29. Noah
Noah
I'm not sleeping tonight as I sit on the wooden dining room chair with my legs sprawled out. I made a cup of that nightly night-valerian root tea. It makes my nose twitch with the taste, and I drowned it with honey hoping it would kick in, but I know it’s gonna be insomnia tonight.
I might as well not torture myself by lying in bed counting the headlights that pass by my window.
I can’t tell if it’s my balls aching or if I don’t know how to deal with my emotions.
I could try to eliminate one of the options and jerk off in the bathroom, but then I’m gonna be fantasizing about Charlie, which is definitely the second problem.
After I help Charlie out with this stupid hazing game, I'm going to have to break it to her. My gramps is going to pass away. I know I'm getting a record deal, and she’s about to start college. There’s no room for a relationship between us.
There isn’t going to be a random happy ending.
It’s reality. And at the same time, she’s the only girl that stumbled into my life that I would want to try with.
The second she asked What do I gotta do to be with you? I choked up.
As I take a sip, there's a soft tap on the door. I place the cup on the coffee table and throw myself off the chair and peek through the peephole.
I do a double take. Rubbing my eyes as I glance back out.
Charlie.
I unlock the door, opening it, and my heart lurches before my brain can catch up. Pieces of hair stick to her face. Mascara runs down her cheeks. She’s sucking her bottom lip and crying. Each breath she takes is jagged, and uneven.
It’s because of me.
It has to be. I just flat-out rejected her when I knew I shouldn’t have.
I stand there like a complete idiot, holding onto the door frame with the door barely open.
Shit. What do I do? A girl is crying. Ask what’s wrong.
Tell her you’re sorry and that it’s all your fault.
It’s me. It isn’t you. Wait, no. That’s when you break up with a girl.
Either way, I'm going to lose if it’s about me.
“Do you wanna come in?” I ask and hold open the door. She bites her bottom lip and steps in, and uses the back of her hands to wipe away her tears. “I just made some tea... do you want a cup?”
“No...” she sniffles, and she shakes her head. She blinks several times, and more tears build up on her eyelashes. I think my brain was just ripped out of my skull and thrown into a blender.
“Here... uhh...” I walk over to one of the dining room chairs, pulling it out. The feet of the chair scrape against the floorboard and I pat the top rail. “Sit down.”
She strolls over and plops her bottom down, and throws her purse over the arm of the chair. She ties her fingers in knots in her lap.
“What’s wrong?” I ask and sit back down.
“It’s my mother...” She uses her palms to wipe her eyes again, but her face crumbles. “She...she...”
“She what?”
“I told her about you, and she said I have very good taste in men. I guess she knows who you are, and your family dynamics and... and... you’re not... good enough.”
Her mom isn’t wrong, but it still leaves a cold knot to settle in my stomach, twisting, and pulling something in my gut that I didn’t think was exposed. “She has a point. I wouldn’t date me either.”
A flicker of hurt hits her pupils, and my chest aches watching as I probably just added more pain to what was already there. When another tear slides down her cheek, tracing through the mess of mascara, something punches me in the chest. “Why?” She asks with a shrug, her head shaking.
“I’m not all put together, and... I’m kinda a nobody.” I shrug and give her a flat, truthful smile.
“Why would you say that? What if you’re somebody to me?”
“I probably wouldn’t give a girl a life she truly deserves. I play music, I travel, I live off finding pennies to buy a gallon of milk. That’s not something a pretty girl like yourself deserves.”
“You’re the only one who hasn’t pressured me to sleep with them, or looked at me as some sort of sexual object they want to exploit. You talk to me.”
“I just did that tonight, though. I caved in.”
“But I wanted it, you can’t sit here and tell me you don’t want it too. I can feel it radiating off of you, but you leave and run away.”
“I don’t want you sleeping with me and regretting it the next day. That’s why. Just look at how beautiful you are. I’m trying to process why you like me, out of every man out there in the world.”
“Are you hiding something? My mom says you use drugs.” She changes the subject, and I blink, cocking my head.
“I do what, now?” My lips press together, and I fling my head back, and I’m probably scrunching my eyebrows too hard with those words hitting my eardrums.
“She said that’s what you do. My mom thinks you’re a druggie, and I’m just gonna do drugs with you.”
“Do you think I am?”
