Noah and Me

by Beckie Stevenson

  Noah sighs. “You were always an angry little girl, Ariel, and you still are.”

  “I have a bloody damn good right to be!” I shriek. “You don’t fucking know anything.”

  “So tell me,” he shouts. “That’s what I’ve been asking you to do this whole time!”

  “It was his,” I spit.

  Noah pushes at my shoulders so I have to sit up and look at him. “What was his?”

  I shake my head and sniff loudly. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “What was his?” he pushes.

  I look up into his eyes and feel fresh tears escape from my eyes. “I’m so sorry, Noah. I loved you. I really loved you. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen.”

  “Ariel,” he says in his deep, husky voice. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  “The baby,” I cry. I start to wring my hands and itch at my skin. I haven’t felt this itch for many years now, but I know I want to hurt myself. I want to feel something that’s worse than the pain in my heart and head.

  Noah grips my shoulders and shakes me. “Ariel, stop it. You’ve got to talk to me.”

  “I can’t say it, I can’t say it, I can’t say it.” I push at him to try and get him to let go of me, but he holds on tight. I try to fold myself into a ball to get away from his curious eyes. My chest tightens and my fingers start to tingle and go stiff. I try to concentrate on slowing my breathing down as Noah strokes my face.

  “Just calm down,” he says. “It’s okay, you don’t have to say it.”

  “I do, I do,” I rush. I push my hands over my face and bury my fingers into my hair, pulling hard.

  “Ariel,” he says calmly. “It’s okay.”

  I snap my eyes to his. I have to do this. I have to say it to him. If I don’t do it now, I’ll never be able to do it. “It was Michael’s,” I sob.

  He stares deep into my eyes. “What?”

  “The baby,” I cry. “It was Michael’s.”

  Noah’s eyes go wide as he pushes me away from him and scrambles to his feet.

  Chapter 27

  THEN

  New York, New York

  I hobble through Central Park and shove my hands into my pockets. February in New York is just as cold as February in Yorkshire. I’ve been in this city for twenty-four hours and I’m slowly starting to regret my decision to come here, especially since I’m still recovering from my surgery. My stomach feels like it’s been split in two and my stitches are itching. Apparently it’s normal after the type of surgery I had, but I feel bloated, as if they shoved a big balloon inside me. I’m dog-tired and all alone in a big city.

  Noah discovered I had left him a few hours after I’d actually left. I received a text message just as I was boarding the plane. He told me that he hated me, that he never wanted to see me again and that he wished he’d never met me. I turned my phone off after that, but I know I need to try and offer him some sort of explanation.

  I queue up at a little café in the middle of the park and order a latte. I make my way towards a bench that looks as if it’ll freeze my bum off and sit down slowly, wincing in pain. I can feel the weight of my phone in my pocket.

  As soon as I arrived here, I checked into a hotel and slept until I realised that I had to get out of bed and face up to the consequences of my actions. I shouldn’t have left him like that and I know this, so I pull my phone out of my pocket and switch it on so I can ring him and hear his voice again. As soon as it vibrates to life, it bleeps twelve times. I notice that they’re all from Noah. Then again, it’s not like anyone else would be texting or calling me. I scroll down to the first one:

  Don’t do this, Ariel. Come back. Let’s talk.

  I know that the twelfth one isn’t going to be as nice. I move on.

  I’m sorry I said those things. Please come and sort this out. I just couldn’t make sense of what you were saying. I was in shock. Surely you can understand that?

  Yes, I can understand that.

  We’ve been through too much together to just end it like this. I think you know what you’ve done to me.

  I shake my head.

  Stop ignoring me. Answer your phone or at least text me back.

  And now they start getting nastier.

  For fucks sake. I get it. I get that I pissed you off but come on, you pissed me off too! This is silly now.

  He thinks I’m sulking. He’s wrong. I’m doing this because it’s the right thing to do. He needs to go and find a nice, normal girlfriend to be with.

  Are you dead?

  I wish I was.

  You’re fucked up. You’re too fucking mental for me. Go and find some other idiot who’ll put up with your shit.

  I am fucked up. I am mental. He has no idea just how badly.

  I can help you. Let me in.

  I did let him in. That’s the problem.

  I didn’t say it in the hospital, but I’m sorry you lost your baby. It’s a horrible thing for anyone to have to go through. I apologise for my behaviour.

  I’m not sorry. I’m glad.

  I just got a call to say my Grandad has taken a turn for the worse. I’m going back home. I don’t want to ever see you again, Ariel. Have a nice life.

  Oh no. I hope he got back in time. I check the times and realise that the last two are from a few hours ago. All of the others were from yesterday.

  He died. He’s dead. He’s fucking dead! And I wasn’t there. And do you know why I wasn’t there? Because I was fucking fannying about after you in Florida. I hate you.

  Oh, Noah. I’m so sorry.

  Don’t come looking for me. Don’t text me or call me. In fact, I’m changing my number and I’m deleting yours. Don’t bother doing anything. Not that I think you will because clearly you’re a cold-hearted bitch. I’m going to go and live my life and forget all about Ariel fucking Miller. I don’t want to hear your name, see you or hear from you. Have you got that? Do you understand?

