49. Noah
Noah
Alingering scent of vanilla fills the air.
It’s on my skin, her sweat still coating me.
I woke up with a smile on my face. That’s odd of me.
I’ve had plenty of sex with women, but never one that I really wanted more with.
Something about the way she sounded when she withered above me as she climaxed, how our bodies were drenched and sweaty.
I think we fucked four times last night, and I’ve never wanted someone like this.
I’ve only taken one other girl’s virginity, and the other girl had the shortest black hair, a tongue ring, and had a thing for my nipples.
But I was on tour with another band, and a group of her friends told me she wanted to lose her virginity to me.
She had waited months for the concert, got VIP passes and everything.
After the concert, I took her backstage, locked the door and spent a good thirty minutes with her.
I never got her name. I don’t think she even climaxed.
Mine was barely a release, and my armpits were just sweaty, and my legs exhausted.
I simply got a thanks and a peck on the cheek before she left.
Not one of my finer moments. But Charlie…
I can still taste her on my lips, my release hard as I spilled into her.
I open my eyes, cleaning out the sand from my tear ducts as I sit up.
I’m alone in the record store. It’s quiet besides the birds chirping outside, flying to the sidewalk, pecking at whatever it is they're trying to eat. That’s weird.
Her clothes are gone – her shoes, her purse.
My clothes I lent her are folded neatly for me.
“Charlie?” I called out, my voice echoing in the store.
I grab my phone and quickly type out a text.
Noah: Hey, where’d you go? Everything okay?
A minute passed. Then five. No reply. Just a read receipt. Don’t panic. I told her I loved her back. I poured my heart out to her. The fear starts creeping back in that she’s going to disappear on me. Vanish without a trace.
I tried calling her. It rang and rang, then went straight to voicemail.
“Hey... umm... it’s me. I meant what I said last night.
I fucking love you too, I don’t open up like this with anyone.
I know you get scared thinking all a guy wants is sex, but that’s not what I want.
That wasn’t what we did last night, that was something else, and I want that every night with you, I want you and all of you.
Please call me back... I love you.” Those last three words split my chest cavity open.
I change, and head upstairs into the apartment where Gramps is making coffee. I shower, eat, text the band about tonight’s concert and them wanting to practice, and burn enough demos for people to purchase at the venue tonight.
Another hour went by. Still, nothing. The knot in my stomach tightens into a full-blown panic. Where was she? Why hasn’t she said anything? And why did I have this horrible feeling that something was terribly wrong?
I flow through my morning, checking my phone every ten to fifteen minutes to see if she called me back.
I’m usually not this anxious. When I drive to Omen’s house, I’m staring at every silver car, wanting it to be her passing by so I can make a U-turn and chase her down.
But none of them are her, and one of them ended up being a guy who looks like Mr. Pringles who flipped me the bird.
When I arrive at Omen’s, it’s just an ominous sensation in my limbs.
I try to focus on the music as we run through the songs in the garage.
But Charlie’s sudden cold shoulder creeps into my bloodstream, stabbing me in the chest, and when I close my eyes all I see is her grey eyes glimmering in pleasure as she rides me.
Something slams a sledgehammer into my gut and everything I ate today swims in my throat.
We sang our first song, Stalked by Demons. I keep mixing up the lyrics, and coming in a beat too early – I’m just choking up. Omen pokes his tongue into his cheeks as he stops playing the guitar, the amp squealing loud.
“Let’s try again.” I start over, listening to the beats of the drums, and I make it to the chorus before I fuck up the lyrics again. My voice cracked on a high note. I threw the microphone onto the garage floor with hands raking through my hair.
“What the hell, man! We don’t have time for this shit!” Vince throws his drumsticks on the floor, one of them snapping in two as he pushes himself up, knocking into the cymbals. He stomps off, slamming the door open as he heads inside.
Omen pulls the guitar strap over his head and turns off the amp. His dark-green eyes are fixated on me.
“I’m hungry dude. I’m gonna make a bologna sandwich.” Tony strolls inside without a damn care if we get the songs right or not.
“What’s going on?” Omen raises his hands.
Nothing. Buzz off. Eat shit. Maybe I can go jump off a bridge. Scratch that. I’m not that insane. “You're really off today. We don’t have much longer to be ready.”
“I know! I know!” I hold up my palms before kneeling to pick up the microphone.
“It’s Charlie, isn’t it?” He knows it’s her. “I thought you broke it off with her,” he rants. “God, you’re pussy-whipped! You, out of all people, are whipped!”
“She came over last night with all the clothes I lent her. I fucked her on that leather couch, and I mean I really fucked her. I fucked her all night.”
“You've got it bad.”
“I can’t leave her, I just can’t do it. I dunno how I'm going to even make this work. I fucking want her.”
“You can’t have a healthy relationship with her and be touring.”
“She had left when I woke up this morning. I tried texting her, calling her. I can’t get a hold of her.
Maybe I should just act like a fucking guy and not give a shit because she drained my ball sack, but fuck, I love the shit out of her.
” I dig into my pockets pulling out the sheet of paper with the lyrics written on it. “Look, she gave me this.”
Omen takes the paper unfolding it, sitting on the amp in front of me. His brows scrunching together. “Did you write this?”
“No, she did.”
Omen gets up taking the paper with him, kicking the door open. “Yo, Tony! Come check this out!” The doors seals shut.