3
What the Hell Have You Done Now?
~Noah~
Well, this day has been … intense.
You would think the most intense part was being threatened by an ox-man who called me, and I quote, “cock chomper.” Why did he say I was a cock chomper? Because, and I quote, “I was too pretty not to want his cock shoved down my throat.” The guy has some serious sexual issues to have made a comment like that. Sick fucker.
That wasn’t the most intense part of my day, though. It was the connection I felt shared between me and Claire.
God, her name is as sweet as her beautiful face and her voice … My heart stopped for the second time when her soft voice cracked through mine and Troy’s inevitable fight. It was soft, even when she was trying to be harsh.
When she talked to Troy in a defeated voice after his excuse of an apology, I wanted to wrap her in my arms and protect her from the harsh world. She was the epitome of innocence. I could see it in her eyes, hear it in her voice.
Despite her innocence, there is sadness surrounding her. Something in her life isn’t right. Is it Troy? Does he give her a hard time? Hurt her? Does she feel overwhelmed by him? Or is there something else? She’s the district attorney’s daughter. Is he hard on her, expecting more because of the low-life’s he sees daily?
“Earth to Noah,” Kyle calls out, interrupting my thoughts. He’s sitting behind his drums, holding some of my music sheets. I was almost reluctant to show him my music, having not shared it with anyone else. However, since I am stuck here for the next ten months, I might as well make the most of it.
I adjust the strap on my guitar, flip the switch to turn the amp on, and mumble, “I’ll start,” before striking a chord.
Just a few chords in, and Kyle is already testing the waters, finding a beat with heavy bass to compensate not having a bassist. It sounds good deep. When the song ends, I automatically move into playing another one, lost to the music.
I don’t even know how long we practice, but it’s at least five songs through when I hear giggling coming from the other side of the room.
I open my eyes and barely hold back the groan and eye roll when I spot Chelsea sitting on a weight bench, making herself at home, staring at me with hungry eyes. She has a friend with her, another blonde. Nikki, I think her name is. I met her briefly at lunch today when Chelsea plopped herself onto my lap, disturbing my lunch and conversation with Kyle.
Lunch. That was another disaster. Kyle went on and on about playing gigs around town, really excited and too focused on that instead of playing for fun. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep myself from saying something to him. I don’t want to hurt the guy’s feelings.
I was moving around the food on my plate, wishing I had asked Kyle if we could go into town to grab some lunch. I didn’t, though, because I hoped to catch a glimpse of Claire, which I didn’t.
It was while I was lost in thought when the blonde dropped into my lap, causing me to grunt. I didn’t even have to look to see who it was. I automatically shot Kyle a look that was a plea to help me out, but all he did was roll his eyes. Great, I couldn’t tell if he was upset or amused. I mean, Kyle banged this chick a few nights ago, and here she was, back to flirting with me.
With that thought, I dumped her into the seat next to mine where, completely unfazed, she adjusted herself and started her clinging by gripping my bicep and running her hands through my hair.
The whole lunch hour consisted of removing her hands from me to her pressing her tits against my arm. When I turned my back on her to take a deep breath away from the stench of her perfume, she would put her claws back on me.
Meanwhile, it looked like Chelsea set her friend up with Kyle. I guess I could keep up the pretenses of a nice guy until he got laid again.
Back in the garage, I ignore the uninvited girls, used to having groupies hang out at practice back at home. Kyle, on the other hand, is having a hard time concentrating, missing the beat. This will be a serious hurdle to overcome if he aspires to play live anywhere.
Halfway through the next song, I notice Kyle never jumped in with the drums. I look back to see what he is doing, and all I see is blonde hair and two sets of legs. Nikki is straddling him and giving him a serious make-out session. Don’t these girls realize they are interrupting something?
I roll my eyes, flick a pissed off look Chelsea’s way, and continue to play through the song. Once I’m done, I flip off the amp and pull the guitar strap over my head.
As I make my way to the case to put the guitar down, I hear Chelsea from directly behind me say, “What are you guys up to?”
Seriously? Did she just ask that? Is she that dumb or maybe blind and deaf to not see and hear that we were practicing?
I want to retort with a, “What the hell does it look like?” but instead I answer, “Just playing around,” with a shrug. I don’t want to deal with this chick.
