Chapter Twenty Nine
It is apparently tradition to go out to the club Fiction on New Years Eve.
I learn this information the day before, when Matt and I are sat on the sofa watching a horror film and he turns to me, ice cream scoop in one hand and cheap carton of ice cream in the other, and says, "did I tell you about tomorrow yet?"
"No?"
"We're going to Fiction," he shrugs. "We do it every year."
I don't ask if Skye is still invited. It seems like too risky of a topic at the moment, especially after that awkward encounter with our parents on Christmas Eve.
I hope I never have to talk about her and Matt; I hope I never see them all over each other again either, but that may be one dream too far.
Noah returns home late that night.
I'm half asleep in his bed, roused only by the gentle opening of the bedroom door. He takes off his shirt, kisses my forehead, my cheeks, my lips, and then disappears from the room. I drift back into a dreamless sleep.
I find him sleeping on the couch the next morning. Matt is already awake, cooking a greasy breakfast, holding his phone to one ear and speaking into it with harsh, spitting words. He attempts to smile when he see's me take a seat at the island but his mouth seems permanently etched into a grimace.
He's stomping when he walks to the other side of the kitchen. The fridge, which has done nothing wrong, cries out at the hinges when he yanks open the door. He drinks orange juice out of the carton.
"Why are you still on the phone with me?"
I look away from him. That harsh tone is not my brother - not the brother that I recognise in front of me at least. There's fire behind his eyes and his tongue is as sharp as silver when he argues with the person on the other end of the line.
A few more cusses, hissed words, the phone is thrown onto the table between us. Call ended.
"Everything okay?"
"I hate women," is all he spits back at me.
Noah's voice startles me. His words are croaky and deep, he has to clear his throat while he's speaking. "You realise you're saying that to a woman?"
I look back at him and pause. His eyes still threaten to close themselves, blinking softly like they want him to close them again.
Hair in every direction, stuck against one side of his face flat and puffed out at the other.
There are crooked pillow indent lines along his right cheek, red and jagged lines that cut into smooth skin.
And, oh. He isn't wearing a shirt.
The blanket over him falls down his shoulder as he tries to keep his body tilted towards the two of us. When Matt just scoffs in response he flops back down, the couch groaning underneath him.
I have the sudden urge to walk over to him and curl up into his side. To squeeze against his body on that little sofa and get lost under the blanket and in each other.
I want to kiss every part of his face, every part of his body. I want to find the shirt he discarded last night and drown myself in it. Emotion floods over my body. He's smiling at me, mouth just tilted faintly - not that usual cocky smirk that I've grown accustomed to.
I want that smile against my own mouth. I crave those usual whispered words in my ear that we only share when we're alone. More than that.
I want to smell his neck and lick his bottom lip - my God, I want to be with him. I want to be his girlfriend.
It hits me all at once and yet I barely outwardly react. My eyebrows raise a fraction, gaze flickering over Noah and his gentle staring, before I realise I should be smiling back at him.
And so I do. I smile for the rest of the day.
Chelsea appears outside our house at around midday. She's got nothing to wear tonight (she does), I've got nothing to wear tonight (I probably do), and we just have to go shopping to rectify the issue.
Matt wants us gone; there's a football game on in a few hours anyway and we'd only get in the way. Chelsea warns him not to get in our way when we get back. Because getting ready for something as big as New Years Eve takes time, she explains when I ask about it in the car.
We get coffee before we shop - that's when you know you're in it for the long haul.
Thirteen shops later and Chelsea is still looking for an outfit that perfectly matches the new shade of orange that she's dyed the front few pieces of her hair. Although she doesn't want to look too orange.
I'm in friendship hell.
While she's in the dressing room of the fourteenth shop, I pull out my phone and text Noah. My not-boyfriend Noah.
He replies before she's even tried on the first dress.
"How's it going in there?" I call through the curtain.
A huff. A zip.
"I look like a fucking tangerine."
"Don't be like that," I snort. "Your skin is way too pale to be considered tangerine-like."
