59. Noise
NOISE
I wake to clattering. Flinching, I sit upright, tucking the blanket to my chest, my eyes widening. I glare at the door, expecting Dad to be there, a weapon in his hands, blood soaking the tip, and Conner unconscious, bleeding out.
Deep breaths, Noya. Dad is in a jail cell, and there’s no bail. He can’t get out unless he breaks out, and I doubt that would happen. If anything, it’s Conner being clumsy, making noise this early… wait, what’s the time?
But here. I feel refreshed. Slightly afraid but refreshed, sleeping in bed beside…
I smooth the sheets over, noticing he’s not there.
He’s the one making the noise.
I stand, stretch, grab the pyjama shorts, and slip them on. I glance in the mirror, noticing the fixture across my nose, helping mend the broken bone. Wincing, reminding myself how it happened, I leave the room.
Conner is in the kitchen, cleaning the pots and pans his mum bought yesterday. He seems in the zone, eyes fixated on them, scanning for any lingering substance.
I slide onto the stool and rest my elbows on the kitchen bench. It glistens marvellously in the sunlight, slipping through the cracks of the blinds. “Can I ask you something, Conner?”
“Sure, baby.”
I stretch my arms out, resting them over his sopping soap hands. “I don’t want to self-diagnose you, but are you, um…”
Conner smirks and says, “Do I have obsessive-compulsive disorder?” I pull my hands away, wondering if asking is a bad idea. “Is it an issue if I did?”
“Huh?” Surprised, I straighten my posture. “Sorry?”
“Would it bother you if I saw a piece of paper on the ground, and then I had this urge to vacuum the entire home?”
I furrow my brows.
“Would it be a problem if as soon as we have sex—if we do—I’d want all the sheets cleaned with two scoops of laundry powder and a dash of fabric softener?”
“No,” I answer, shaking my head.
Conner smiles dazzlingly, showing the lines on either side of his mouth.
He places the bowl he washed into the sink and comes around the island bench.
I swivel in the seat, facing him. His fingers are rough and lumpy when gliding over my cheeks, but his lips are soft and intoxicating.
“I was diagnosed at a young age. When your mum is a therapist, she can see things much more clearly. She found it odd when I would freak out if someone sat on my bed.” He breathes a laugh.
“I have a weird obsession with my bed—I don’t care for others, just mine.
Even if we got out of it briefly and then back in, I want the sheets smooth, as if no one had lain there. ”
“Oh.” I slide out of the seat and race to the bedroom. “I’ll be back.”
“Noya,” he calls, but I ignore him.
I place the pillows and quilt on the ground before I tuck the fitted sheet correctly, then the other sheet over the top and smooth it down.
I’ve never made my bed at the other place.
I was a slob with my clothes, carelessly tossing them on the floor.
It’s not like I wanted to be a slob. With a dad like mine, I had no care for my belongings because he’d destroy them at any chance he could.
But here, I can be different. I can be tidier. I can for Conner.
Conner comes into the room as soon as I set the pillows back, fluffed, in an upright position.
“Better?” I ask.
He leans against the bed frame and laughs. “I’m so in love with you, Noya.”
I blush while averting my gaze. “I just… I wanted to help. We’re a team, right?”
“I’m going to clean the rest of the pots. You relax before Sammy and Dylan come over.”
“Uh…” I look around at the plastic bags on the ground… on my side of the bed. “I’m actually going to start on this.” I bite my lip, contemplating whether I want to admit this. “Is it okay if we sleep together again tonight?”
“Just tonight?” Conner questions. “I’d like to sleep with you every night, but if you only want tonight, I’m okay with that.”
“We will see how long you want me to stay.” I tap the splinter on my nose. “Dr Kim stated I’d snore more frequently because of having a broken nose.”
Conner grins and says, “I heard.” My eyes widen. “I don’t care about the noise. I slept like a baby.”
“You did? You aren’t lying to me?”