“I dunno...”
I suck in a deep breath and cross my arms, slouching in the wooden chair.
I don’t look her in the eyes, but stare at the floor as I say, “I’m honestly surprised with what I’ve gone through that I’m not hooked on something.
It’s been offered to me one too many times.
” I swallow before lifting my gaze back to her.
She meets mine for a brief moment before she focuses on her hands, picking at her nails.
“I used to be one of those...” I snap my fingers, staring into space to find the word, but my brain is mush. “One of those straight-edge kids.”
“Straight edge? What the hell is that?”
“No alcohol, cigarettes, or drugs... I didn't follow the sex part, but...” I raise both brows and pause, taking a deep breath and realize I’m letting her in.
“The band I used to be with was into some heavy shit at times.” Her eyes tremble at those words.
“We’d play, and we sounded like shit because they were just doped up.
It was hard touring with them. My last straw was when our lead singer pissed himself on stage and collapsed.
I just wasn’t into that vibe. I wanted to play the guitar and sing.
Even when we broke up, he fought me on the rights to a lot of the songs I wrote.
I was...” I shrug and cross my arms. “I was seventeen, and they were in their early twenties and they dumped me on the side of the road when we got into a physical altercation. I had to walk down the side of a highway until I reached a nearby gas station. Omen flew out, and picked me up ten hours later at the same gas station.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed anything. She said that and I dunno what came over me. I never knew you went through something like that.”
I hold out my arms. “Do I have marks... scars? Anything?”
“You have a lot of tattoos.”
“That’s the only needle that I like, and the baddest thing I have in my room is condoms and umm...” I clear my throat and rub the back of my neck.
“And what...”
“You might find a pocket pussy.” I cringe at that statement, but it gets her to chuckle for a second in the midst of her tears.
“So you’re a perv...” She gathers up hair on her cheeks, peeling them off her skin.
“There’s nothing wrong with a guy having one. I can suction that thing to anything. You never know, I might have holes in my wall that I’ve had to patch up.”
She tilts her head back and laughs. “You’re stupid.”
“I think it’s still in the box, actually.” I scratch the back of my head. “We can go find it,” I point to the hallway with a thumb and wiggle my eyebrows.
“Oh my God, why are we talking about this?”
“It helped you stop crying, didn’t it?”
“Well, I don’t think you’re a huge red flag or a horrible person... I think... I think I have...” she says with a heavy breath, and she bites her bottom lip, shaking her head as if her brain is telling her to shove it back down her throat. You have what? Finish that statement, please.
“She might be worried if you don’t go home.” My mouth is dry as I take another sip of my tea and play with the tea bag.
“Do you want me to leave?” she asks, and that question is a trap. I know it.
“No, not if you don’t want to. You can take my bed, and I can sleep on the couch.”
“Would you sleep next to me?” she asks, and I’m not sure if I’m crossing a line if I agree to it.
This is a trap either way, and I’m staring down the barrel of a gun with her on the other end.
I’m going to be shot with more feelings I’m avoiding.
I’m tired, and torn between wanting her, but also knowing her mother has a point.
“Sure...” I glance back down at my half-drunk tea, and now it’s lukewarm and all the honey has sunk to the bottom. I take another sip, and it’s colder on my lips than I expected. “I’m pretty beat, and I have to open the store in the morning.”
I place both hands on my knees, lifting myself up, and holding out a hand.
She gathers her purse and takes my hand.
I shut off the lights as we stroll down the hallway to my room.
The door closes behind me, and she goes to my bed and drops down on the mattress, untying her shoes and placing them neatly next to my nightstand along with her purse.
I untie my joggers, letting them fall to my ankles, and I pull my shirt over my head. “I usually sleep hot, hope that’s okay with you.” I bundle up my clothes and place them in my hamper.
“That’s fine.” She says.
“Do you want to borrow a shirt?”
“No, these are my pajamas, actually.”
I plop back down on the mattress. “I like to be closer to the door when I sleep.”
Charlie scoots over, kicking the comforter and sheets before dipping her legs underneath. She fluffs and beats the spare pillow as I adjust myself.
I’m not sure how long we lay there. It’s dark in the room, but I can see each time she blinks, and every so often a car passes by and its headlights bleed through the room.
