55. Noah #2
“So, you only get three attempts on the driving portion, and I have failed twice. I have like another week or so before I can’t take it again, but my mum says she's buying me this random blue Volkswagen Beetle, super cute, but it’s a stick shift.
So I dunno, I think I'm just gonna be that one chick who is gonna bum off rides for the rest of my life...”
God, she's rambling. “Okay okay!” I cut her off. “Get the beetle, and I’ll teach you how to drive a stick. It’s not that hard, and we will go get your license. It will give me something to do, and maybe I can muster up the courage to do this gig we have next week.”
“Really?” Her eyes beam.
“Yes.”
We end up walking to her dorm. I’m drunk enough to feel the floor sway a little, but not enough to stop talking. I keep pulling my flask out, and by the time we climb up the stairs I'm out of juice, just drops on my tongue.
When she opens her door, I stop dead in my tracks. It’s still the same sheets. I thought I was tripping, but no it’s fucking princess sheets. Like, full-on pink, sparkly, cartoon crowns and everything. I blink, then start laughing. “Oh my God. Are you serious?” I point at it.
She throws her backpack at me. “Don’t start.”
“No, no, this is amazing,” I say, stumbling toward her bed. “A college student with fucking princess sheets.”
She groans, pulling her hair into a bun. “I can’t afford new ones, sorry I lived in a trailer park. Ever heard of Cloud Nine?”
“They’re hilarious,” I say, dropping onto her bed and immediately sinking into the soft blankets. “You’re never living this down, Princess.”
She glares, but her lips twitch like she’s fighting a smile. “You’re such an ass.”
“Maybe,” I mumble.
I end up staring at Charlie’s side of the dorm room.
All the posters she put up, some of them being bands from the late nineties.
The still strung led lights hooked to the fake leaves hang down the walls.
I’m sure those light up nicely in the dark.
I switch beds to sit down on Charlie’s, and it’s cold.
“Did you know she wrote songs?” I pick up one of her pink throw pillows and a few stuffed animals she wedged into the corner of the bed.
“She wrote?” Payton asks. “I know she had a diary but that was it.”
“She wrote a song several years ago saying one day she would give it to a guy she was in love with. She gave me that song.” When I lay down on her pillow, it’s just a hint of her left.
Only a small fragment of Charlie left. “I spent eight hours with the guys figuring out how to sing it, and the beats that would go with it. I wanted to surprise her with that song. It came out so good.”
“This isn’t your fault.”
“What kind of fucking power does this guy have over you both?” I ask, my palms held out begging for an answer.
Payton swallows, rubbing her upper arm. “My reputation is ruined because of Brody. I’ve been waiting for Cheer Phi to discover my nudes. I don’t even want to cheer anymore, and I’ve been chased and harassed on campus by every guy here.”
“And security doesn’t do anything?”
“I haven’t told anyone,” she shrugs.
“Seriously? Why? You two could have prevented a lot of this if you stuck up for yourself.”
“Do you think they would even do anything?” Payton asks.
I pause for a moment. “I went to the police about the note she wrote in the stall.”
“And what did they say?”
“They said they appreciated the information, but nothing I guess.” I rub my hands together. “I just fucking hate that douchebag. If I had the chance I’d beat his face in too.”
“As far as I know Brody’s been released from the hospital.”
“He deserves to go back.”
“I know... but I'm going to shower.” She gathers her toiletries and heads out of the room, and the door softly clicks.
I fall onto Charlie’s bed, my head staring up at the ceiling.
I’m terrified of not remembering the sound of Charlie's voice. I curl up with her pillow, and my hand hits something hard. As I take a look, it’s a journal underneath her pillow.
I sat there for a second before opening it.
The pages are filled with notes and doodles, and then I stop at one page with my name at the top.
You found me
In all of my wreckage
Hand stained with yesterday
Heart bleeding from someone else’s names
You looked at me like I wasn’t broken
Like the cracks were just windows
Letting the light through
I never meant to love you
I only meant to breathe around you
It’s been three weeks since Charlie went missing.
My throat is still raw, but I need to sing again.
Omen taps his guitar pick on his strings and the music strumming out of the amp feels like home.
Verses I wrote bounce off the walls and we’re running through new songs, fine-tuning riffs, arguing over the beats of the drums. We’ve got a month before we start recording in a real studio, and of course Omen thinks every small mistake is the end of the world.
But for fuck’s sake, we would go around the house finding random items in the house to make a song too.
One of our fan favorites has sounds of us smacking flipflops together.
When we finally take a break, I step outside, letting the cool air hit my face.
My shirt’s stuck to my back, my fingers are sore.
I check my phone and hover over Payton’s name.
We’ve been hanging out a lot lately. Cooking together, mostly. Something about being able to eat is comforting. I found this old recipe book in the apartment, so we tackled a bunch of dinner recipes – and a lot of them have been bomb. Never had so many orgasms in my mouth before.
Yesterday was her big day. She came running out of the DMV, waving her new license in the air like she’d won a gold medal. Her grin was huge, and I can see Charlie radiating out of her. I think she needed to smile regardless of what was happening. Maybe I did too.
I call her, leaning against the garage door. It rings a few times before she picks up.
“Hey, Noah,” she says, a little out of breath.
“Hey, Princess,” I tease. The nickname still sticks after those ridiculous bedsheets. “You doing anything? We’re practicing today.”
There’s a pause on the line. I hear muffled voices in the background.
“Um,” she starts. “Actually, I’m talking to Ryder right now.”
I blink. “Oh...” I scrape dirt off the driveway with a foot, kicking pebbles into the grass. “How is that going for you?”
She laughs softly. “Yeah. I mean, I think we might... we might work things out. We’ve been passing out flyers today, and I dunno. It just feels right with him. I always, and I mean I’ve always, wanted to be with him. I just didn’t want to give you the wrong impression.”
I let her words hang there for a second, not sure why they even sting a little.
I mean I don’t see her that way in the slightest. There’s a faint hint that she has some sort of impression I’ve been hitting on her, which hasn’t been it at all.
Typical. Too many girls think that any guy that wants to talk or hang out just wants to fuck.
“Payton,” I say, pushing a hand through my hair. “You don’t have to worry about that. I don’t see you like that. We’re friends. That’s it.”
She exhales, relieved. “Okay. I just didn’t want to make things weird. You’ve been there for me a lot lately, and...”
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “Really. You should do what makes you happy. But umm... you know you can come talk to me anytime about anything. I’ll always be a friend if you need it.”
There’s a quiet beat between us. The phone ruffles on the other end, and I hate the silence. It’s like the call is lost, but then you still hear the faint noises in the background.
“Thanks,” she says finally, her voice soft.
“I mean it.”
“Yeah,” I reply, smiling faintly even though she can’t see it.
“If you need anything, just let me know.” We say goodbye and hang up.
I stare at the screen for a moment before sliding the phone back into my pocket.
I’m not upset, not really. Maybe a little.
Like I’d been holding onto something that was never supposed to be mine in the first place.
I wanted to be close to Charlie, and she was the closest person to her, so it was like getting a small dose of Charlie when she was around.
They both act the same in a way. Immature, and a bit too quirky.
I turn back toward the garage, where Omen’s yelling at Vince for tuning the bass guitar wrong again.
“Let’s run it from the top!” Omen shouts.
I grab my guitar, sling the strap over my shoulder, and nod. “Yeah,” I say, voice steady. “From the top.”
And just like that, the noise takes over again, and I let it drown everything else out.