Chapter 13 Nora #2
‘Fake couples who survive a cyclone together, stay together.’
His chuckle upgrades to a full laugh and he grabs his keys off the bedside table and clicks it onto them.
‘I love it.’
‘I got one for myself, too, to match.’
‘Perfect,’ he says, smiling. ‘Well, what I got you is fitting then.’
Leaning over the side of the bed, he fumbles for his bag and pulls something out. He passes it to me. A small, silver key lays in my palm.
‘I got you a key to the house. You can come and go as you please. You can stay permanently or just whenever you like. No pressure.’
I run my fingertip over the edge of it, fighting off the burning sensation in my eyes. I don’t know why this makes me feel emotional, but it does.
‘That’s so kind of you, Zayden. Thank you.’
With his finger and thumb, he grips my chin, forcing my eyes to meet his.
‘Anything for you, Vixen.’
I wrap my arms around him and we fall back onto the mattress. I lay my head on his chest and inhale his scent. He always smells so damn good, even when he isn’t wearing any sort of cologne. It’s just him.
‘Even though you have your own room, and the others are back, will you stay with me tonight?’ he asks, voice deep, but soft. Vulnerable.
‘Yes,’ I whisper. ‘I’d love to.’
Tightening his arms around me, he kisses my forehead. I nestle into him.
Being in his arms is my new favourite place to be.
The following morning, I’m lined up at my usual coffee cart.
I go over to the counter and order a matcha, before stepping to the side and waiting for my name to be called.
Zoning out, I stare ahead, my mind recalling last night in the shower with Zayden.
Every interaction with him rocks me to my core, and I can’t seem to get him off my mind. I’m craving his hands on me again.
I look to my phone and stare at the text message I received this morning.
Lindsay: Dinner, Friday night, six o’clock. Bring your boyfriend. It’s important we meet him before you bring him to the wedding.
‘Where have you been?’ a voice interrupts my concentration, snapping me back to reality.
A face comes into view, framed by long luscious hair. Avery’s red lips stretch into a wide smile as she stands a little too close to me than what is considered a comfortable distance.
‘Huh?’ I ask, frowning at her, unsure I heard her correctly.
‘Where have you been? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever.’
I blink at her, a little stunned and unsure how to answer that, since we’re not friends and never see each other. In fact, I don’t know if our paths had ever crossed prior to the party I attended with Zayden.
‘Um,’ I say. ‘I’ve been around, minus the cyclone.’
‘Exactly! I went by the apartment and you weren’t there.’
Now I’m confused. ‘My apartment?’
‘Yeah!’
My mouth opens a few times before I manage to get words out. ‘Why?’
‘I was visiting Emily after what happened.’
My spine stiffens, recalling that Zayden mentioned they were all friends.
Does she mean after the girls locked me out of the apartment?
I narrow my eyes slightly, wondering what she knows and what exactly is going on here.
Is she a part of their clique? Does she know what they did?
Is she prying for information about Zayden?
None of this makes sense and this whole interaction is odd.
‘Oh,’ I say after a moment, hoping I don’t look as flustered as I feel. ‘You’re friends with Emily?’
‘Mmhmm.’ She nods, smiling impossibly wider.
‘Great,’ I say, voice dull.
‘Yeah, she’s feeling a bit sorry for herself but I’m sure it’ll all be fine. Poor girl.’
My frown deepens. Feeling sorry for herself? Poor girl? What does she mean by that? Does she mean me, or Emily? My brain can’t keep up with this conversation.
I wish I’d had the chance to prepare for this interaction, but I’m never one to be quick-thinking in these kinds of situations. I usually freeze and then relive the moment later, thinking of all the things I should have said, but didn’t.
‘So?’ she probes, having the audacity to poke my arm. ‘Where were you?’
‘I stayed with Zayden.’
Her eye twitches, and I shift back from her, slightly concerned that this information is not being processed quite right with her. However, her smile would convince me otherwise. If it gets any wider, the corners of her mouth will disappear to the back of her head.
‘Oh?’ she asks, voice dropping a little lower as she tilts her head, as if studying every little detail about me.
‘Yeah.’
‘So,’ she continues, running a tongue across her teeth as she mulls over her words. ‘You two are a thing then?’