“You sound amazing,” she coos.
Does this chick know any other adjectives? My mother would have a coronary if I ever brought her home.
“Thanks,” I mutter, snapping the guitar case shut, and then stand up with the case in my hand. “Dinner should be ready, and my aunt doesn’t like for us to be late, so …” You can leave now.
I walk past her, but she grabs my arm with a light laugh. “Are you shy or something, Noah? You don’t have to be shy around me. I’m a sure thing when it comes to you. And I will make you feel so good.”
I can’t help myself. “I’m sure you would. All I have to do is ask Kyle or any other guy in town.” With that, I walk out of the garage, not even bothering to see the look on Chelsea’s face. I can imagine, though, after the way she let go of my arm so fast and took a step back.
Poor Kyle; he won’t be getting any from Nikki.
I walk through the back door and into the kitchen, taking a huge whiff of the delicious smell coming out of the oven. Aunt Katy is at the stove, stirring something in a pot. She turns around when she hears the door shut and gives me a warm smile.
“Pot roast?” I ask.
She smiles. “Yep.”
“My favorite.” I grin back at her.
Kyle takes after Aunt Katy with their light brown hair and slim figures. However, Kyle has my family’s dark eyes, whereas Aunt Katy has light hazel eyes.
“NO-IE!” Abby, my three-year-old cousin, squeals as she comes barreling into the kitchen. She races toward me as fast as her little legs can, and I quickly pick her up before she crashes into me.
“AB-BY!” I cry out the same way she does.
She giggles as I start to throw her into the air. She’s so cute with her ringlets of brown hair; her chubby little cheeks; and those big, innocent brown eyes. I call her my little birth twin since we share the same birthday. She was so excited to find out we were going to celebrate together this year, telling me she was going to be the princess and I was to be her white horse. Yeah, that’s not going to happen.
“Down, pweeze, down.” She lets out a cross between a laugh and a cry when I throw her up one more time, catching her before she hits the ground.
As soon as she’s on her feet, she scurries back into the living room to return to her favorite doll, clutching the ragged-looking thing to her chest. Cutest little girl ever.
“You’re so good with her.” Aunt Katy says as she walks past me, carrying a few trays.
I shrug. “Can’t help it. She’s too darn cute.”
She smiles at that. “Will you go get Kyle and tell him dinner is ready?”
I cringe, and she notices, giving me a questioning look.
“I’d rather not?” I try to say gently, and it comes out as a question.
She puts her hands on her hips, which looks funny because she put oven mitts on to take the roast out. “Why not?”
Shit. How do I answer that?
I give her a shy smile, one that I know makes the girls back home melt. “Um, well, you see …”
“Spit it out, Noah. Are you two fighting already? Dear Lord, the fights you two got into when you were little. Neither of you wanted anything to do with the other. I never understood it.”
I don’t remember what she’s talking about, so I just shrug. “No fighting,” I promise. “He, uh … Some people stopped by, and I don’t want to talk to them. I don’t like being rude; it’s just that this one girl gets on my last fuc—ever loving nerve. If I go out there, she will—”
“I get it, Noah. And watch your mouth.” She looks thoughtful for a minute before a mischievous grin creeps up. “Do you think I should go out there?”
Aunt Katy is always thinking of ways to humiliate Kyle. She’s fun and loves a practical joke, but this one might backfire on her. If she goes out there, there is no telling what she will walk in on. I don’t want to subject my aunt to that.
I blanch before recovering. “I think we should let him eat a cold dinner.”
Katy nods. “That’s probably the wiser decision. Mark isn’t going to be too happy about it, though. He likes to discuss school. You know, he’s like your dad when it comes to history.” She turns around and finally retrieves the roast from the oven.
Don’t I ever know. Mom and Dad only ever talk about that. Unlike my parents, Mark is a software engineer. He likes history, especially battles and wars.
“Well, I guess it’s a good thing I’m here. I can distract him with the Peloponnesian war.”
Aunt Katy laughs then calls the family, sans Kyle, to the table for dinner.
~Claire~
“You missed the high C at the end,” Troy snaps once Signora Gelardi hits the last key on the piano.
Really? What does Troy know about music?
I sulk, shooting him a death glare before turning a questioning look at Signora Gelardi.
