Mercy Hospital Chapter 1 The E.R at Mercy Hospital reeked of antiseptic, the foul odour stinging my nose each time I inhaled. I moved restlessly in the hard plastic chair, unable to get comfortable. Man, I hated hospitals. The smell that was overpowering. The bright white walls that lay bare, devoid of any decoration. The nurses that exuded fake cheerfulness every time a potential patient came in, only to resort back to their sour selves the minute they thought nobody was watching. And lastly, the sick or injured people that crowded the waiting room, all agitated at having to wait hours to be seen by a doctor. Luckily it was only half full tonight, and there were only two sour nurses at the reception counter, one of whom had begrudgingly helped me with my paperwork seeing as my right hand was injured. I noticed a box on the form that said “Please let us know if you are experiencing any of the following:” Underneath that statement were a series of boxes one could tick if they applied. Bleeding heavily was at the top of the list. Having already been waiting for over thirty minutes, I found myself wondering if the haughty nurse had ticked that box or left it blank. I stared down at my injury. The thin sweater I’d wrapped around my hand to staunch the bleeding was soaked, with blood beginning to slowly trickle down my arm and drip rhythmically onto my jeans. Well, this was just craptastic. I cursed inwardly at the now red sweater. An hour ago it had been a crisp white, and my favourite too. Maybe I should have listened to my best friend Courtney and bought the black one instead. At least then it might have been salvageable. Blood washed out of black a whole lot better than it did out of stupid white. Jigging my leg impatiently, I looked around for something, anything, to amuse myself with until someone finally noticed the girl bleeding all over the hospital floor. A bunch of outdated magazines sat on the table in front of me, and seeing as how my options were so limited I reached out to grab one - with my right hand. I barely managed to stifle a yelp as a sharp pain seared my hand, all the way to my fingertips. Good god! What an idiot. I cradled my hand, trying to make the pain recede. And to think, when I first got here I was inwardly complaining about the dull, throbbing ache that had settled in. Please, come back! It was so much better than the burning pain I was feeling now. I glanced up as a male doctor wearing light green scrubs strode into the waiting room consulting a clipboard. Come on, I thought, sitting up in anticipation. It had to be my turn. How much was a girl supposed to suffer before she was granted medical attention? “Mary Abernathy?” I sighed heavily and slumped in my chair as yet another name that wasn’t mine was called. A middle aged woman with a whimpering toddler in her arms stood, looking mighty relieved, and followed the doctor through the double doors. I ground my teeth at the injustice, silently fuming. Sure, her baby had a cold. But was she bleeding profusely? No, she wasn’t. I continued to glare at the double doors as someone pushed through them and into the waiting room. It was a boy around my age, maybe a couple of years older. His jeans were ripped and bloodied in several places, and his once white singlet was also smeared with blood and something black. A fierce scowl dominated his face, but surprisingly it didn’t deter me from noticing how bright his blue eyes were, or how well his tawny skin matched his dark hair, which was tied in a short ponytail at his neck. Such an unusual combination of features, yet he was undeniably, well, hot. Transfixed by his raw beauty, I watched as he draped a dark hoodie over one shoulder and gingerly touched his bandaged bicep before limping toward the exit. Unfortunately, he must have felt a pair of eyes on him because halfway there he stopped and looked in my direction. Flustered at the sudden attention, all I could do was gape at him, mouth opening and shutting slightly as he raked a quick gaze over my dishevelled appearance. Expression unchanging, he continued on and out of the building. Ugh! How embarrassing. I must have looked like a fish out of water with my lips flapping like that. Sighing heavily, I rested my elbows on my knees and hung my head, my honey brown locks acting as a curtain around my face. Tonight definitely wasn’t my night. Drops of blood began hitting the white tiles and I watched them form a tiny puddle at my feet. Growing bored quickly, I was reduced to counting the specs of blood as they hit the floor. Just when I was starting to wonder what would kill me first- boredom or blood loss, a pair of boots appeared directly in my line of sight. I craned my head up and stared into a pair of bright blue eyes. Oh, my god. It was the guy I’d just been eyeballing in a way too obvious manner. My cheeks instantly burned red. Was he here to demand what I was looking at? Dear god, I hoped not. I was already mortified enough. He scowled down at me, an unlit cigarette hanging from his lips. I couldn’t help but notice he’d put on his hoodie, which hugged his toned body nicely. “How long have you been waiting here?” he asked. His voice was rich and deep, the low, even tone cascading over me. “Too long.” I muttered, more to myself than him. He arched an eyebrow at my response and yanked the cigarette out of his mouth, pocketing it. “What happened?” What happened? That was a very good question. See, my idiot boyfriend, ex- boyfriend as soon as I got myself out of the E.R. and let him have it, “accidentally” pushed me through a window because he was jealous of me talking to another guy. Then he oh, so kindly, drove me to the hospital, dumped my ass here and told me to call him when I needed a ride home. A pity I couldn’t repeat that heart warming tale to anyone else. No, I’d better give the abridged version. “I cut myself on some glass.” Well, okay. That was more like an abridged version of the abridged