Breaking Noah (15 page)

Mel:
How about Razabel’s at seven?

Me:
Great, I’ll be to class soon, see you in a sec.

I manage to drag myself to class even though I’d rather stay home and not face Noah after my vanishing act earlier, but I can’t screw around. Yes, I have a purpose for being here, but it’s not just one reason. After all is said and done, I want things from my life and the only way to get them is through my education.

So, I sit in my seat, my sweater hood pulled over my head. I ignore everyone except for Mel, who I quietly chat with about our plans for this evening. Fifteen minutes before Noah’s class is dismissed, I rise from my seat and run out the door, ignoring him calling after me. I need space. I need truth.

Razabel’s is a trendy little restaurant just up the street from the diner and opposite the gym. From our table near the front window, I can actually see the entrance to the gym. I find myself staring at it, wondering if I’ll see Noah.
What’s he doing tonight?
I haven’t heard from him since I left his place this morning.

We talk about classes, work, and families. I wait the right amount of time before I bring up her sister’s reaction, because I don’t want to appear too eager.

“So, your sister went to Northwestern, too?” I ask casually.

“She graduated last year.” She hesitates before adding, “Sorry she was a bit weird before. It’s just she…well, she was friends with your cousin.”

I nearly choke on my drink. Here I am trying to figure out a way to work Karly into the conversation organically, and she’s just done it for me.

“You know about Karly?” I say. I shouldn’t be surprised. Everyone would’ve known that she killed herself. It was whether they knew why that I was interested in.

“Yeah.” She glances down, her body language uncomfortable. “Sorry, I didn’t know whether to mention it or not…but I figured if we’re going to be friends we should be honest with each other, right?”

Her smile is so genuine I feel that same pang of guilt tug at me.
What am I doing to this poor girl?
Is all this worth it just to find out what she knows? Only I already know the answer to that is yes. I haven’t thought about anything other than Karly for the last year, and I wouldn’t until Noah paid for what he did to her.

“Right.” I smile. “So, your sister knew Karly?”

She nods again. “Yeah, they were pretty good friends. It hit Heather really hard when she…after she…” Her voice trails off as pink flushes her cheeks. She’s trying so hard to spare my feelings. Hearing how affected Heather was after Karly’s death really hits home. It’s so easy to forget that other people were hurt by her death. Not just me. She wasn’t just my cousin, or just my best friend. She was so many different things to so many people.

Talking about Karly so much tonight has really done a number on me. I can’t think straight. With my emotions all over the place, I know better than to try to drive home. With purpose, I head down the sidewalk, no destination, really, just mindlessly walking.

The rain starts off light, a few sprinkles here and there, and then the thunder booms and the lightning cracks across the sky. As if the heavens have opened and are shedding all the tears I’ve held back, the heaviest downpour I’ve ever seen blazes down on me.

I look to the sky, not caring that I’m getting soaked, and beg for answers, plead for this massive wrong to be righted somehow. Determined to do my best to assist the universe in correcting this injustice, my direction becomes clearer as I near Noah’s apartment.

I’m not even sure if he’s here. I didn’t bother to check the parking lot for his car, and my phone might not work anymore, either. I’m thoroughly soaked to the core. Stopping outside his door, I take a deep breath, knock three times, and as I wait to see if he’s home, I begin wringing the water out of my hair.

The next time I look up, Noah’s blue eyes bore into me, confusion and pity flashing across his face, because he pulls me inside and into his warm, waiting arms. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t relish his touch. It was caring—loving, even—like he was determined to care for me even if he didn’t know me very well.

I can see how Karly could have fallen into this trap. How she’d be so willing to be with him, to the point that she would become pregnant with his child. She trusted him.

I trust him. I don’t want to, but I do.

Enough of the game, Zara. Time to finish him. Finish this.

“Zara, are you okay? What’s wrong?” I feverishly rub her arms, trying to put some warmth back into her body. She’s freezing. She looks up at me, her lips turning a scary shade of blue, and cracks a small smile. “You’re scaring me. Tell me what’s wrong. Did someone hurt you? Dillon? I’ll kill him.”

Pushing her body away from mine and out of my arms, I search her up and down for cuts, scrapes, anything to give me a clue what happened to her. Watching her, seeing her like this, brings back a sense of déjà vu I wish it wouldn’t. It wasn’t long ago that one of my students showed up at my office in nearly the same condition.

