Noah and Me

by Beckie Stevenson

  I pull open my door and step into the hallway. My heels click across the wooden flooring as I enter the living room. Ruby is sitting at the end of our deep brown corner sofa, looking as if she’s been sitting there a while. She’s wearing tight black jeans and a sleeveless red top. She has the longest red scarf that I’ve ever seen tied around her neck and she’s piled her wild, curly Afro hair up on the top of her head, making it stick out in several crazy directions. On second glance, it looks like she has a huge spider up there, but it looks good on her. She’s smeared gold eye shadow over her eyelids and lined her muddy brown eyes with thick, black eyeliner. Her lips are blood red and make her teeth look even whiter than they normally do.

  “You look amazing,” I tell her.

  She nods, not bothering with any modesty. “I see you’ve got your legs out again,” she says. “It’s nearly the end of November, Ariel. It’ll be freezing up on that roof.”

  Says the girl wearing the sleeveless top? I stare down at my tiny brown shorts and cream-coloured floaty top. I’ve pulled on a cream blazer and wrapped a thin, brown-and-cream scarf around my neck. My toned legs are my best feature, which is why I always have them on show, and tonight I’ve teamed them up with a pair of four-inch-high block-heeled sandals. “They have patio heaters,” I tell her. “I’ll stand underneath one of them all night.”

  She raises an eyebrow at me. “Have you forgotten what happened to Bimbo?”

  Bimbo wore a can of hairspray in her hair and insisted that the beehive on top of her head was a necessity for her fashion course. She stood underneath a heater one night, wanking some guy off—hence the name ‘Bimbo’—and her hair caught on fire. “Bimbo is six-and-a-half feet tall,” I remind her. “Her hair practically touched the lamp.”

  “Doesn’t matter,” she says, rising from her seat. “You’ve got spray on there, which means you’re still at risk.”

  I roll my eyes. I’d put dry shampoo on the roots and backcombed it a little bit to give it some volume, but I didn’t use hairspray. I don’t need it. My light-blonde hair falls all the way down to the top of my bum. It’s shiny and straight until it gets towards the middle of my back, where it morphs into the beach-babe waves that girls spend hours perfecting with their curlers. I know I should feel thankful, but I don’t. The only thing my legs are good for anymore is getting men into bed, and the only thing my hair is good for is getting them to notice me in the first place.

  “I’ll be fine,” I tell her again. It’s really not worth the argument. I grab my brown clutch and walk towards the door. “Come on,” I sigh. “We’ll miss the bloody birthday cake at this rate.”

  Ruby huffs and stands from the sofa. Her scarf falls to just an inch short of hitting the actual floor.

  “Did you fake tan?” she asks as we climb the stairs towards the top floor.

  I nod. “I did, indeed. Went the whole hog and did the full body.”

  “Oh God,” she says. “Are you on the pull?”

  I think about Ben and shake my head. “No, not tonight.”

  “Hmmn,” she muses. “You say that every time.”

  I do say that every time, but something feels different this time. I’ve just landed my dream job and I don’t want to screw it up. If this place is full of doctors and nurses, then it’s possible I may end up working with—or for—one of them, and that would be all kinds of awkward. “Listen,” I say as we reach the top of the stairs. I can hear music pumping through the walls already. “Please don’t tell anyone about my thing.”

  “Your rule?”

  I nod.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Why not? You couldn’t possibly have slept with any of them yet, so why are you telling me not to spill the beans?”

  I take a deep breath and guide her towards the rail. “I’m not going to sleep with anyone at this party or anyone that lives in this building, so I’d appreciate it if you didn’t start telling them all about my stupid fucking rule.” I huff. “You’ve literally told everyone.”

  Ruby recoils a little and I feel bad for snapping at her. “We had a deal,” she says.

  I nod. “I’m not going to sleep with them, so you don’t need to worry. As soon as I do it, then you have my full permission to shout it from the rooftop terrace.”

  “Is that it?” she asks. “That’s why you don’t want me to tell anyone?”

  “No,” I huff. “I feel a little embarrassed about it, to be honest. I’m twenty-four. I’m a responsible adult with a responsible job. This isn’t university. I can’t act like a nineteen-year-old and get away with it anymore.”

