts again. I sit back in my chair, fold my arms across my chest and close my eyes as she opens again with a beautiful arpeggio.

Yes, I had heard that Madison Evans was an exceptional student. I think I also heard that her parents were somewhat famous country singers, but Madison is more than a mere entertainer... she's downright gifted. This composition is light years beyond what I was expecting.

I open my eyes.

“That’s enough.” I say, my tone flat, giving nothing away.

She stops abruptly, staring up at me, waiting for my approval. Her eyes are so beautifully blue that it almost hurts to look at them.

“Can you meet me this afternoon? ” I say, “I would like to set up private lessons.”

“Private lessons?”

“Yes. I would say that we could start now, but I have somewhere to be in twenty minutes. Will four-thirty work?”

“Yes that works.” she says, without even a glance at her watch or phone.

“Good. Meet me in the music room across the hall. And if you can, please bring your guitar.”

“Umm, sure. All right. I’ll see you at four-thirty.”

I smile and nod curtly. I take the guitar from her and gently place it inside its case. I pull my hat onto my head, and because I can’t help myself, I take Madison's hand in mine. It's a selfish act, but I need to feel her soft, smooth skin against mine.

Her eyes light up when I touch her and I know it’s not a good sign.

“Until then.” I say softly, and then I leave.

I try not to think about Madison as I make my way to the Metro station.

Yes, she and I have been playing a bit of cat and mouse since we arrived in Paris; some harmless flirting, some inappropriate comments that I couldn’t quite stop from leaving my mouth. Too much wine will do that sometimes.

There is something so young, vibrant, and exciting about Madison. And I am drawn to her like a moth to a beautiful flame. She's so different than what I've grown accustomed to. And it isn’t just her youth, her beauty, or slight Southern accent. It’s her open and innocent personality, her vivacity and now, her untapped genius.

And hell, she is so beautiful. That gorgeous little body and her long chestnut hair, creamy skin and big blue eyes... there have been several wars in human history fought for women like her.

She is so different from anyone I've ever been with before, so different from Vera.

Just thinking about Vera makes my blood boil. Even now, after everything, Vera her grip on me is so tight I'm trekking across Paris to see her dying Uncle Leon.

Leon is a kind man, and I don’t hold his being related to Vera against him, but I know it will be the last time I ever see the man.

I picture Vera with her short, cropped blonde hair and her strong jaw and nose. Hard edges all around, and always, always dressed in black. She is the antithesis of Madison, which is, perhaps, why I found Madison so intriguing. She embodies everything that Vera isn’t – youthfulness, beauty, innocence, and genius.

Vera and her hard edges, sharp wit and biting comments—she's not as intelligent as she thinks. What had ever attracted me to her in the first place?

It had been my arrogant, self-important attitude. Thinking I was so damn better than everybody else. And Vera thought the same thing about herself. Misery loves company, after all.

It's a hard lesson to learn, one I'm still struggling with, realizing that one is no better than everyone else, no more deserving of anything in this world. To be fair, musically I am better than most, but otherwise there is nothing that makes me intrinsically special. I realize that I'm not entitled to happiness; I have to work for it. Deep down I'm just another loser, a f*ck up with an array of undiagnosed mental conditions. I hide behind the facade of musical genius so convincing that most people are too intimidated to even attempt to deal with me on a level of familiarity.

I'm working on it, I am.

But Vera has no intentions to curb her stuck-up pretentious attitude; in her f*cked up head she knows she is better than everyone around her, including me. She's poisonous, and I'm f*cking sick of it.

First came the withdrawal, the silence and passive aggression. Then came the fights and the resentment, and the anger. I can still see Vera sneering at me, throwing our glass plates on the kitchen floor for shock value. Of course, I'm not perfect either. I can hurl insults just as well as Vera can. But at least I attempted to keep my vows. Even though I was caught in a stranglehold of misery and loathing of the one person I vowed to love and to hold forever, I didn’t f*ck anyone else.

Which is of course, is how it all finally ended.

On a particularly bad day last year I cancelled a class last minute to come home to rest. And instead of being at her art class, Vera was home in our bed, screwing some other "artist" who shared her love of black clothing and snarky one-liners. He wasn’t even embarrassed or remorseful that I'd caught him f*cking my wife. Vera at least had the humanity to act ashamed. Though I’m not sure how bad she actually felt about it in the end.

And now here I am, four months after our divorce, going to visit her uncle after she’d sent me a short, yet pleading email, to visit her Uncle Leon who had always loved my music… And to whom she had accidentally let it “slip” that I would be in Paris this autumn.

F*ck.

I shake my head, trying to clear away all my thoughts of hatred towards Vera. I need to focus on Uncle Leon. A dying man's last wish is to hear me play and there's not much else I can say about that. I plan on keeping this visit short and sweet so that I can get back to my private lesson with Madison, and to, hopefully, a clear head.

The visit is actually not that painful, and Leon is grateful to see me. I talk to him quietly for a few minutes, and we slip into French, which is much easier for Leon, especially in his state. I play him his favorite, Bourree in B minor by Bach, and after an awkward good bye, one I know will be our last, I leave his room and make my way back to campus.