She rips back the curtain and scowls at me in what I can only describe as the most orange thing I've ever seen. The orange ruffles of the dress look like peel - her limbs the segments of the orange. I suck my lip into my mouth and try not to let my amusement shine through my eyes.
"I don't know why you're finding this so funny," she says, pointing a long acrylic finger nail at me. "When we start counting down and you're begging Noah to kiss you with your eyes, you're going to wish you were in the skimpiest, sluttiest little outfit you've ever owned."
"But Noah can't kiss me in front of Matt."
She looks down at me.
"Don't you want him to be so desperate that he almost does it anyway?"
That. Is not something I had considered.
She gives her signature 'I know better than you' look and angrily draws the curtain closed again. Fuck. I do want Noah to be that desperate. I want him to undress me the entire evening with his eyes. Maybe they'll be a bathroom sparse enough to-
"I need a dress," I announce. "I need a dress."
"That's the spirit!" Chelsea yells back. She's back in her jeans and t-shirt when she pulls the curtain again, the orange catastrophe thrown over her arm. "Slut city here we come!"
An elderly lady frowns at the two of us as we pass by. I'm already scanning the shop, however, and take no notice of her disapproval.
Something skimpy, maybe not, but certainly something eye catching. Although Noah did seem impressed with the little too-small skirt I wore to seduce him, so maybe skimpy wouldn't be all that bad. I'd have to get it past Matt somehow.
More shops. More coffee.
We begin jogging between shops because Chelsea and I both need to wash, dry and style our hair before we put on makeup. I wouldn't be surprised if there's a suitcase of supplies stuffed into the boot of her car for when we get ready.
She manages to find something orange, a little two piece set with strange cutouts everywhere. It's very odd, and therefore very her.
It takes us a little while longer to find something for me.
Chelsea seems to want my tits to fall out of whatever I'm wearing, and while I'd certainly go for that alone with Noah, I'd like Matt to still be able to look me in the eye this evening. We compromise and I manage to find an outfit before my feet fall off of my ankles.
Matt does stay out of our way when we're back because he and Noah are so engrossed in the football game on the TV that he glares at us when we try to talk in the kitchen. We head upstairs (away from the fire burning behind his stare) to get ready.
"Who pissed on him this afternoon?"
"I think he's in an argument with Skye."
She rolls her eyes and drops our shopping bags onto the bathroom counter.
She's already taking off her clothes when she replies. I close and lock the bathroom door.
"Isn't he always?"
She steps into the shower in her underwear, pulls the curtain, and then pokes out an arm to drop her underwear on top of her discarded pile of clothes. I begin brushing through the knots in my hair.
"I think this one is worse," I mutter. The shower turns on. "Do you think they'll still come out with us tonight?"
"She doesn't strike me as the type to back down from a fight, so yes. Definitely."
I would not be surprised.
"Let's try and stay away from that drama," Chelsea adds. I couldn't agree more.
We swap when she's done in the shower. She dries her hair while I shave, scrub and exfoliate myself senseless.
I find myself obsessing over my appearance - I can't miss a single leg hair.
Subconsciously, I know that I'm trying to focus on anything but my revelation that I like Noah far too much. Boyfriend, girlfriend, too much.
I'm also trying not to remember that work starts again in a few days, and the last time I saw Zach I was in a very compromising, job-losing position. Chelsea didn't have a lot of good advice about that particular fiasco but she did look worried when I told her about it.
I'm sure if I pick at my skin and obsess over my makeup enough I'll manage to forget about it for the evening. The copious amounts of alcohol won't hurt either.
It takes hours for us to get ready.
The last two of which Matt spends sporadically banging on the door and shouting at us to hurry up.
My brother has a tipsy glow when we emerge from the bathroom and let him shower. We finish off in Matt's wardrobe mirror, taking too many pictures and propping up different pieces of hair.
I've only seen myself like this a handful of times. My legs are out, my breasts are pressed up against my body, my face is more makeup than skin. I had a hell of a time in University - where dressing like this felt more acceptable.
The panels at my midsection feel as tight as a corset and I suddenly wonder if this is actually a good idea.