  “Are you going to stop then?” she whispers.

  “No,” I say. “I honestly don’t think I’ll ever stop being that way, but I’m just not going to flaunt it or make a big deal out of it, okay?”

  “Why do you do it, Ariel?” she asks softly. She’s asked me this countless times, but I’ve never answered her. I know she cares. I know she’s worried about me. But it’s just something I do and she needs to accept it.

  “I can’t tell you,” I answer truthfully. I can’t tell her. I can’t tell anyone.

  “Okay,” she says carefully, her eyes moving suspiciously across my face. “Let’s go and party.”

  Just as we’re about to press the button to call the lift, the doors slide open, revealing Owen and Ben, who grin at us and hold the doors open with their arms.

  “We thought you’d gotten lost,” says Ben, “so we were doing the gentlemanly thing of coming to get you.”

  Ruby smiles and links her arm through Owen’s. “Why, thank you.”

  I smile and follow them back into the lift.

  “You look amazing,” Ben whispers as the doors slide shut.

  I turn to face him and smile politely. I take in his dark grey trousers and plain black shirt that accentuates his olive skin tone and deep brown eyes. “You don’t scrub up too badly yourself.”

  When we emerge from the lift, we’re in a lobby. It has glossy cream floors, shiny walls and looks expensive, like marble usually does. It also has some kind of weird abstract art on the wall, but I can’t tell what it’s supposed to be.

  Ben nods towards a set of white double doors. “Those lead you to the penthouse suite,” he says. “And this one,” he says, guiding us towards a plain white plastic door, “leads you to the rooftop terrace.”

  I want to tell him that the designer of this floor should be shot because the plastic door really doesn’t fit in with everything else.

  “So this is the penthouse lobby?” asks Ruby.

  “Yes,” says Ben.

  “Looks posh,” she observes.

  He nods. “It is.”

  “A doctor lives here?” she pushes.

  I shake my head at her. She really is the nosiest person I’ve ever met.

  “The best doctor there is,” Ben says.

  “What’s his area of expertise?” I interrupt.

  “Hearts,” he says. “He fixes them.”

  Ruby giggles. “Does he use that as a line?”

  Owen laughs. “He doesn’t have to use a line.”

  Ruby turns and raises her eyebrows at me in challenge. I glare at her.

  “Shall we go?” asks Owen.

  We both nod.

  “Most people are already here,” he continues. “The birthday boy doesn’t know that we were hanging on for two more guests.”

  We push through the doors and I immediately take in the gleaming metal and dark wood feature garden. Smooth paving covers the ground. Three sides of the rooftop terrace are made up of a small bricked wall lined with hanging baskets full of hardy, red and purple shrubs. There are hundreds of tiny white pebbles, splashed in between all of the pots and plants. Wooden benches have been carved into pieces of the wall and run along the outside of square timber planters. I can hear water trickling down a marble slab and see tiny little LED lights that twinkle all over the walls and hang from the heaters. I notice big, dark green umbrellas and lots of people that are all dressed
smartly. Everyone else looks sophisticated and intelligent, and I look like a little tart. Great.

  “So this is what a grown-up party looks like?” whispers Ruby into my ear.

  I can’t stop staring at the women. They’re all stylishly dressed in blouses and fitted shirts with tapered trousers. They all look like they’ve just walked out of a clothing catalogue. We really don’t fit in here. I feel uncomfortable and itchy.

  “I’ll show you around,” Ben says, nudging me with his arm.

  I carry on staring at the women and nod. I notice that some are similar in age to me and wonder why they seem so different.

  “How old is the birthday boy anyway?” asks Ruby.

  Ben pulls a face at me, but I smile and shake my head. “Rubes,” I say, “there’s a bloody big banner up there that tells you.”

  Ruby glances up and notices the blue banner that spans the entire width of the building.

  “Not to mention the big ‘number thirty’ balloons that are floating around everywhere,” adds Ben.

  Ruby chuckles. “I was too busy staring at all the hunky men. And Owen.”