‘Yes,’ I say, lifting my chin. ‘We’re dating.’
She stills, and for a moment I’m tempted to wave my hand in front of her face, to see if anyone is still inside. The stare she’s shooting in my direction feels like a laser that’s burning holes into my skin. I wait another beat and she still says nothing.
‘Well, this has been a blast,’ I say, side-stepping her and hastily grabbing my matcha latte. I hightail it out of there, hoping to put as much distance between us as I can.
The lecturer’s voice drifts in and out as I try to focus, but I’m still thinking about the encounter with Avery.
I shift in my seat, tugging down my denim skirt, and take a sip from my water bottle.
It’s barely past ten, and I’m already counting down the hours until I can escape back to the house for a swim and some relaxation, although I do have an assignment I need to work on.
The lecture hall smells faintly of sunscreen and I almost trip over someone’s iced coffee that’s been sweating on the floor beside their bag when the lecture is over. The air-con’s blasting, but it’s fighting a losing battle against the heat bleeding in from outside.
Through the tall windows lining the back wall, I catch glimpses of blue sky and the tops of trees swaying in the breeze.
Beyond them, the campus stretches out like a beachside resort with its open walkways, light-coloured buildings, and the occasional water dragon sunbaking on the grass.
There’s something about being this close to the coast that makes everything feel more laid-back than it probably should. Even the tutors wear Birkenstocks.
I push open the heavy glass doors and step out into the heat.
It hits me like it always does, thick and relentless, like walking into a wall made of sun.
The concrete’s already radiating warmth, and my sandals slap against the path as I make my way across the carpark.
I suspiciously side-eye a plover as it raises its wings as I pass, but thankfully, I don’t get swooped.
I fish my keys out of my bag, my skin sticking to the strap, as I head for my car, already dreading how hot the steering wheel’s going to be.
I skid to a stop. I do a quick scan of my surroundings but there is no one else in the carpark. A delicate rose sits tucked between my windscreen wiper and the windscreen, with a folded note underneath it.
A smile graces my lips. Zayden is unbelievably sweet. He could have gotten this for me and left it at the house, but he went the extra mile of finding my car and leaving it for me to find the moment my day of classes ended. How did I get so lucky?
I’m impatient to get home. The traffic is so slow, it takes me double the usual time. The house is quiet when I enter. I locate a vase and place it on the dining room table. It’s such a beautiful rose.
Dancing up the stairs, I barge into Zayden’s room. He’s sunken back into his pillows, mouth open, laptop and textbook open and on his lap. He startles at my entrance, and guilt immediately floods me for waking him up.
‘Sorry!’ I quickly say. ‘I didn’t realise you were sleeping.’
‘Oh, it’s fine,’ he mumbles, fighting off a yawn. ‘I wasn’t supposed to be sleeping.’
He shifts everything off his lap and onto the floor beside him, and I crawl onto the bed.
‘I can’t stop thinking about you,’ I say, quoting his note.
He studies me for a moment. ‘Did you just read my mind?’
‘What?’ I say, but then he crashes his lips to mine and everything else just doesn’t seem important anymore.
I don’t know why I’m this nervous.
It’s not a real date. It’s dinner. With Zayden. Who is not my boyfriend. Still, I’ve changed outfits three times.
We agreed to go out to dinner tonight to run through some things before meeting my family dinner tomorrow night. We thought it would be a good idea to touch base about things moving forward, and would also be good for appearances.
I stand in front of the mirror and smooth my hands down the sides of my dress – olive green, slightly loose fitting with a low cut front that makes it a bit risky. I tell myself I’m going for a casual look, but I hope he notices the effort.
My bedroom window – well, the window in the spare room at Zayden’s – is cracked open to let in the early evening breeze. Somewhere down the street someone is blasting a Triple J remix from their car.
I lean towards the mirror and fix a strand of hair that refuses to sit right. Then I hesitate. Lipstick, or would that be way too much?
After debating with myself for longer than I should, I compromise with tinted balm and mascara. I want to look nice, without looking like I’ve tried too hard. That’s sort of my go-to for most occasions, but this feels different, even though I know better than anyone that this is fake.
