AN: Okay lads, I've created a "soundtrack" for this chapter because I'm a nerd and I loved figuring out what kind of music J & M would listen to.

I put a link to the spotify playlist in my bio but I'm not certain it works. The tracks are listed at the bottom of this chapter and I've indicated where in the story they should be played. I hope you enjoy it and that you play along. Cheers.

*update* thanks Anna Stonebrook for figuring out the spotify link — open dot spotify dot com slash playlist slash 01uTylrB8WvrItPyrh8eWl

4 | You're a Song Stuck in My Head

*play track 1*

Fifteen year old Margaret Hale yelped as she was yanked from sleep by the distinct riff of an electric guitar playing in her head. She swore and pulled her spare pillow over her face, desperate to muffle the sound. Except she never could drown it out completely.

"For heaven's sake," she growled, sitting up. "It's five in the morning and some of us are trying to sleep."

But it was Monday.

"I hate having a soulmate."

Margaret had been excited when she'd been diagnosed with auditory mirroring. She was only ten and it was exciting to hear songs in her head and know that her soulmate was listening by to them. It meant there was someone out in the world waiting for her and only her. It made Margaret feel special.

"Cursed is more accurate."

Whoever he was, the miserable little tosser was going to regret waking her up at five in the morning—again. Just like he had every Monday morning for the last five years with his head splitting music.

And she knew just what to do.

*play track 2*

John Thornton swore and threw his coffee cup at the wall as the same shit-ass pop song started playing in his head for the twelfth—or was it the thirteenth?—time.

Starting at three-thirty in the afternoon and continuing without stop until six in the evening, his head was a constant loop of the same twenty-five shitty songs. Every damn day. But today, it was just the one song played over and over and over again. John raked his hands through his hair. Sometimes He wondered if this girl was even aware just how damn annoying she could be.

John would bet good money that she knew exactly what she was doing.

"It's disconcerting to have someone else fiddling with your senses. If John doesn't develop good coping strategies, the sensory dissonance could be stressful for him." Dr Ford had told his mother when John was first diagnosed. "It will help if he can develop a harmony with his soulmate—"

"Harmony?" John snorted. He had been sixteen at the time.

"Try to find music you both like."

John rolled his eyes, and his mother shot him a dark look. But he knew she'd understood. Their lives were already a hell hole of stress and music was one of John's escapes. Hannah had long given up trying to adjust her son's tastes. He would listen to whatever he felt like listening to, harmony be damned.

It didn't take John long to figure out that, whoever his soulmate was, she had shitty taste in music. Most days auditory mirroring felt more like a disease than a moderately rare but natural phenomenon. Christmas was the one exception—it was the only time he wasn't tempted to slam his head against a brick wall. He glanced at his desk calendar. December was still two months away.

John shoved himself to his feet and marched out of his office. The best way to get her songs out of his head was to drown them out with his own. He stripped off his shirt, grabbed his tools, and hit play on the boom box in the machine shop, cranking the volume as high as it would go.

*play track 3*

John grinned and popped the hood of the semi truck waiting for him.

"Listen and learn, kid."

*play track 4*

"I have a test to study for, asshole," Margaret ground out between clenched teeth, tangling her hand in her hair and pulling until her scalp protested.

A pity he couldn't hear her instead of her music. She'd make short work of telling the belligerent asshole where to get off. He knew she hated this song. She knew he knew. Besides that, how the bloody hell was she supposed to focus on her advanced maths homework?

In the past two years they'd engaged in all out battle of the bands and Margaret refused to lose. Her GPA depended on it. She flipped through her CDs until she found what she was looking for. Then turned the speaker volume to max.

*play track 5*

He'd have to be completely thick not to understand.

"Smart ass," John's lips quirked. He knew she hated most of his music. The feeling was mutual. He turned his hat around backwards, and flipped through his beat up CD binder. He got her message—she wasn't exactly subtle. But he had work to do and not much time to do it. He slapped the CD into the machine and hit play.

