61. Noah
Noah
It’s January. It's been three months. The apartment is more roomier than before. I’ve been selling a lot of the old furniture or hauling it off to the dump.
All of Gramps’ medical equipment went straight to the church and they seemed to appreciate it.
I can’t afford much, but there’s a nice couch from Walmart and one of those cheaper three hundred dollar televisions that mount on the wall.
It never felt so good dumping that box TV out of the bed of my truck.
The only downside is the record store closing. It’s going into Gramp’s estate, but I get to keep the apartment.
The album is finished too. We’ve written new songs, and cleaned up all of our other tracks.
Charlie has written us songs too. I bought her a new notebook, and she’s used every color Sharpie she owns to write poems and lyrics.
When she shows the guys, we work out some kinks or the lyrics and try to find beats that would match.
We could honestly have an entire album about one nasty breakup.
There have been a few teasers released and within a week one of them gained five million listens.
We’ve blown up everywhere, and I’m not sure what’s up with women these days but girls into those spicy porno books like using a few of those songs in their videos.
I shouldn’t act surprised because we’ve reached over a million followers.
It was kinda an overnight deal. I keep having to hit myself in the head, and make sure I’m not dreaming.
Charlie moved in too. She didn’t want to stay at her mothers house, and she wasn’t about to go back to the dorms either.
She started a few online classes, but fell behind rather quickly.
I was surprised at myself for being able to sit next to her and help her with some of the basic courses on literature.
Tonight Charlie passed out early, mid-way through writing a paper. The book was in her lap and everything. She looked peaceful, so I ended up carrying her to bed, and she didn’t hesitate in stealing the blankets and putting herself in a cocoon.
I’ve been up. I can’t sleep and the clock on the stove says 1:57am.
The numbers are glowing, and it taunts me.
I’ve already tried the sleepy tea, some boring documentary, and sheep aren’t going to help either.
My insomnia is kicking my ass tonight. My brain just loops in circles with thoughts about the tour, the band, making sure not to let down our fans, and Charlie. Especially Charlie.
It’s kinda like clockwork when I hear it. The softening cry in the bedroom that slowly turns into a blistering scream. Not from the streets outside, or the television playing, but her.
It rips through the quiet, and it shakes me to the core, a chill races through me. My feet slam against the floor racing down the hallway and into the bedroom.
“Charlie!”
Sweat sticks to my palms when I reach the bedside. She's thrashing under the covers, eyes squeezed shut, breathing coming out like she’s choking. I climb onto the bed, grasping her face between my hands. “Hey, hey! It’s me. Wake up. It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re safe. You’re with me.”
Charlie’s lashes flicker, and she chokes up a sob, her eyes glossy with tears. She glances around the room like she's still half asleep and caught up in her nightmare.
“It’s okay,” I whisper, brushing her hair back with the flat hand. “It’s just a dream.”
She’s crying so hard it hurts my own chest. It makes me want to sob, as she breathes hard.
She’s drenched in sweat as she mutters the words, “He...he had a gun.” Her chin trembles.
“Brody... he... he... put a gun to my head, and…” She leans forward sobbing.
“He told me I had to leave you, and he...” I swallow hard as this is all new to me. “He pulled the trigger.”
“It’s over now, it was a dream.”
I wipe away tears streaming down her eyes. “There wasn’t a bullet, and he said next time it would be you.”
“He’s in jail, and he’s not going to touch me, or you again.” I grasp her upper arm pulling her into my chest and I rest my chin against the top of her head. Her nails claw into my shirt as she inhales deep breaths.
I can’t tell if it’s her heart racing, or if it’s mine that I’m feeling. Within a few minutes of rubbing her back, she finally lifts her head then her eyes, shining with that beautiful silver glint.
“I’m sorry for hurting you,” she searches my face, “and for keeping you up at night.”
I meet her gaze, hoping she can see how much I love her. “You don’t need to apologize.” I lean in and give her a soft, reassuring kiss. Something to anchor her back to this room, to me. “I’m not going anywhere.”