“He’s right. You’re not here today. Your brain seems scattered, and you’re not focusing on the music.”
I sigh and nod in understanding, hating that she agrees with Troy. She never agrees with him. In fact, she hates him and has told me several times to not allow him in practices. Though I tell Troy he’s not welcome here, he doesn’t listen. He thinks he’s being supportive and that extra criticism is good for me. I disagree. You can only beat someone down so much before they snap. And today, I want to snap.
Troy has been a jerk all day, ever since his run in with Noah—I learned his name from Troy. Apparently, Troy cornered Chelsea and demanded to know who he was and where he came from. This knowledge was imparted to me at lunch, where Troy spent the hour staring daggers at the back of the guy’s head while mumbling profanities under his breath.
I tried to calm him down, but he wasn’t having it. His swearing grew worse when Chelsea and Nikki came to their table, and Chelsea sat on Noah’s lap like she belonged there. I smiled when I saw Noah immediately drop her into the chair next to him and brush off every advance she gave. Chelsea couldn’t take a hint, though, and that made me see red.
When her hand slipped under the table and up his thigh, I thought I would jump out of my seat and … I don’t know what I would have done to her, but it wouldn’t have been nice. However, Noah none too gently threw her hand from his lap had me calming down.
“That’s because her thoughts are on some new kid at school,” Troy snipes, giving me a scornful look.
How dare he!
“Troy, you need to leave now.” I am seething, hands clenched into little fists as I stand on the stage of the school auditorium, looking down at Troy’s now heartbroken face.
“I want to look out for you—”
“Leave. Now,” I say deceptively calm.
I can’t deal with him right now. I can’t deal with the drama. They are right, and I am wrong, and I can’t deal with it. I need to get Noah out of my head, and I need to clear the air of the drama it’s causing. Troy staying here doesn’t help matters.
“I’ll call you later, okay?” I try to relieve the heartbroken look on his face. The guy is a huge bully, but when it comes to me, he has such a sensitive heart.
Troy nods, and then I watch him leave.
Breathing a sigh of relief, I turn my attention to Signora Gelardi.
She’s looking at me thoughtfully. “Is he right? Are you losing your passion? Is your passion turning toward something else? You can’t have both. You know the mistakes I made. Don’t follow my lead on this.” She shakes her head dejectedly, like she already knows the answer.
“No, of course not. I don’t even know the guy.” I take a deep breath and close my eyes. His face flashes through my vision. “Troy is jealous because he saw the two of us looking at each other. I mean, he’s the new kid in school; everyone notices something like that. He shouldn’t care that I noticed, too.”
Signora Gelardi continues to shake her head. “No. I see what Troy sees. You’re wistful just talking about him. You blush.” She stands up from behind the piano and comes over to stand in front of me, staring right into my eyes. “I’m sorry to have to agree with your friend, but I think this boy is going to be a distraction for you. If you treasure my advice, as you say you do, then stay away from him. That’s all I can say.”
~
I get home later than usual after going back over the songs I messed up earlier in practice. Signora Gelardi was right. After I determinedly got Noah out of my head, my singing was back. I hated that also meant Troy was right.
I groan out loud at that thought as I walk through the empty house and into the kitchen, feeling a bit miffed at more than them being right. My dad isn’t home yet, which really bothers me because I’m home late and it’s already past eight o’clock.
I consider calling him, but if he’s working this late, that means he is extremely busy and a call from me will hold him up that much longer.
I sigh as I open the refrigerator and pull out the leftover chicken parmesan, throwing a clump of it into a bowl before reheating it in the microwave.
As I wait for the food to heat, I look back over the pamphlets the Manhattan School of Music sent with my acceptance letter.
I can’t wait to be there. To be on my own. To be able to perform.
Being on stage has been a fantasy of mine ever since I was four years old, performing in my first ballet recital, before I discovered my voice.
I can thank Signora Gelardi for finding me. She picked me right out of the crowd of elementary students and has encouraged my singing ever since. She found opportunities and competitions in all the surrounding states for me to participate in, and I loved every minute of it. The feel of all eyes on me, my voice echoing throughout the room, filling others’ hearts, moving people to tears or smiles. It’s a euphoric experience, a high I can never get enough of.