This is a fuck me outfit. Perfect for one night stands in Uni, maybe not so perfect to attract the correct attention tonight at the club. Chelsea tries to convince me that all the girls will be dressed similarly and that neither of us will stand out, which I know will inevitably be true.
But still; I want Noah's attention. I don't want to flash a nipple at some bartender who's just trying to smile his way through an awful shift.
Matt emerges from the shower, towel wrapped around his hips, and huffs before grabbing his clothes from the bed and stomping into Noah's room. The fact that he hasn't commented on our dressing up is reassuring.
"Skye is here," he mutters when he returns.
My eyes dart to him in the mirror. He sits down on his bed and folds over, head in his hands like he's thinking about every bad choice he's ever made. How he got here specifically.
He looks up to Chelsea and I staring at him in the mirror.
"I know," he groans. "We always drink together before going out. Dan doesn't know the extent of it."
I don't know the extent of it. Chelsea has less of an idea than I do.
"I'm not even sure how that's relevant," is all I find myself able to reply.
He just sighs. "Please don't leave my side tonight."
Noah's image flashes before my eyes. Lovely, tattooed Noah who I planned to whisk away at the peak of the night. Noah who I dressed up for. Noah who's eyes I planned to have follow me the entire evening.
I take in my brother as he sits in his nice jeans at the edge of the bed and begs me with his eyes. He looks tired. How hadn't I noticed the bags under his eyes? How wrapped up in Noah have I been these last few weeks?
My reply is gentle. Chelsea looks away from the two of us and pretends to fix her lipstick.
"Of course."
He squeezes my shoulder as he begins to leave the room.
"You both look lovely, by the way."
We share a small look between ourselves when he's gone but Chelsea doesn't comment on it. I try not to let disappointment roll over me at the loss of secretly pulling Noah aside tonight even though it's obvious that Matt needs my support more.
Skye, Sara and Dan are sat on the sofa when we finally go downstairs. They're pressed thigh to thigh and are just as dressed up as Chelsea and I. Skye's signature red lipstick turns up into a small smile when we enter the room.
I'm taken aback by her tiny crop top and the thong sitting high on her hips for a second but a spluttered cough catches my attention in the kitchen.
Bending over, water coming out of his nose; I raise my eyebrows at Noah Laurier and smooth my dress over my thighs.
He turns away from us and towards the kitchen sink, face red as anything.
Matt slaps his back and shrugs at the two of us. He tips his head towards two poured gin and tonics, each with a mixture of berries and a slice of lime in. We both take a seat on the island stools and pull a drink towards ourselves.
"With cut up fruit, too?" Chelsea coos. "You are desperate."
"Shut up," Matt hisses, but the smile he's looking between us with is anything but bitter.
Noah disappears upstairs for a while.
The rest of us pretend that everything is fine while we play drinking games and avoid eye contact with each other.
Sara spends most of the evening looking into her empty beer bottles, Dan tries to cut tension, and Chelsea and I stay as far away from the hostility as we can whilst in the same room with it.
It's probably why she, Matt and I don't stray far from the kitchen.
"Let's loosen up," Dan suggests lightly. Matt and I swirl to face him on our stools. Chelsea turns in time with us. He pulls a bottle of tequila out of his coat pocket and points to the cut up limes still on the chopping board behind the three of us. "Shots."
"A drinking game with shots," Skye suggests. "Never have I ever."
The game we played the first night I met the group all those weeks ago. The gulp of liquid sitting at the back of my throat warns me that this doesn't feel like a good idea.
We play anyway.
Noah appears a few turns into the game and makes the hair stand up on the back of my arms with the outfit change.
Fitted trousers, loose half-unbuttoned shirt that looks as if it won't contain a slight flex if he moves his arms. He shakes one of his wrists out and begins doing up the button on his cuff.
Fucking hell. Fucking hell.
There's a triangle of skin under the neck tattoo that is plain and inviting. I could rip those buttons off with my teeth as my hand pushed past the belt and into his boxers- I could-
"Breathe," Chelsea murmurs, "and look away."
Her hand appears on my arm and squeezes.
I glance at Noah's face. At his locked jaw and the heat behind his gaze. At the swallow he takes just before I manage to tear my eyes away.