  I turn and grin at her, spotting Owen lingering around the table with the vodka and whiskey bottles.

  We weave through groups of people, some talking about work, some not. I guess when the biggest common denominator between people is work, then that’s what gets talked about the most. After we’ve crossed the middle section of the terrace, Ruby leaves us to go and talk with Owen.

  “The toilets are just around here,” Ben says, nodding towards a small building that looks like nothing more than a brick shed.

  I glance around the corner of the building and spot a woman who isn’t dressed like a smart teacher. She’s wearing white stilettoes and a tiny little black dress that just barely covers her backside. Her breasts, which are definitely fake, protrude out from the scooped neckline of the dress. Her chocolate-coloured hair is poker straight and falls to her shoulder blades. I hear her giggling and see her hand shoot out to touch a glistening, tanned and extremely toned forearm.

  “That’s Candy,” whispers Ben.

  “What does she do?” I ask. She arches her back and pushes her breasts out even further than they were before.

  “She’s a lawyer,” he tells me. “They call her ‘the black widow.’”

  I glance at Ben and realise he’s not joking. Then I hear her giggle again and look back to see her flick her hair over her shoulder. “Does she eat men after she’s slept with them?”

  “No,” he says, shaking his head. “She eats them up in court instead.”

  More like she hypnotises them with her breasts and hair flicking. “I see.”

  “Her tongue is evil,” he says before adding, “and not in a good way.”

  I grin at him.

  “Anyway,” he says, pulling on my elbow, “we should go and say hello to the birthday boy.”

  I take a step forward and then the earth stops moving as all of the blood in my body rushes to my ears. I can hear the beat of my own heart as it bangs against my chest. The birthday boy’s pale, crystal-blue eyes collide with mine and they’re slowly turning to hard stone in front of me. He steps away from the wall, roughly pushing Candy off him, and marches towards me.

  I can’t take my eyes off him. How can someone who is beyond beautiful look so ugly at the same time? His light brown hair is styled perfectly on his head as if he’s just got out of bed. Or maybe he has, if Candy’s performance was anything to go by. He’s wearing a white shirt and dark grey trousers. Even with his clothes on, I can tell that there’s a wall of pure muscle hiding underneath them. I see a faint smattering of chest hair poking out from the top of his shirt where his top button is undone. His face is tanned and freshly shaven.

  “You!” he growls, his deep voice wrapping around me like a warm blanket. His gaze shifts to my neck like lightning. His eyes linger for a fraction of a second on my necklace and I see a hint of astonishment flash across his face. Then it’s gone, replaced by the ugly, screwed-up expression that he wore before.

  I open my mouth but nothing comes out. Every single hair on my skin stands on end as his angry breath washes over my face. Air leaves my lungs and doesn’t come back in. How the fuck is he here?

  I finally realise he’s still towering over me, looking as if he wants to strangle me. I take a deep breath. I can’t do this.

  “Erm, do you two know each other?” asks Ben.

  Ignoring Ben, I continue to stare at him. He stares at me. What could we possibly say to each other that would make any of it okay? I can’t be here. I can’t be near him. I need to leave.

  “No,” he hisses as his eyes trail all over me.

  Liar.

  “I don’t know who this girl is,” he says.

  I know it’s wrong to feel hurt that he called me a girl, but I do. I don’t want him looking at me like that, especially not when I feel so shitty about what I’m wearing. I wish I could cover myself up, but I don’t have enough clothes on to even start.

  Ben blinks, looking confused. “Noah, this is Ariel. Ariel, this is the birthday boy, Noah.”

  This isn’t Noah. This is a stranger that doesn’t know me anymore.

  “I’m going,” I announce, tearing my gaze away from Noah. I look at Ben and feel myself beginning to panic. “Erm, I have to go.”

  “You have to?” Ben questions.

  I nod quickly and start to back away from them. “I have to go. Right now. I have a horrible headache. Here,” I say, pushing my glass into Ben’s hand, “take this. And I’m sorry.”

  “Ariel,” Ben calls as I turn to leave.

  “Let her go,” Noah says. “She wasn’t invited and she’s not welcome.”