My food reheated, I sit alone at the table to eat. My thoughts start to wander to my mother, wondering what it would be like if she was here when I got home. I can only imagine the woman I have grown to look like would be in the kitchen, keeping the food warm for me and Dad. Maybe, if she was still around, Dad would make a better effort to want to hurry home.
That thought always depresses me, like I’m not good enough. I know that’s not it, though. Dad loves me with his whole heart. It’s coming home to the memories Mom left behind when she ran off with my dad’s college roommate right after I was born that hurts him.
You would think that a mother couldn’t abandon her newborn child. You would think a mother would want to know her little baby. You would think a mother would want to see how her baby grows up; get to know her. You would think wrong.
Almost eighteen years later, and not one little word from my mother. We don’t even know where she lives—nothing. It hurts, but I think it would hurt more if she one day decided to show back up. I would rather think my mother died than imagine her living with a new family of her own.
I shove my half-eaten plate away from me, suddenly feeling too tired to eat anymore.
I go through the motions of cleaning up before heading to my room, but when I’m halfway up the stairs, the doorbell rings.
I moan in exhaustion, wondering who is here at nine o’clock at night.
Opening the door, I’m not surprised to see Troy standing there. Though I am surprised to see that he looks drunk … again.
Leaning against the doorframe, his head down and shoulders slumped over, almost taking up the whole doorway, his jeans and T-shirt look more disheveled than they did the last time I saw him, which was only a few hours ago.
I stand in the entry with my arms folded over my chest, glaring at him. “What do you need, Troy?”
“Can I come in?” He finally looks up at me with bloodshot eyes, reeking of alcohol.
I sigh and drop my arms, swinging the door open wider to accommodate his size.
He walks in with his head back down, staggering a bit. I ignore him and walk past him to the living room. I feel him follow me as I sit in the chair, forgoing the couch in case he needs to lie down for a while—more like pass out. Dad is going to kill him when he gets home.
“I can’t believe you drove like this. What has gotten into you lately? Sit down and talk to me.”
He’s still standing, now next to me, staring at the couch. He looks from the couch to me and back again before his eyes rest on mine, and he holds his hand out to me. “Sit with me, please.”
I stop myself from rolling my eyes, holding his hand as he pulls me up and walks me to the couch. I don’t want to do this right now. I want to go to bed.
We sit on the couch together with him still holding my hand, which isn’t unusual, but right now, I have a bad feeling, and with him pestering me the other night about being together, I don’t think holding hands is an option right now.
I pull my hand out of his, and to make the blow gentle, I pull my hair up into a bun on top of my head.
“You’re so beautiful like that.” Troy smiles shyly at me, touching a few escaped tendrils along my cheek. I again refrain from rolling my eyes.
“What do you want, Troy? I want to get you home before my dad shows up and sees you like this. And I want to go to bed. You really stressed me out today, you know. I wish—”
My words are cut off when Troy lunges at me, pinning me to the couch with his huge body. His mouth is pressed hard against mine, not moving, just pushing my head into the couch cushions forcefully. I’m completely thrown off by this, not able to move for a minute.
When realization hits me, I’m mortified. I do not want my first kiss to be by him. I keep thinking that, if I kiss him, I’m kissing everyone at school. He recently had sex with Nikki, who had sex with half the football team, meaning I’m kissing Nikki, meaning I’m kissing half the football team, who have slept with numerous other kids at school, meaning everyone has slept together. I don’t like that one bit. I don’t like the knowledge that everyone is connected in this way and that makes me now connected to all of them.
I shove against Troy’s shoulders as I feel his mouth begin to move, his tongue slipping out of his mouth as his lips part. I struggle against him, wanting to yell but too afraid to open my mouth and have his tongue enter.
I mumble incoherently, practically screaming as I struggle to get out from underneath him. He grabs both of my hands, pinning them above my head as his hips hold me in place, his erection digging into that part of me that no one has touched. I am frantic now, not wanting to feel him against me that way. It feels so dirty, so wrong. I am in no way attracted to Troy. He feels like a perverted relative right now.
Tears start coursing down my cheeks as I try bucking him off, instigating a groan of pleasure from him. Oh, God.
He trails his lips away from mine—thank God—and starts licking and nipping his way down my neck. I take the advantage and start to yell at him.