I swallow heavily too and down the shot of tequila that Dan holds out to me. He grins and hands me the bottle, taking his turn as I pour myself another.
It's easier once the drinks start flowing.
Matt begins speaking again instead watching in silence, he talks like they're all friends again but doesn't accept any of Skye's playful comments. He goes out to smoke with Dan and Noah and comes back with a wider smile on his face, still sitting between Chelsea and I on the floor when he returns.
The game fizzles into general conversation.
No drinks are thrown, no arguments break out. We manage to drink together and travel to the club in relative ease.
Skye doesn't throw herself at Matt and he continues to keep his distance by using Chelsea and I as human shields, which works only because Skye and Sara don't seem to want to talk to either of us. I'm tipsy enough that I don't overthink it.
Matt is still glued to my side as I order the first round of drinks. Sara and Skye are nowhere to be seen, which seems to put Dan at ease with the rest of us.
I feel Noah's body cage me in as the first drink is placed on the bar in front of us. His arms are either side of me, front pressed to my back, as he flicks his debit card out between two fingers and holds it up to the bartender.
"I was going to pay," I roll my eyes.
He has to lean into my ear to be heard over the music. "You can't look this good and pay for your own drinks, angel."
I lean over the bar and press my ass into him.
An intake of breath next to my ear. One little movement that presses his semi into me, and then his hand slips up my dress and squeezes my thigh before he pulls away with his own drink in hand. Matt begins shouting something in his ear but his eyes are still glazed over and facing me.
I have to turn around.
There's already a pounding between my legs . My very skimpy underwear does not need this tonight; not when the night is only just staring.
Strobe lights flicker over our bodies. The floor is sticky and packed with people on top of people - we have to squeeze through groups to finally get somewhere we can dance and I'm sure that I've spilled half my drink by the time we settle in front of a large DJ booth.
We must dance for forty minutes straight. Eventually the alcohol feels like it's wearing off and the two of us head back to the bar, having lost the boys long ago to the outdoor areas. Chelsea orders and pays for our drinks, and then we're heading outside to look for our friends.
It's still just as full out here. Smells of smoke and sweat and something a little dirtier. Red lights hang overhead and make the back of my neck feel sweaty.
We push past groups of people and bits of outdoor furniture, scanning all of the drunken faces, before a waving arm catches my attention.
Teardrop's friend with the bald head. And Teardrop with him.
The friend is waving at Chelsea.
Noah is sat with them in a booth under more of the red lights, legs stretched out in front of himself and a bottle of some acid-tasting beer in his grasp. He smiles lazily as Chelsea begins pulling us over.
Damien Mierro looks the same as he did the last time we were here.
Shaved head, mulberry scar, that familiar teardrop tattoo underneath the eye.
There's a bruise around his other eye now though, dark and a little swollen.
His friend, whose interest in Chelsea is still apparent, gestures for us to squeeze into the seats with them.
I let Chelsea sit next to the friend. Tony, I hear him introduce.
Instead of standing awkwardly at the table and trying to ignore all of the male eyes on me, I smooth down my dress, throw my hair over one shoulder, and take a sideways seat on Noah's lap.
I rest my head next to his.
"Matt's over there," he murmurs, sending a wave of hot breath along my ear. Every hair on my body stands to attention. I follow his soft nod to another corner of the outdoor space, where Matt and Dan are stood with a large gaggle of similarly dressed girls.
I scoot further back onto him, feeling his back hit the back of the booth behind us.
My skirt rides up and several pairs of eyes drop down to Noah's hand when he splays it over the point where my thighs meet at the top of my legs, covering up any possibility of flashing them.
"You don't care?" He continues muttering into my ear.
I'm only vaguely aware that I'm facing a table of scary looking men that I've never met, that if Noah's hand wasn't covering me up they'd all have the opportunity to look up my dress at the tiny little thong that barely covers my clitoris, never mind my full vagina.
"Are you just that desperate to get me hard in this little dress, baby? "
Damien Mierro looks between the two of us with a grin larger than life.