“If it annoyed me, I’d say it. I’m not the person to lie or save face, even to you. If something bothers me, I will talk to you about it—and I’d like it if you did the same with me. If I become overbearing, even a little too obsessed, I’d like you to tell me instead of bottling it.”
I smile. “Okay.”
I get used to the noise in the kitchen while folding my new clothes. Every piece I hold, I frown. It’s not what I’m used to wearing. Mrs Jones certainly picks her style with colourful shirts, denim shorts, and jeans. I wonder if I can go home and salvage my lucky Imagine Dragons shirt, at least.
But the thought of going back there makes me queasy.
I’m also grateful to Conner’s family for how caring they are.
They have already done too much. I need to repay them somehow—a gift to show my appreciation.
But a gift needs money, and I don’t have any because Dad made me quit my job. Therefore, I’m stuck.
The buzzer on the door goes off, causing me to jolt. The beat of my heart pounds loudly within my chest to the point of combustion. I sit on the bed, my hand clutching at my chest, and heaving bursts of fear tremble out of my mouth.
It’s Dad. He found me. He found us. The place we are calling home—the haven. The safety net I created, far away from the outside world. He knows. He’s here, and he is going to ruin everything.
And…
And…
Choking gasps come out until those hands touch my face. Hazel eyes come into existence, and he’s talking. Talking… but I can’t hear it. I can’t listen to what he’s saying because my mind is louder than his, and I can’t escape the impenetrable fear of Dad finding me.
Deep breaths, Noya. Deep breaths.
I suck in a breath, which causes Conner to nod. The echo chamber in my head eases, and the sound of the faucet running comes back to me. Another breath, and I hear the buzzer, causing me to flinch.
I bow my head, my eyes widen, and whisper, “He’s here. Here’s here. He’s here.”
The wall comes up again. A massive wall made of iron.
It always comes up when I am scared. The noises in my head are so intense that everything around me is soundless compared to the fear.
It happened before when the beer dad drinks were out of stock.
I was so scared of what he’d do that I shut out my walk home.
And I’m here now, afraid of the buzzer because I don’t know who is on the other side. Who is repeatedly ringing the bell?
Conner raises his hands and places them over my ears. And then, all the sound vanishes from the world. The noise in my head and the noise outside go away. All that is left is Conner’s voice penetrating the iron wall. “Deep breaths, Noya. Deep breaths,” he breathes.
I nod. My back arches, and I let the air breathe into my lungs. It’s fresh, with a hint of smoke. I close my eyes, inhale it, and when I breathe out, everything returns to normal.
“I’m a mess,” I croak. “How can you love someone as messy as me?”
“Baby, you aren’t a mess,” Conner says, rubbing his thumb over a stray tear. “Your life has been harder than others, but that doesn’t mean you’re a mess.” He leans in and says, “We will get through this together.”
“Why?” I ask, my lower lip trembling.
His hands move away from my ears, and those fingertips run through my hair, saying, “Because we’re a team. And I’m madly fucking in love with you.”
I breathe a laugh, the anxiety and relief releasing like a tide pool. “I love you, Conner.”
He smiles. “Should we let Sammy and Dylan into our building?”
“It’s them?”
“Yeah. Remember, you invited them over yesterday.”
“Oh…” Conner goes to stand when I tighten my hold on his arms. “My birthday,” I blurt.
“Hmm?”
“I trust you more than anyone in my life, so…” I bite my lip. “I want to give you my all on my birthday.”
“Noya,” Conner says in a strained voice. “You’re really impulsive, aren’t you?”
I laugh, “Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”
He groans, and I notice his frustration when he stands. I blush when he fixes himself. “And now we have to entertain guests. You have wonderful timing, Noya.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay. I’m going out for a breather. Could you let them in and…yeah.”
I smile. “Yeah.”
As I leave the bedroom, Conner grabs the pack of cigarettes from the counter and steps outside. I push the buzzer, and Sammy’s energetic self is as vibrant as ever. Feeling relaxed, I press the button that lets them in, telling myself I won’t get this worried over the buzzer again.
I’m safe.