  I re-read that last message and hate myself for how I’ve made him behave. The man talking to me like that isn’t my Noah. I take another sip of my coffee and breathe out deeply, watching the mist float in front of my face. That’s it then.

  I’ve done it.

  He hates me.

  We’re over.

  Twenty-five days later, I’m still in New York, but I’m no longer a little girl who doesn’t know what the hell is going on in the world. I know a lot about what is going on. I’ve learned a lot in four weeks.

  Tonight, I head into the bar near my hotel. I’ve been here a few times because I like the look of the barman. He’s cute in a completely opposite way to Noah. Noah is handsome, sometimes beautiful and soft around the edges. Looking at him you would have no idea that he’s a dirty git in the bedroom, but I kind of liked that. I could have brought him home to mum and dad and they would have had no idea that the polite, well-mannered and well-spoken guy would no doubt thoroughly fuck their daughter into next week after the sun went down.

  “Hello, Flounder,” says the barman as he slides a whiskey down the bar to me.

  I catch the drink and bring the glass to my lips with a smile. “Thanks.”

  “You’re here again?”

  I deliberately look around and shrug. “Looks like it.”

  He smirks and starts to wipe the bar down. “I love when you talk in that cute English accent.”

  I raise my eyebrow at him. I don’t really care what he has to say. I just want to make sure that Noah isn’t the last person who fucked me. He wants me gone from his life? Well, I want him gone from mine too.

  “I haven’t come here to talk,” I tell him, letting all of the hot liquid slide down my throat. I stare at his bright green eyes and nearly white blonde hair and the bar that is pierced through his eyebrow. He’s so perfectly different.

  He stops wiping and glances at the clock. He eyes me warily as if he’s testing something out in his head. “What have you come here for then?”

  I run my finger around the rim of th
e glass and smile at him. “I fancied a fuck.”

  He grins at me. “Do you know my name?”

  I shake my head.

  “Do you want to know my name?” he asks.

  “No.” I don’t want to know anything about him. I just want to know that has a cock and that he’s willing to use it. “But I do want to know if you have a girlfriend, fiancée or wife. Do you?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Okay then,” I say with a shrug. “Everything I’ve just said still stands.”

  “Cool,” he says. “I close in five minutes and I live just two blocks away.”

  I don’t understand how far a block is, but I don’t really care either. I nod at him. “Got another drink over there?”

  He shakes his head while smiling. “I’ll do you a double, that should keep you going.”

  If I’ve learned anything over the last four weeks, it’s that three shots of whiskey won’t be anywhere near enough.

  He pushes me into his apartment and immediately starts to kiss my neck while his hands push up underneath my top. His lips are rough and hard and nothing like Noah’s. He smells of Red Bull and cigarettes. His hands are everywhere and nowhere. It’s as if he’s never felt a pair before and he can’t get enough of them. But there’s no pleasure in what he’s doing. He’s simply touching them, moving them, jiggling them about and it’s gross. I have to get this over with. I undo his belt. I can’t be arsed with foreplay and pretending to enjoy it. From what I’ve seen, it would be shit anyway and just a means to an end.

  Well, I’m about to fast-forward a few steps. I push his trousers down so that they fall just below his bum and rub his cock through his boxers.

  “Hungry, aren’t you?” he breathes.

  I think he’s trying to sound sexy. “Yes,” I say, “so shut up and just fuck me.”

  He smiles against my skin and rips my top off over my head. His hands fumble around my back until he’s unfastened my bra. It drops to the floor. I feel his cock getting hard underneath the fabric and snap the waistband down until he bounces free. I run my hand along it and can’t stop myself from comparing it to Noah’s. It’s thinner and slightly smaller.

  “Turn around,” he whispers. I hear him rustling with a foil packet.

  I do as he says and feel his hands pushing my skirt up. He yanks down my tights and knickers in the same swift movement. I rest my hands against the wall and take a deep breath.

  “Okay?” he asks, slipping on a condom. I hate the smell of latex. It smells like cheap sex.

  “Yes.”

  He slowly pushes into me and halts while I adjust to him. The foreplay was rubbish so I’m not exactly ready for him and it feels a little uncomfortable. He pushes his hands around my front and starts to circle around my clitoris. His fingers are calloused and heavy and too big. He’s rubbing at completely the wrong place, which is irritating me more than pleasuring me. His arm rubs across my scar, making me aware that it’s there the whole time. When he’s satisfied that he’s done enough, he starts to move. His hips push forward and then retreat backward. He repeats this mundane movement, over and over again. I zone out. I think about everything except what I’m actually doing right now.

  Who am I? And what am I doing?

  I hear him grunt. “Yes,” he huffs, “come with me.”

  I roll my eyes. There is no way in the world this guy could make me orgasm. He doesn’t appear to care either. He thrusts a few more times and then shudders against my back.

  While I’m still pressed against the wall, he pants against my bare skin as if he’s just ran a marathon. I wriggle free of him, feeling him slip out of me, and pull my knickers and tights back up.

  “Thanks,” I say, rolling my skirt down. I bend down and pick my bra and top up off the floor.