*play track 6*

Then he pulled himself under his truck and got the hell back to work.

*play track 7*

Margaret watched her mother carefully as Maria Hale stared vacantly out the window.

"Mum—"

"It's going to rain today."

Margaret sighed, "Maybe not."

It was Christmas. She should be happy. The songs in her head were all to her liking these days, especially the one he was playing now. Margaret tried to smile. They always called a truce for Christmas, listening to classical hymns, carols, and arias. And yet—

Her mother was dying. There was no reason to pretend otherwise. Her father had been contacted and it was decided it would be best for everyone if Margaret came to Connecticut to live with him. Part of Margaret felt relieved to be leaving their gloomy flat, with the constant feeling of dread, the constant weight of the coming emptiness and loss, like a storm cloud building on the horizon. There was another part of her that just longed to be with her dad again for the first time in almost ten years. And there was also a part of her that felt terribly guilty for abandoning her mother in her darkest hour.

"Mum," Margaret tried again. "Are you sure it's alright. I don't have to—"

"Would you ask Dale to make tea, please?"

Maria Hale no longer seemed to notice her daughter or care if she stayed. She had Dale Dixon after all. Why would she need Margaret?

Margaret trudged slowly up to her cramped room, eyes stinging with tears as she surveyed the empty space. Most of her things had been sent on ahead. Even her music was gone. Margaret picked up her pillow and clutched it to her chest, tears wetting the fabric until the soft cotton turned cold against her cheek.

John frowned at the silence. He was working late and the building had sunk into an eerie emptiness. But it was more than quiet. He glared at the wall clock, the sound of the ticking device amplified by the emptiness. Silence never bothered John. In truth, he preferred it to the constant noise that surrounded him.

But something about this silence unsettled him.

John scratched his head, his boots shifting under his desk as he stretched. Then he tossed his hat on his desk, realizing what was irritating him. Not only was the Depot quiet, but so was his mind. He glanced at his desk calendar, his frown deepening. She hadn't played anything in almost two weeks.

"What's wrong, kid?" He murmured.

But there was no answer.

John shook his head and forcefully turned back to his work. He was being a damn fool. It was hard enough to try and decipher Fanny's moods, let alone appease them. And here he was trying to figure out what was wrong with some girl he'd never even met. He didn't know a damn thing about her except—

John stood and made his way towards the machine shop, muttering under his breath. The whole thing was stupid. He was probably wrong. But he couldn't shake the feeling that he ought to do something.

It couldn't hurt to try.

Margaret pulled the dark green satin dress from its box and spread it out on her bed. It almost covered the entire surface. She fingered the slippery fabric, her chest aching as she thought of her parents setting aside their differences, one last time—just for her.

It was a waste of money to purchase such a stunning dress she'd never wear. Tears cut through her eyes at the thought.

Margaret raised her chin and shook herself. She undressed quickly, slipping into the dress without knowing why she felt compelled to do so. She pulled the zipper and slid her hand down the plush skirt, glancing at herself in the full length mirror.

Make a Christmas wish, Margaret Ann.

Margaret shivered and covered her face in her hands, her whole body trembling. Her mother would never see her like this.

"I wish—"she whispered, her shoulders shaking. "I wish—"

But she couldn't say what she wished and all she had was a hollow silence. She'd never felt more alone in her whole life.

And then she heard it.

*play track 8*

Margaret's head snapped up and she listened, a strange warm sensation building under her skin. She knew this song. She liked this song—a lot. Margaret knew he didn't like most of her music. But—

He was playing it.

And somehow it felt like he did it for her. She blushed. Why else would he listen to something so completely outside his preferences?

Margaret clutched the fabric of her skirt, closed her eyes, and allowed herself to imagine him here with her, dressed in a smart suit and tie. Would they dance?

No. He didn't seem the type to dance. But he might sit with her and—

It was ridiculous—and lovely—all at once.