Nobody at the booth can hear Noah's words but I assume my vaguely tipsy reaction to Noah's words tells them all they need to know about the two of us.
"Madelaine," he teases. I turn my face towards his, our noses brushing. "I've had a lot to drink and my hands will wander in front of anyone."
I know they're watching. I know that Matt could look over at us at any second and throw a complete tantrum.
I know the blush on my face and the fact that I'm squeezing my thighs against each other is probably all anyone needs to see to realise the effect that he has on me, and yet I let him slip his thumb under the fabric of my dress in front of them all.
Four fingers still protect my modesty.
The thumb presses against my thong, slowly stroking up and down like he wants me to explode in front of all these strangers; like he wants to lay claim in front of the people he mistrusts the most.
"I thought Damien Mierro was bad news?" I mumble the words into his own ear.
"He is," is the sickly sweet reply. "Chelsea should probably not let Tony put his hand up her skirt either."
I look for my friend. Chelsea is practically mirroring me, sat on his lap, smirking when we meet eyes. His hand is on her thigh, rising up, up - she slaps it away. Damien laughs and leans in to say something to his friend.
"Do you think they'd mind," Noah whispers, lips brushing against the shell of my ear, "if I put my fingers in you right now?" The thumb strokes. Slowly. Tormentingly. "Do you think they'd even look away?"
I swallow.
"Maybe I could just pull my dick out instead and let you sit on that. Fill you up. Feel you all over me."
He's licking my ear.
"You want that, Maddie? Want me to fuck you into the new year?"
I nod. Dizzy with want, simmering with need.
I feel naked in front of them all. Laid bare, legs spread, and I don't even care. Noah makes me brainless, takes away all sense and replaces it with a burning in the pit of my stomach.
"You're grinding on me again, sweetheart."
I am. Fuck.
Damien is staring. His friends are staring. Chelsea is watching me through her eyelashes and trying to contain the shit-eating grin threatening to break out.
I stand up abruptly.
Noah's hands fall away from me and I watch his eyes drop to where my dress has risen up. I pull it down over my hips quickly, pointing at him with a neatly painted fingernail.
He's winding me up on purpose, riling me in front of all these people because he knows he can and he wants to see me lose myself over him, as I usually do.
I am not nearly as embarrassed as I should be - in fact, I'm oddly turned on at his need to parade my weakness for him in front of anyone he's allowed to show it to. I'll overthink that particular kink later.
"You're an asshole."
Damien Mierro is still staring at me. The darkness is his eyes is both terrifying and dizzying and I have to look away because I don't have the confidence to hold his stare.
Not when I've figured out what that tally chart tattooed onto the back of his hand is; not when I know what he did to Noah as a teenager.
Noah's usually cocky smile returns.
He stokes his lap like I'll jump back into it - I almost do. He's drunk and divinely irritating and if I don't pull away from him now I'll let him tear my dress off. In front of everyone.
"Madelaine!"
The smell of vodka hits me before his arms do. They wrap around my shoulders, tight, and almost make me topple over. I stumble in my strappy heels and feel Matt half pick me up off the floor to catch me.
"My God, Matt, how much have you had to drink?"
Matt points to Noah over my shoulder, still holding himself up with my body.
"I hope you've been taking good care of my sister, Laurier."
His eyes twinkle. Words that he shouldn't say are poised at the tip of his tongue. Damien is suspiciously silent, still eyeing the three of us, still with that grin plastered onto his mouth.
Noah answers coolly, stretching his legs out in front of him again, "I have."
The words are laced with seduction. It's written over his face, over his body. It's written in the way his eyes are still between my legs and not on our faces, but it's obvious that Noah knows Matt miles better than I do because my brother merely shrugs and begins dragging me away.
Chelsea pulls away from Damien's friend and hobbles after us in heels that are definitely giving her blisters.
We drink more. We actively avoid Sara and Skye.
Chelsea seems to become Matt's wingman with one of the girls from outside. I'm lost in my own head, wanting to go back outside, drunk enough to almost do it. Feeling like Noah could be staring at me wherever I turn.
"This is my sister," Matt says for the millionth time, to a girl who looks like all the others. Their faces blend into one. Pretty, tanned, beaming smile. He has a type.