  “You’re going?” he asks, turning around to lean against the wall. He starts to smile.

  “Yes.” I pull my bra around me and stretch my top over my head.

  “I feel like I got used,” he muses.

  I shrug. “You did. See ya.”

  I walk to the front door and pull the handle down.

  “My name is Will, by the way.”

  I turn and smile at him. “It was nice to meet you, Will.”

  “Do you want me to walk you home?” he asks, pulling a cigarette out of his pack.

  I shake my head. It was nice of him to offer. “No, thank you. Goodnight.”

  When I get back to my hotel room, I throw my key card onto the table and head straight for the shower, flicking it on as soon as I get in the bathroom. I undress quickly and step under the spray, even though it’s not warmed up enough yet. I feel dirty. I feel unloved, unwanted and cheap.

  Having crappy sex like that has shown me that what I had with Noah was special. Even that first time when I told him to fuck me however he wanted, he was still unselfish, making sure that I enjoyed myself too. He still did the stuff to me that he knew I would like and enjoy. After that first time, it was like every single touch mattered. Every movement counted. Every kiss was him giving me a piece of himself. I guess he was showing me how it was supposed to be. I think he was loving me.

  I turn around and let the water wash over my face.

  I try not to think about Noah, but I can’t stop myself. He’s always there with me, no matter what. The whole time I was letting another guy fuck me, I was comparing him to Noah. I go to eat at places and imagine what Noah would pick from the menu. I wear clothes that I think Noah would like. I drink wine with my meal that I know Noah would approve of. I miss him with every breath I take. My muscles ache for him. My body craves him. My heart beats for him. I want him back. I think about going home to tell him everything so I can beg him to be with me again. I love him. I really love him. I don’t think I’ll ever get over him, not completely.

  I wish I had told him how I feel. I think he would have felt better if he had known that I only left him like that because I love him too much. I want him to look back on our time together and remember the good things. I don’t want his memories of us to be dirtied by the secrets of my past.

  I shut off the shower, dry off and climb into bed. I place my hand over my aching stomach and close my eyes. I miss him. I really miss him. I miss my parents and my brothers and sister too. I miss them all…well, all of them except one.

  Chapter 28

  NOW

  Saying Sorry

  Noah is pacing up and down the room. He’s mumbling something, but he’s acting so strange that I can’t understand a word of what he’s saying.

  “I can’t believe it,” he finally says, stopping in front of me.

  I lower my head so all I can see are his feet. “I know.”

  “What possessed you to sleep with your own brother? I know you were naïve and you didn’t get many opportunities to see your friends or have boyfriends because of all the training you did, but your brother, Ariel? It’s just fucking weird.”

  “It wasn’t—”

  “Don’t,” he says, interrupting me. “Whatever you’re going to say, don’t try and justify it to me. It’s wrong. Completely wrong. You must have known that then and you know it now.”

  I start to tremble with anger. How can he even think I’d do something like that?

  “And were you even thinking about the baby?” he asks, shaking his head. “You and Michael were twins. You’re brother and sister, which means your genes come from the same parents. Think about how risky carrying on with the pregnancy would have been.” He starts to pace again. “Incest,” he mutters, then shudders as if the thought of it makes him physically sick.

  “Don’t talk about the baby like that!” I spit, getting to my feet. “It wasn’t the baby’s fault!”

  Noah marches over to me. He screws his face up and scowls at me. “How could you do that? I knew you were a mess, but I thought it was just because of the accident and that was understandable and even acceptable. I didn’t realise you were off with the fucking fairies before it.” He angrily pu
shes his hands through his hair and stares at me. “That baby would have been an abomination, Ariel. Surely you can see that?”

  My arm shoots up and my hand collides with his cheek. The sound of skin slapping skin echoes around the bedroom. “He just fucking did it!” I shout at him. “I didn’t want him to touch me. I didn’t consent to it! I hated him. I still hate him!” I push at Noah’s chest in anger.

  Noah’s eyes widen as his face goes slack from shock. “Ariel, I’m—”

  “I used to think I was crazy,” I stutter. “I would have these strange, horrible dreams about my brother coming into my bedroom and doing stuff to me, but then I’d wake up and Michael would just be normal. Then I used to feel guilty because I’d wake up hating him because of the dreams I’d had. I used to ignore him and he’d ask why I was moody with him. I was sorry that I secretly hated him because I was having weird dreams.” I sigh loudly, letting my cheeks puff out. “But then I realised that they weren’t dreams, not even nightmares. They were real. He was actually doing those things to me,” I say as my voice cracks.

  Noah pulls me into his chest and crumbles to the floor, pulling me down with him. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry for what I just said. I just assumed—”

  “I know what you assumed,” I snap.

  “I’m sorry, Ariel. I’m sorry for being a dickhead just now, and I’m sorry that you had to go through all of that.” Noah shuffles back across the carpet until his back is against the bed. He bends his knees and pulls me in between them. “Tell me everything,” he whispers. “I want to know and I want to help.”

  I sniff, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “There’s no way you can help, but I’ll tell you what you want to know. I owe you that much, Noah.” I take another deep breath. “He was clever how he went about it,” I say.