  I sprint down the stairs, two at a time. How is it possible? If he’s the birthday boy, then that means he’s the one who lives in the penthouse. He’s the one who they said was a heart doctor. Why is he a doctor? That wasn’t the plan. That wasn’t what he told me he wanted to do, all of those years ago.

  Just as I reach my door, I feel tears start to drip over my cheeks. I’m so shocked to feel them that I stop and let them fall down my face. I haven’t cried in almost seven years and the realisation that my tear ducts aren’t broken is too much.

  I fumble with my key in the lock and stumble into the apartment, slamming the door behind me. I suck in as many deep breaths as I can and run into my bedroom. I dive into my bed and under the covers without bothering to take my clothes off.

  Then I cry. I cry until I can’t breathe. I cry until my pillow is completely soaked. I cry until my throat dries up. And then I stop. Just like that. I swore I’d never cry again. That nothing could ever make me cry, not when I’ve been through the worst thing that a person could possibly go through. Nothing and no one is worth my tears. Not even Noah Carter.

  Some time later, I hear a knock on the apartment door. I don’t bother checking to see what I look like in my mirror because I know I look like complete shit. I pull the door open a crack and peep through the opening.

  “Hey,” Ruby says. “I forgot my key. Are you alright?”

  I nod. “Just developed one of my migraines.”

  Her face falls. “Do you want me to stay?”

  “No, thank you,” I mumble. “I’ve taken some of my tablets, so I should be out for the count in a couple of minutes.”

  “Oh, okay,” she says. “Well, if you’re sure that you’re alright, I think I’ll head back up there.”

  I try to smile, but it doesn’t quite happen. “Have fun,” I tell her. “And don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  “Like there’s anything you wouldn’t do,” she fires back.

  She has a point, I think as I shut the door.

  Chapter 9

  THEN

  Numbness

  I don’t know how we got here but I’m being carried down a long driveway towards a huge farmhouse. The snow has turned to rain and it’s painfully slapping me in my face. I feel a wall of hard chest mu
scle under my head and can smell the floral fabric conditioner that his clothes have been washed in. He smells like strawberries and cream.

  “Who are you?” I ask again. If he lives in the village, then why don’t I know him? Everyone knows everyone.

  “I already told you,” he says, “I’m a nobody.”

  He kicks open the wooden door and strides into the house, past an empty living room and a horseshoe-shaped kitchen, and up the creaking stairs. He walks across the landing and down the hallway before he kicks open another door that leads into a bedroom. A big bedroom. He plops me down on the bed and takes a step away from me. I lean my head against the sheets that smell just like his clothes and realise that this must be his room. I yawn as he puts his hands on his hips and stares at me. I’m so exhausted that I feel sick with tiredness. I ache in every single bone and my head is pounding.

  I want to ask him what he’s thinking. I want to ask him if he plans on hurting me, but I just don’t care. He can do what he wants to me. In fact, I want him to do something. I want to feel a different kind of pain, and right now, I’d take anything.

  I let my eyes trail all over him. He reminds me of a young Brad Pitt when he starred in the film, Meet Joe Black. The only difference is the eyes. The guy in front of me has the most amazing eyes I’ve ever seen. They looked pale and lifeless earlier on, but now they’re glittering and twinkling at me like sapphires. His hair has dried and now I can see that it’s a perfect mixture of light brown and blonde. The stubble that’s splashed across his jaw is darker than his hair and it looks a couple of days old. My eyes fall down to his hands that are covered in dirt.

  “I need to shower,” he says.

  I nod. “Me too.”

  “Let me go first,” he says. “I know that’s not very gentlemanly of me, but I’m filthy and I don’t like being dirty.”

  He really shouldn’t have a job as a gravedigger then. “Okay.”

  He turns and walks out of the bedroom. I sit up, watching him go into the bathroom that’s directly opposite and notice that he hasn’t shut the door properly. I hear the shower switch on, and then without really thinking about what I’m doing, I creep towards the bathroom. I peep through the opening and see a modern-looking bathroom suite that looks kind of odd compared to the rest of the house, which creaks like an old lady’s hip. All that I can see is the mirror and sink, but the mirror shows me the rest of the room. And him.