Karly.

It’s pretty close to the anniversary of her death. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t save her. But with Zara, I can try harder. I can make her listen.

Pulling her to me, I lift her with one arm behind her back and the other under her knees, and carry her to the bathroom. I sit her on the closed toilet seat and start the shower. Warmth. She needs to get warm.

While the temperature reaches my desired degree, I step back to Zara, kneel in front of her, and begin to unlace her black combat boots one by one. I have to wrestle the shoes from her feet, then peel the socks away. After I stand, I pull her to my level, unbuttoning her jeans and shimmying them down her slender, goose-bumped legs.

“Noah, stop,” she whispers, trying to back away, but butting against the toilet. She tries to move in the other direction, only to be trapped by the vanity.

“Zara. Listen to me and listen good. You’re freezing. I have to warm you up. This is not some ploy to get you out of your pants. Let me take care of you, please.”

Casting her eyes down, Zara steps out of her jeans and raises her arms. Grabbing the hem of her shirt, I lift it over her head. Since there’s no use worrying about getting her bra and panties wet, as they’re already sopping, I gently lift her again, depositing her inside the shower, letting the warm spray splash over her body.

While she showers, I grab a towel from the linen closet and something for her to put on after she’s dry. Back in the bathroom, I peek inside the curtain to find Zara hasn’t moved a single inch since I put her inside. Trying to keep my emotions in check, I turn the water off now that her lips are a luscious pink again. Putting the towel around her body, I hike my hands up the outsides of her legs, grab the thin, silky strap of her panties, and pull them down her legs, keeping her covered. With a little more effort and creativeness, I do the same with her bra, then help her over the edge of the tub.

“I’ve got some dry clothes for you to put on. Do you wanna get dressed in here or in my bedroom?”

She shrugs, giving me the impression that the shower might have warmed her body’s temperature, but it didn’t make a dent anywhere else. Walking her to my bedroom, I set the clothes I pulled out for her on the bed next to where she finds a place to rest.

“I’m going to make us some tea. Get dressed. I’ll be back in a second.”

I didn’t handle this type of situation right the first time. I let Karly down. I let her unborn baby down. I don’t know if I could have done more, but I didn’t try. I allowed her to leave my classroom when she was visibly upset and shut inside of her own head. I don’t know if anything I could have done would have changed the outcome, but I have this feeling that I can help Zara, whatever the problem is.

With a mug full of hot tea, I’m back in the bedroom in five minutes to find Zara sitting in the same place, wearing only the T-shirt I pulled out for her, the sweatpants unfolded and lying in a heap on the floor next to the wet towel. When I enter, she glances up at me, so many emotions written on her face.

“They didn’t fit me,” she says.

“It’s okay. Here, drink this.” I pass her the mug, which she accepts with two hands. Blowing the surface, she cautiously sips at her tea.

“Thank you. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Just tell me what’s wrong. Let me in, Zara. Let me help.”

“You can’t help. Nobody can help.” She stares wistfully into the depth of her mug.

I place my finger lightly under her chin and raise her head so our eyes meet. “Let me in,” I whisper.

“I miss her.”

“Who?”

“My cousin. I miss her. Every day. It hurts to think about her, but I can’t seem to stop. She was my best friend and I miss her so damn much.” Tears prick her lower lids, threatening to spill over the brim.

I’ve never considered all the things she left behind when she moved to Illinois. All my family is from here and I’ve never been more than an hour or two away from all the ones that I love. Here she is, five hours away from everything she knew…except for her boyfriend, who’s a shit excuse for a boyfriend, let alone a man.

“It’s almost Thanksgiving. You can go home to visit your family soon. It’s normal to be homesick, especially during the first semester. It gets easier.” I try to pull her to me for a hug, but she withdraws from my touch, looking at her arm where I touched her like I’d set a lit match to her exposed skin.

“You think I’m homesick?” she questions with distain in her voice.

“Well, I assumed—”

She cuts me off in mid-sentence, only to lay into me. “Well, Mr. Bain,” she hisses, “you know what happens when you assume, right? You think I’m some whiny-ass girl that’s sad because her mommy and daddy aren’t close by? Get the fuck out of here. My cousin, my best friend, she’s dead. I came here to be closer to where she spent her final days. I came here to see if I could fix the wrong that was done to her. I’m not fucking homesick.”

