CHAPTER 11 - Noah Black
When I look at you
I see forgiveness
I see the truth
You love me for who I am
Like the stars hold the moon
When I look at you – Miley Cyrus
It’s been two days since I last spoke with Bryan, and every time I’ve been in my room since then, I’ve gone to the closet and thought about grabbing the phone to text him, but reason won out and stopped me.
I knew that talking about that teacher had been a mistake, a slip far too dangerous to repeat, so I held back.
Bryan isn’t a hero, never was, and if he really had the power to save us, he would have done it long ago.
The night we talked, I allowed myself a moment of escape, a brief respite from all the bad things, but the good feeling of talking to him evaporated with the dawn when Sarah barged into the room demanding to know about the assignment Gavin had ordered Sadie to do.
Of course I was the one who wrote it—after all, I couldn’t leave my girl up all night because of that wretch.
I tried to imitate her handwriting, improving it just a little like they asked, but submissive as I am, Sarah is no fool, never was.
“I’ll use this little act of disobedience at the right moment, because right now I’m running late, but know that your father will find out soon.”
The threat dripped like poison from her lips, and when she walked away and I was alone, I realized I couldn’t see Bryan anymore. I had completely forgotten that locking the door was pointless, since both Sarah and Gavin have spare keys.
I only remembered that when the witch let herself into my room with the spare key to demand the assignment.
“Leave it down.” The sweet voice pulls me back to the mirror, pushing my thoughts aside.
The face that was beaming just moments ago when we came in to get ready is now crestfallen.
How about a braid today?
I ask, already knowing the reason for her sudden gloom, and she shakes her head.
They’re not home, so you can do whatever hairstyle you want.
“Baid looks ugly,” she whispers, lifting the strands. “The scar is ugly and baid shows it.”
Sarah is the ugly one, and you shouldn’t care what she says.
She’s a witch, remember? I sign, and she pouts. I can’t believe you’re going to do what an evil witch wants!
I pretend to be incredulous as I finish signing, and I catch the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.
“You look cute when you’re mad!” she teases, covering her mouth as she finally lets out the laugh I was hoping for.
I do not, I pretend to be angry, but I quickly drop the frown and return her smile. Let’s make a beautiful braid and then add a bow with the biggest butterfly we have.
She nods and I start braiding, weaving the strands together. The excitement from before returns and my heart settles. I’m always telling her how beautiful she is, hoping to undo the damage Sarah has already done to her little head. Some days I succeed; other days she simply won’t listen.
Today she decided to follow my advice because she’s excited and happy. So happy she put on her favorite dress: the blue one with white butterflies. And all this happiness is because we don’t have to share the breakfast table with the two grumps.
Greta told us they left before sunrise and wouldn’t be back until late tonight. So at least for today, we’re free from having to be around either of them.
Our breakfast, unlike usual, was filled with conversation, games, and laughter. Greta made everything Sadie and I love to eat and even sat with us for the meal.
It was light and fun in a way it hasn’t been for a long time.
“I think I look pretty,” she says with a smile as I place the butterfly-shaped accessory to finish the look.
Beautiful. Very beautiful! Now let’s go downstairs to play.
I sign and lift her down from the chair.
She takes my hand and together we walk out of her room.
We head down the stairs and out the front door.
As soon as we step onto the lawn, Sadie lets go of my hand and takes off in an awkward run, full of the kind of joy only a child can have when she’s free.
“If you don’t catch me, you’ll have to steal cookies for Sadie all week loooong!” she shouts, her voice full of challenge and mischief.
I shake my head with a smile and start running after her, even as I feel my body protest. I let her escape on purpose every time I get too close, because the sound of victory that bursts out as laughter is better than actually beating her at tag.
After a few minutes of running, I put my hands on my knees, trying to catch my breath and ease the pain. I laugh when she stops a few feet away, puts her thumbs beside her mouth, wiggles her little fingers, and starts teasing me.
“You’re weak, you can’t catch me!” she mocks, and I take a deep breath, knowing I’m more tired than I should be at twenty-three.
And that the beating is still taking its toll.
I’m going to catch you, just you wait!
I gesture while getting up, but I don't manage to run because she doesn't even see my signal—she's already opened her arms and started spinning with her eyes closed, as if trying to embrace the world.
I stand there watching her, wondering how it's possible to love someone as much as I love this little girl.
I bite my lip, trying to hold back the emotion, because despite everything that happened—what she went through, what we went through—I still gained something good amid the chaos.
I gained my butterfly.
The light that shines through so much darkness.
If it weren't for her, I wouldn't have survived the last few years.
She's the one who keeps me alive.
A chill runs down my spine and I turn my head toward the hallway that leads to the back of the mansion, but I don't see anything. I narrow my eyes, staring at the spot, but quickly turn back when I hear Sadie calling me to play hide-and-seek.
I push the strange sensation aside and spend the next few minutes focused entirely on her. We play, we smile, and when we collapse under the shade of a tree, I'm exhausted but completely happy.
“I always love pwaying with you, big sis,” she says, and I roll onto my side, smoothing my hands over her braid to tuck in the strands that came loose during our games.
I love doing everything with you!
I press a kiss to her cheek.
“Sadie, how about a bath and then helping with lunch?” Greta approaches, and we both sit up on the grass.
I can do that.
I tell her, but she immediately shakes her head.
“I think you should go take care of your flowers for a bit, since you haven't been there in a while,” she suggests with a smile. “I managed to get some pots and new seeds.” She grins and I smile back, already getting excited.
I haven't been able to go to the greenhouse in ages because with the late-night trips to bring Lilian her medication, I barely slept, so when I woke up at the mandatory breakfast time, I was exhausted. Whatever strength I had left went to playing with Sadie and doing my required chores.