“Troy, get off me! I don’t want this! Can’t you see you are scaring me?”
“It’s okay, baby,” he starts to coo against my neck. “This is the way we’re meant to be. You’ll see. You’ll enjoy it, and then you’ll know we’re meant to be. I love you so much, Claire. Pretty Claire …” His voice trails off as he starts to suck on my neck. It hurts. Oh, God, it hurts.
I start screaming so loud my throat burns. He now has both my hands pinned above my head with one hand, his hips still holding me down, while his free hand starts to grope my breast, massaging it through my shirt.
I feel so dirty. I hate this. I hate him!
“Stop! Please, please stop! You’re going to regret this, and I’ll never speak to you again. I hate you! I hate you! Get off me! Dad! Daddy, please help me! Somebody!” I screech, my voice breaking as he starts to slide his hand down my waist.
“Come on, Claire,” he breathes against my mouth, his breath rancid with alcohol. “Stop being so dramatic. Calm down. Relax. You’ll love it, but you have to relax for me, baby.” His hand now drifts lower as he raises his hips to allow his hand to get closer to my mound.
Oh, no! No, no, nononononononono!
I scream as loud as I can, desperate. He releases my hand and covers my mouth as his other hand starts massaging me down there. I claw at his face, his head, pulling his hair out, beating my fists against his back. I continue to strike out at him any way I can, but it doesn’t affect him as he continues to touch me, moaning like my hits are giving him pleasure.
I can feel snot dripping out of my nose as tears continue to pour out of my eyes. I’m still screaming my voice out behind his hand. I’m so scared. This isn’t the Troy I know.
Suddenly, thankfully, mercifully, Troy is thrown off me. I see him fly over the back of the couch, causing the couch to tilt backward before it settles back down. I crab crawl backward until I hit the arm of the couch where I curl up in a ball and continue to cry.
My dad is home! My savior.
He’s standing over Troy as the jerk incoherently mumbles apologies. He stays lying on the floor, groveling at my dad’s feet, telling him sorry repeatedly. My dad ignores him, his phone already against his ear, already connecting with Troy’s father.
“Come get your son now.” My dad’s voice is deathly calm. I have never seen him like this. He sounds calm, his face looks calm, but his whole body is trembling.
He never takes his eyes off Troy as he stands over him, telling him, “You, stay on that floor. Don’t move an inch. Do you understand me, boy? I will throw your ass in juvie so quick if you defy me. You come near my daughter again, you’re gone. Do you understand!” he roars, and I flinch. I have never seen my dad lose control.
“Y-y-yes, sir. I’m sorry, sir. So sorry.” Troy turns toward me. “I’m so sorry, Claire. I wasn’t going to do anything. I swear. I just—”
“Shut up! Don’t talk to her. Don’t look at her. Just stay on that damn floor and shut up until your dad gets here!”
My dad turns to me then. I’m sure I look a hot mess because his angered look turns to one of complete sadness. He looks so lost, so scared when he sees me.
He doesn’t spare another glance at Troy as he comes to me, dropping to his knees in front of me and pulling me into his embrace.
“Daddy,” I choke out as I cling to him, my sobs choking me as I bury my face in my daddy’s neck.
He starts to shush me, caressing my hair that has come undone and is now tangled down my back. Then he pulls back and looks me over, probably assessing for how far Troy went.
I shake my head at him. “He didn’t do anything, Daddy. You got here before—” I choke on another sob, thinking about what Troy, my best and only friend, tried to do to me.
He is so sick. Why couldn’t I see that? Why did I refuse to see all the signs? Why did I continue to be friends with him, knowing all the problems he had? He could have seriously hurt me. He could have knocked me out and had his way with me. All the “could have” scenarios run through my head and my sobs renew.
“Oh, God, Daddy. I was so scared,” I hiccup the words out.
My dad continues to sooth me until we hear, “What the hell have you done now?”
The mayor is here.
Dad gently pushes me back against the couch, looking me directly in the eyes when he says, “Stay here, sweetheart. I’m going to talk to Mr. Couer outside. I’ll be back soon, okay?”
I nod then watch the three men walk out the door, Troy in front of them with his head down, his dad breathing down his neck, as my dad stoically walks them out the front door, turning back once to look at me.