‘The piano is your legacy,’ she screams. ‘No it’s not.’ Beck shields his face with his arm. ‘It’s yours. It’s your dream, not mine.’ He tries to back away, but he’s between a wall and the piano. He’s always been stuck here. She hits out hard, fast, and blood trickles down his split cheek and it’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but all he can think of is how he can’t turn up to August’s like this again. She’ll never get her song. She’ll think he didn’t have the courage to come. Which is true, isn’t it? He’s pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. Schwachkopf. Moron.