Standing, she flies into the bathroom and walks out carrying her soaking-wet clothing. It’s when I hear her messing with the locks on the front door that I realize she’s trying to leave…wearing only a T-shirt.

“Zara. Stop it. You’re not leaving right now. We’ll throw your clothes in the dryer, then you can get dressed and leave if you want. But I can’t let you walk out half naked in the middle of the night, and in a thunderstorm, no less.” The dimly lit living room brightens when a flash of lightning cracks across the dark sky. It must catch her attention as well, because she walks into the laundry room, puts her clothes in the dryer, and turns it to the highest setting, not caring about any damage she could do her to her garments.

“Twenty minutes and I’m out of here.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were weak in any way. I’m used to dealing with students who get homesick, that’s all. I’m sorry about your cousin. Do you want to talk about her?”

“What good would that do? Is it going to fix anything? No, it’s not. It’s just going to upset me again.”

“Let’s just give it a try. If it doesn’t work, we can stop anytime. How’d she die?” I pray she gives this exercise a chance before shooting it down. Grief is something I’m good at helping people work through. I led the students in mourning Karly, and most are doing well and adjusting.

“She killed herself.” Straight, concise, and to the point as ever, Zara briefly explains that her cousin was in a bad spot and felt the only way out was ending her life.

“I also had a student that committed suicide. She wasn’t my family, but it was still difficult.” This seems to catch Zara’s attention. Her head whips in my direction and her posture stiffens. Maybe I’ll be able to get through to her and she’ll let me help her manage the grief if I open up about Karly. It can’t hurt, and it’s a risk I’m willing to take. This version of Zara worries me.

“She was a bright young woman. Great grades in my class, and the rest of her teachers had nothing but positive things to say about her. She had started a relationship with someone that her family wouldn’t approve of, but she kept seeing him anyway. I’m not sure if they were in love, but it seemed like she at least loved him. I tried to talk to her a few times about it, though she never really opened up. Until she found out she was pregnant. She showed up at my office much like you showed up here tonight.” Zara squirms in her seat, seeming to be uncomfortable with the direction of our conversation. Her walls are coming down. I can see her body language shift from locked away to angry. Anger is usually the first emotion shown when someone begins the grieving process. I’m making progress, so I continue.

“She was very depressed. I wanted to help her…tried to help her, but I wasn’t very helpful, I guess. She left my office that night and her body was found the next day. I’m constantly wondering if there was anything more I could have done. So I know what it’s like to carry the what-ifs around, Zara. I can help you if you’ll let me.”

A few tears slip from her lashes, slowly tumbling down her flushed cheeks and into her lap. She’s looking anywhere and everywhere except at my eyes. I don’t want to push her past where she’s ready to go, but I feel like if I don’t at least try, I could be getting a call tomorrow that someone’s found Zara’s body, and that’s not a call I want to receive. I care for her.

Dare I say I’m falling in love with her? Wrong or right, I can’t fight the way I feel about Zara. She’s everything I never knew I was looking for. Her only downfall: She’s my student.

“What was her name?” Zara asks, choking back emotion she’s not ready to show.

“Karly,” I whisper, holding back tears of my own. Such a great girl and her life was cut short.

We both sit silent for what seems like hours, yet in reality it’s been only a few minutes. As I’m ready to break the silence, the dryer buzzes. Both of us jump, and it’s apparent that Zara’s gone back inside herself.

“I better get going,” she says, standing and making long strides to the laundry room. I follow close behind and have to stop myself as she reaches into the dryer, pulls out her clothes, pulls my shirt over her head, exposing her naked body. As hard as I’m trying to remain platonic in this instance to give her a sense of support, looking at her firm body, my dick wants anything except distance. Bracing myself on the door frame, I forcefully hold myself back from pouncing.

As soon as she’s dressed, she shuffles past me, purposefully keeping her distance. At the door, once it’s unlocked and cracked open, she turns to face me, a rainfall of tears streaming down her face. I step forward to comfort her, but she opens the door wider.

“Bye, Noah,” she stutters. I can’t help but feel like there’s a double meaning behind her farewell.

Before I can blink an eye, she’s out the door and into the night.