Her hair spills all over the pillow. She scoots closer, and baby-soft fingers trace the outlines of my tattoos on my arms, her nails grazing my skin.
“I don’t think I can really sleep,” she says.
“Yeah... I feel the same way. We can chat if you want.”
“Okay...” she taps a finger to her lips. “Do you ever plan on cutting your hair?” she asks as she twirls a messy strand around her finger, her eyes following the motion. “It’s almost longer than mine.”
I prop myself up with an elbow, glancing down at how the moonlight makes her skin glow a radiant grey. “Would you still think I’m cute if I cut it?” I find a loose strand of her own hair falling over her face and tuck it behind an ear.
“I won’t have anything to pull,” she shrugs. Our knees and feet brush underneath the sheets.
“What do you think I’m gonna do? Get a buzz cut?” I run a hand down her smooth arms, and make my way down and grasp her thigh pulling her closer.
Charlie’s palm slides down my chest and rests against the erratic rhythm of my heartbeat. “Your heart’s pounding,” she says, and I’m mesmerized by the grey glint in her eyes.
“Yeah, I don’t usually have sleep-overs with girls I like.” I lean in, capturing her lips in a kiss. Her mouth parts open, and her tongue dances with mine. She tastes like heaven. It’s sweet and something uniquely her. If I'm actually doing any drugs, it’s her.
“Noah...” Her voice trembles with need. Her nails trail down my biceps as she kisses me with a hunger that matches my own.
I groan into her mouth, my grip tightening against her waist. “Any girl out there would be lucky to have you.” My heart does somersaults, and her eyes are genuine and big, and pretty with those words.
I’d be lucky to have you. But I can’t get those words out of my vocal box.
“I’m going to try to sleep,” I say between her lips, and trail a few kisses down her cheek to the crease of her neck.
“Okay...”
The second I close my eyes, it lights out.
I know at some point I wrapped my arms around Charlie like a cocoon, and she hasn’t budged.
She clenched her fingers around my palms as if her life depended on it.
I know I’m barely catching four hours of sleep, and I’m going to be dragging my feet on the carpet the second I have to work, but when orange light spills through the blinds, my brain doesn’t feel clouded with exhaustion.
It talks to me, poking me with a stick to get up.
I unwrap myself from Charlie, who’s dead asleep, her hair wild on the pillowcase, and there's a small puddle of drool. Isn’t that cute? I clean the sand out of my eyes as I sit on the edge of the bed. A low buzz vibrates on the floor. It’s in Charlie’s purse, and I use two fingers to take a peek.
It’s her phone. I wouldn’t bother paying attention, but it buzzes again, and two seconds pass, and it continues to vibrate. It’s six thirty in the morning, and there's an influx of notifications pouring in. I pull her cell out, my blood running thin with his name running across the screen. Brody.
Brody: Who the fuck are you with?
Brody: Is it that faggot from the movie theater again?
Brody: You really set your standards high on this one. He’s a fucking loser.
Brody: Come on, baby. You know I love you. Write back. We can make things work. You can’t stay mad at me forever.
Why the fuck does he keep sliding into her messages like this? I slide my thumb up, but the phone wants a password. Fuck. This is something you don’t do. It’s Charlie’s phone. This violates trust, and I’m sweating thinking about what’s beyond the password.
My heart is brittle, and it’s begging for some assurance she isn’t telling him she still cares. I carefully put the phone to Charlie’s face, pressing a few buttons until it gives me the checkmark and unlocks the device.
My consciousness screams at me to stop. What the hell am I doing?
This is some shit I only see online. I should put the phone back in her purse, but I scroll until I find her text messages and open them.
There are over twenty text messages from Brody, all from last night.
There are more messages from him than a single response from her.
When I do come across a response, it’s just her asking him to leave her alone.
The little three dots appear at the bottom of the screen as he's typing again.
Brody: So you’re gonna keep leaving me on read? Answer me!
I’ll fucking answer you. I flip on the camera, making sure he gets a good visual of me flipping the bird, and a blurry background image of Charlie sleeping.
She’s in my bed. Not yours. I’m the one making her come, all her moans are from me, and all of her is mine.
I don’t type out a message. I just send him the picture and watch as the little read receipt pops up in the right-hand corner.
Then nothing. Her phone goes silent, and I think he’s got the hint.