You didn't have to. I know it's expensive.
I say, knowing she shouldn't be spending money on me.
“Go do something you enjoy to give your mind a rest while Sadie and I have fun together,” she says as we stand up. “I think we can start with a bubble bath and some bath toys.”
“Yaaaay!” my little girl shouts excitedly.
All right, but I won't be long!
“I'll call you when we come down for lunch,” she tells me, and the two of them turn and walk toward the house.
I make my way along the side of the mansion to the back, where a greenhouse—once dusty and forgotten—has slowly come back to life over the years.
The idea came from Greta, after she saw me as a child, enchanted by the gardener's work.
Over time, she started bringing seeds, pots, and small items, while I secretly risked taking things from the garden.
Little by little, I transformed the space into my secret refuge.
Before long, I'm stepping through the glass door, greeted by the damp smell of earth and flowers. The light filtering through the translucent roof softens everything, and just like every time I come here, I feel a sense of peace wash over me.
On the table, I spot some seed packets along with bags of special soil and fertilizer, so I walk over. I roll up the long sleeves of my blouse and open the packages, carefully starting to prepare everything.
I cradle a pot of blue hydrangeas—my favorites—and close my eyes, letting a melody drift through my mind as the scent around me fills my senses.
I sway gently, but a shiver runs down my spine and the sensation of being watched again is so strong that my eyes fly open.
When I turn, ready to grab more seeds, the pot slips from my hands and crashes to the floor—Bryan is standing in the doorway, arms crossed, with an unreadable expression.
I blink repeatedly, convinced he's a mirage, but each time I do, he gets closer. I take a step back, the air leaving my lungs, my chest tightening, and the moment my lower back hits the table, he stops right in front of me.
My heart races, pounding erratically as he draws near. My skin seems to burn and every hair stands on end, charged by the invisible electricity radiating from him. A tingling rises through my body along with a strange heat that contrasts with the cold knot in my stomach.
What are you doing here?
I sign with trembling hands, then close my eyes, feeling like an idiot when I remember he doesn't know sign language.
“I came to see you,” he responds, his deep, husky voice making me slowly open my eyes. “I don't know much, but I learned a few things,” he continues, raising his hands a bit awkwardly, and I stare in disbelief.
He signs the greeting, then “like,” then “good morning.”
For a second, I'm afraid I'll faint—the flood of emotions overwhelming me as I watch him communicate in the language I use, the one so few people bother to learn.
It's obvious he learned recently because his movements still lack fluidity, and somehow that almost makes me want to sink to the floor and cry.
Why? God, why is he learning?
“For now I've only learned this, but soon I'll have mastered everything,” he declares firmly, reaching into his pocket. “You can type on my phone, since I'm guessing you don't have yours.” He hands me the device and all I can do is accept it and stare at him like I'm seeing a ghost.
His body looks even larger in the daylight.
It’s like there’s a wall in front of me—a wall of muscle and tattoos.
His gaze is even more hypnotic, seeming to scream so many things that I feel small before those ocean-colored eyes.
And now it’s no longer the scent of plants overwhelming me.
It’s his.
Strong, woody, and so unforgettable it’s intoxicating.
I shake my head, trying to think straight, and start typing on my phone.
How did you get in? Are you crazy?
I show him the screen, and he arches an eyebrow.
“I ran into Greta yesterday when I was in the next town over, and she recognized me.” I open my mouth again. “I gave her a ride home, and we talked on the way. She figured out how to get me in through the side without being seen.”
But did she already know my parents wouldn’t be home?
He reads the message and quickly shakes his head.
“I knew they’d be traveling, so I took the opportunity to come see you.” My expression betrays my confusion. “The little one’s new teacher doesn’t start until tomorrow because your parents couldn’t meet with her today to go over everything.”
My vision blurs at his words, making my body sway, and his large hands automatically steady me.
Pure shock hits me in that instant!
“Are you okay?” he asks, worried, and I close my eyes, trying to regain my strength.
“Noah, there’s no danger of anyone seeing me,” he states firmly, and my heart feels like it might give out.
“There are no cameras around the property, much less back here,” he says—telling me what I already know.
“I’m not going to do anything that puts you at risk. ”
I stare at him, and before I can stop myself, a laugh escapes my lips.
I arch my eyebrows—because everything he’s doing is risky.
“I know you’re confused, but we need to talk, and this was the best chance I could find,” he continues, and I try not to let the lump in my throat choke me. “Do you think we can go to your room?”
No! There are cameras throughout the entire house, so if you go in, they’ll know. The only place without them is the bedrooms.
I type, even with my hands trembling.
“Damn!” He looks around. “It’s too exposed here, so it’s risky for us to stay.
” I arch my eyebrows in a “you think?” look.
“Not to mention I hate this house.” His expression tightens, and I know he’s searching for solutions.
“Can you climb down the tree to get outside, or would you rather go out the front?” I immediately shake my head no to both—not because I can’t, but because leaving the mansion is far too risky.
“They won’t be back before nightfall, Noah, but if they change plans, I’ll know. ”
How?
“I have people watching your parents right now, and where I’m staying isn’t far,” he says as I continue shaking my head. “Greta’s distracting Sadie, I’m sure. Please, come with me.”
My mind feels like it’s collapsing, torn between reason and emotion.
I step back from him and close my eyes, trying to think straight.
I have so much to ask. There are so many unanswered questions.
Go away.
I start typing, and he moves to my side.
I feel his body tense as he reads my words.
I type again.
Go outside. I’ll talk to Greta, and if she doesn’t stop me, I’ll try to climb down the tree because the front gate stays locked when Gavin leaves.
His sigh is as loud as my frantically beating heart.
I hand him the phone and look at him one last time before leaving the greenhouse, trying to decide if I’m really ready for this.