Rhythm by Marie Lipscomb

Chapter Six

Finn

Dude, stop. You’re being absurd.

Whatever. She wants mindless noise he’ll give her mindless noise. He picks up his sticks and begins thrashing out a rhythm, louder and harder than he’s ever played. His legs are still jelly from jerking off, his feet soaked from stamping through the waterlogged earth, but it only adds to the effect, making him hit the bass pedal a beat out of time.

She doesn’t like it when he plays well, and she sure as hell won’t like it when he plays bad. He drums and drums, skipping from one rhythm to the next, a little Metallica here, a little Vixen’s Wail there. It’s erratic and awful, and he’s even giving himself a headache.

He screws his eyes shut and drowns out the world. There’s no cabin, no Beth, just him, the music. And the water.

There’s water splashing up his leg.

“Fuck!”

He leaps up from the stool and grabs his bass drum and pedal. There’s already an inch of murky floodwater and brown leaves on the floor, and it seems to be rising pretty quick.

“Oh shit.”

He’s panicking, his heart racing as he scans the room. Did she somehow flood the tank when she left the shower on? Is she doing it?

He runs to the entrance at the back of the cabin, blood running cold as he’s faced with the deluge spilling down the mountainside and beneath the back door; a flash flood.

“Oh shit. Shit shit shit.”

He has to rescue the kit. No matter the cost, even if it means…

Stomach dropping, he glances up, to the now-silent floor above.