"Thank you."

"That. Man!" Margaret let out a noise of frustration that was half a grunt and half growl. "I've never met anyone on the planet I dislike more. If his own opinion of himself were any better, his head would explode—"

"Yeah, yeah, we know. He's an asshole," Bess lazily followed her, her face dancing with amusement.

"Yes. He is. Why the bloody hell are you smiling?"

"Methinks the lady doth protest too much."

"What on earth do you—"

"It's Shakespeare."

"I know it's Shakespeare, Bessie—"

"And I think you and Thornton should just quit this little dance while you're ahead. Do us all a favor and get yourselves a damn room."

Margaret's hasty escape from Marlborough Shipping Depot, and a certain John Thornton, came to a screeching halt.

"We should—what?"

"You and John," Bess waggled her eyebrows, "in a bedroom. Alone."

*play track 9*

"Not now," Margaret muttered. "Please, not now."

"I promise it'll be worth it. And hot," Bess continued. "Like a bomb going off."

Margaret's eyes widened and she shook her head trying to clear it. But the music and Bess's comment blended together in her mind until she couldn't help imagining what might happen if she were in a bedroom with John.

"I—I—," Margaret almost choked, the music in her head and her treacherous imagination making it nearly impossible to speak rationally. "He—he's not— I—"

"See?" A wide grin spread across Bess's face. "Even you can't say no to that." She pointed.

Margaret turned and saw John in the yard next to the machine shop. He'd parked his rusted blue truck outside the shop and was poking around under the bonnet. As she watched, he pulled his hat around backwards, stripped off his shirt, and turned up the volume in his truck.

The song in her head immediately grew louder.

"I don't know about you, Marg, but I'd totally—"

But Margaret didn't hear Bess. She barely noticed as her feet began moving of their own accord, marching back down the drive straight towards the machine shop. John was half hidden by the truck, but Margaret could hear him softly singing along.

It was one of his favourite songs. She'd heard it often enough to know.

Without quite knowing what she was doing, Margaret jerked open the truck door, climbed up, and switched off the music. Then she hopped down and whirled around, glaring at John's startled face.

"I really hate that song," she snapped, her breath coming in quick gasps. The music in her head had stopped.

"What the hell are you—"

"And do you know what else I hate?" She stepped closer, "I hate Queen and your stupid obsession with electric bass. And I hate being woken up at five in the morning. I hate every single stupid song you love to torment me with. I hate it—"

Understanding broke over his face as the words poured out of Margaret's mouth. Tears stung her eyes as he stared at her. She tried to step back, to turn and run as far away from him as she could get, but John caught her hand before she managed a single step.

"Get out of my head," Margaret was crying now. She tried to shove him away. "Just get out—"

John just stared at her, saying nothing, but he didn't let go. Then he reached into his pocket, pulled out his handkerchief, and gently wiped her face. Confusion, anger, and relief washed over Margaret making her legs tremble.

"Say something." She snapped, pushing his hand away from her face.

"Are you hungry?"

"Am I—hungry? That's the romantic line you're going with?"

"Yes." John cracked a grin, "I'm asking you out. That's romantic."

Margaret blushed, realising he was still holding her hand, and he wasn't wearing a shirt, and she was standing awfully close to him—

"Fine." She raised her chin, "But I'm picking the music—"

"Like hell you are, " John rolled his eyes. "Just get in the truck."

J & M's Mixtape

track 1: Eye of the Tiger | Survivor

track 2: Wannabe | Spice Girls

track 3: Another One Bites the Dust | Queen

track 4: Voodoo Child(Slight Return) | Jimi Hendrix

track 5: The Sound of Silence | Simon and Garfunkel

track 6: Beat It | Michael Jackson

track 7: Ave Maria, D. 839 | Franz Schubert sung by Renee Fleming

track 8: Hey There Delilah | Plain White T's

track 9: Hot Blooded | Foreigner