I throw back another drink and dance with the group.
It feels like hours pass. The loud music in the club booms through my ears, each song making me more excited than the last. The lights flicker over my face and sweat collects at my hairline. A new drink always seems to appear in my hand whenever I finish the last one, fruity and bubbly.
The hairs still stand on my arms when I catch Noah stood with Damien and his friends against a wall. He catches me looking, mutters something to Damien, and pushes through the crowd towards us.
Matt is so lost in the latest girl that he doesn't even notice.
Damien's friend appears behind Chelsea. Her smile catches mine before she turns to him and starts shimmying her hips, uncaring of the people around her or of his friends standing nearby, trying to get the attention of other girls.
Apparently Matt did notice, though, because Noah is pulled away from me within seconds. Introduced to the same girl he'd introduced me to moments earlier. The long once over I get before he's encapsulated in their dancing circle should not affect me the way that it does.
Chelsea distracts me. Let's me dance with them. Feeds me new drinks.
The DJ shouts into a microphone that the new year will begin in ten minutes. Noah, ignoring Matt in front of his body, is looking back at me when I look at him.
It's silly - kissing at midnight. I've always thought so, and yet there's a murmur in my chest that tells me I want it tonight. I want the silly kiss that's meant to take you into the new year and I want it with Noah. My not-boyfriend.
If his returned gaze is anything to go by he does too. Or maybe he's still thinking about pouring dirty words into my head.
Matt's whisks his attention away again.
I dance with some of Damien's friends, flitting between them like a lit flame.
Another time warning: five minutes.
A body appears behind mine, breath on my ear.
"If my boy can't kiss you at midnight, does that mean I get to?" My boy. Noah.
Damien Mierro might have a black eye but he certainly has some nerve.
I spin around to face him. Dark eyes. Scar. Tattoo.
Noah wouldn't have told him which means he's smarter than he lets on, picked it up from the few moments Matt spent with us outside in the smoking area. The alcohol in my veins puts the smile on my face.
"Absolutely not," I reply breezily. He expected that because he doesn't have much of a reaction. We still dance together.
Three minutes.
Damien leans down so we're eye level and looks at me with a vacant stare. Nothing in his face. Nothing behind those dark eyes. An insight into who he is - the nothingness that dwells in his chest.
He reaches out and tucks a piece of carefully curled hair behind my ear. I frown at him, at the easy smile that breezes across his face suddenly.
"I'm enjoying his death glare. It's been a long time since I saw that look on him," Damien tells me. "An even longer time since he stood up to me."
My eyebrows furrow.
"What?"
And then Noah is between us, speaking into Damien's ear, shaking his head. He's - I squint - he's grasping two of Damien's fingers so hard that they've gone white; the two fingers that pushed the hair out of my face.
One minute.
But then it ends. They break apart and share a look with each other, Damien and some of his friends walking away. I'm just glad to feel Noah's chest pressed against my back again, thrilled at the familiarity of his thigh pushing between my legs.
Matt is already kissing a girl - not one he introduced us to, but her friend.
Chelsea winks at me as Damien's friend pulls her into what I can only assume is not their first kiss, judging by the lipstick on his mouth. There's PDA all around us as the DJ begins counting down.
Ten, nine, eight.
"I don't think he'd notice," Noah breathes into my ear. "I don't think he'd care, at this point."
Five, four.
My not-boyfriend, with curly hair and a jaw that cuts glass.
Who bends to my every beck and call.
Who will kiss me in front of my brother anyway.
I pull his face towards mine and kiss his cheek, feeling his earlobe against my lip before I start talking. "Don't start the new year by kissing me if you don't plan to end it the same way."
Two.
A sharp look. A knowing look, deep into the very core of my soul. More than housemates. More than sex.
One.
He nods once, doesn't check who's looking at us while his hands cage me in, and presses his lips to mine as a horn blasts around us and everyone begins cheering. The world disappears into our open mouths, his fingers gently caressing the skin of my cheeks. My body warm and pliant against his own.
I should label this year: The Year I Have to Tell Matt.