The dinner was Zayden’s idea. He’s been the one to initiate every date so far. I make a mental note that I should be the one to plan our next one, the family dinner tomorrow night not included.
I’m driving there tonight, since Zayden has practice and will get ready and come straight from there to save time. The drive is short and I’m stoked that I snag a park quite close to the restaurant.
I grab my phone and check the time. I’m twenty minutes early. Of course I am. Deciding to wait it out in the car, I let myself scroll through social media, checking my accounts.
Fifteen minutes later, I head inside the restaurant.
The moment I sit down, I regret coming in so early.
Sitting here by myself feels awkward. Like everyone else at the surrounding tables is staring at me, when I know in reality that they aren’t.
I also decide I don’t ever want to arrive separately again.
I stare at the empty chair across from me.
Each time the door of the restaurant opens, I look up hopefully, only for a stranger to enter. I chew my lip, eyes turning to the seat, which remains empty. Like it has for the last twenty-three minutes. I’m surprised so much time has passed, and I’m growing more agitated by the second.
The restaurant’s buzzing. I thought being a Thursday night it might be a little quieter, but it doesn’t seem to ever be quiet around here.
Soft music is playing overhead, plates are clinking, couples are leaning in close under low-hanging lights.
It has a warm, romantic atmosphere that is being completely wasted on me right now, considering Zayden hasn’t bothered to show up.
I take another sip of my lemon, lime and bitters and check my phone for the hundredth time.
Still nothing from Zayden.
No text. No missed call. No apology.
Suddenly, I think back to all the times I turned up somewhere and waited for James – my online boyfriend – only for him not to show and suddenly go quiet, leaving me miserable and alone, looking and feeling like a fool.
I didn’t ever want to experience anything like that again, that’s why I blocked and removed him from everything and never added the obvious accounts that he’d made to try to get back in contact with me.
My cheeks burn from embarrassment. Zayden isn’t my boyfriend. He’s a strategic arrangement that benefits the both of us. So why does this feel like it hurts just like the real thing would?
I bite the inside of my cheek and glance at the door again. Nothing. Just a couple walking in hand-in-hand, laughing softly. Sinking into my chair, I notice the bar staff peering over at me. They’re probably taking bets about what has happened.
I reach for my bag and pull out my phone, fingers hovering over the messages.
Maybe I should text him. Or should I leave? Ugh, this is the worst. I hate that he’s put me in this position.
The longer I sit here, the more ridiculous I feel.
The waitress has come by three times now.
I try to busy myself – check my phone, read the menu again, sip my drink – pretending my heart’s not sinking by the minute.
Still no message. Still no Zayden. I’ve waited this long because I know Zayden, he’s not the kind of guy who would make plans and not show up. Right?
I hate that I’ve been here before. Not at this restaurant – but in this exact moment.
That familiar tightening in my chest, the quiet humiliation of being stood up.
I’ve already done one fake relationship.
The kind that lives in messages and unkept promises, yet here I am again, waiting for someone who doesn’t show.
My eyes move to my wrist, a quiet ache blooming in my chest when I see bare skin where the bracelet used to be.
It’s such a small thing but without it, I feel kind of hollow.
Like I’ve lost another part of my best friend that I can’t get back.
With everything going on lately, I feel like her loss hasn’t been consuming me as much, but it’s the moments like this that I miss her the most.
My thumb rubs the spot out of habit, the way I used to whenever I felt nervous.
I wish she were here. She always knew what to say, always knew how to ground me when my thoughts started to spiral like this.
She would’ve probably made some dumb joke, just to get me to roll my eyes and stop checking the time every ten seconds.
I take a breath, but it sticks in my throat.
The restaurant noise feels muffled around me as my chest tightens.
I give it five more minutes, staring at the tiny clock in the corner of my phone screen, barely blinking.
Once those five minutes pass, I rise from the table, feeling so fucking humiliated that I want to crawl into a hole and die.
The waitress offers me a sympathetic smile. I almost burst into tears at the sight of it.
The cool night air hits me the second I step outside. Somewhere close by, a group of girls laugh loudly near the tram stop. Someone’s dog barks from a balcony overhead. A normal night for most people.
I walk down the street alone, past couples and families and too many happy people.
Whatever this thing with Zayden is … I’m not sure I can handle it.
Not again.