version. “Right.” I could tell in that one word alone he didn’t believe me for a second. Wow, this guy was astute. “And that’s the story you’re sticking to?” “Why wouldn’t I?” I challenged. “That’s what happened.” “Okay.” Grabbing me by my good arm he hauled me to my feet. “Come on,” he muttered, leading us to the reception desk. Dumbfounded, I found myself following without protest. “Excuse me,” he said to the nurse in charge of reception. She looked up from the pile of paperwork she’d been perusing, eyebrows raised. “Can I help you?” “I hope so. See, my girlfriend here cut herself pretty badly on some broken glass and we’ve been waiting well over half an hour to be seen. Is it going to happen any time soon? Or should we just wait until she bleeds to death?” My ears and cheeks turned a brilliant red at his mention of me being his girlfriend, and the colour only deepened as he boldly challenged this woman. “It’s fine,” I mumbled, gently tugging at the hem of his sweatshirt. The last thing I wanted was to cause a scene. “No, it’s not fine. You’re badly injured and no one’s doing anything about it.” The nurse looked taken aback at first, but then her features settled into a scowl, one to match his own. “Listen here young man,” she started. My stomach churned as a wave of dizziness descended upon me, threatening to throw me off my feet. “What medical school have you been to that proclaims you educated enough to identify a bad injury? Hospitals have to follow procedure, and according to procedure the more severe cases get seen to first. I’m not putting your girlfriend at the top of the list because she’s complaining about a mild cut.” I leaned heavily into this mysterious boy. It was either that or end up on the floor as my legs threatened to give out on me; the room had begun to spin in wide circles. “A “mild cut”, huh?” He gently held up my injured hand for the nurse to see. Personally, I thought the blood dripping from the soaked cloth gave it a bit of a dramatic touch, but the nurse’s eyes almost bugged out of her head. It seemed she’d only just noticed me, the “girlfriend”. Her wide eyed gasp had me starting to panic. So did the fact that she jumped up and called for a doctor. I mean, I knew it wasn’t a mild cut, but was it really this serious? Before anyone could make another move she rushed out from behind the counter and ushered us towards the double doors. I took a step and my leg buckled under my weight, the dizziness finally winning out. Mystery boy caught me before I hit the ground and hoisted me up into his arms. My face burned from embarrassment and I squirmed awkwardly. Not only had I created a scene, but now everyone was watching me being carried off into the E.R. To avoid eye contact with any of the occupants in the waiting room I buried my face into his shoulder. Inhaling, I was shocked to find his sweatshirt smelled clean and fresh, and held a faint floral scent. I had expected it to reek of sweat and the coppery smell of blood, or whatever other substances that stained his clothes. I breathed in again, identifying the floral scent as jasmine. Most likely the lingering scent of the washing powder he used. I heard the double doors open and shut again behind us, letting me know it was safe to poke my head out of its hiding place. I was greeted with more of the plain white walls, and booths separated by curtains. Both walls and curtains started spinning around me, something my stomach detested. The nurse gestured at the second booth on the right and then scattered to find an available doctor. Mystery boy deposited me gently on the bed and stepped back slightly to look at me. It was then that I remembered he had his own injuries. He was even limping earlier. “I’m sorry,” I mumbled, looking away from him. “What?” “You’re injured, and you had to carry me in here.” “No. I’m fine.” I spared a glance at him that was met with his ever present scowl. Did the guy ever smile? Before I could ask him that the curtain whipped back and in walked a doctor, snapping on a pair of gloves. “Hello, I’m Dr. Hendricks.” He spoke in a clear, crisp voice. Friendly but professional. He stepped up to the bed on my right side and took my hand in both of his, gently unwrapping it. “Well, what do we have here?” he asked with a frown. “I cut myself on some glass,” I said lamely, repeating the same lines I’d said once tonight already. “Really?” Dr. Hendricks asked, not sounding convinced at all. “Yes.” “Were you present?” he asked mystery boy. “You’re the boyfriend?” “No, I wasn’t. And yes, my name’s Tyson.” Ah, so mystery boy had a name. Tyson. I tried it out in my head, testing the syllables. It was a nice name, and seemed to suit him well. “And your name miss?” the good doctor asked, pulling the last of my ruined sweater away and revealing a deep gash in my hand. One that was gushing a fair amount of blood, I might add. “Um. Noah. Noah Duke.” The red liquid flowed freely from the wound, making me more than a little uneasy. “Um, is this normal? The amount of blood I’m losing?” Dr. Hendricks examined the cut more closely, and his brow furrowed all over again. “Well, you do seem to have lost a bit of blood, but once we get you stitched up you should be alright. Do you feel dizzy? Nauseated?” I nodded yes on both counts and watched as he rummaged through a nearby cabinet. He came back seconds later holding a syringe. I cringed away from him automatically and a whimper escaped my lips before I could stop it. “Yes, I know. This is the worst part. And your cut is in such a sensitive place too.” He drew some sort of liquid from a bottle into the syringe and tapped it lightly. “But, I have to clean the wound, stitch it, and then dress it. Trust me, you’ll be a lot happier if it’s done while your hand is numb.” I wasn’t convinced by a long shot. Truthfully, I would have been happier if I hadn’t had to come in the first place. Dr. Hendricks, who could sense my growing apprehension, turned on Tyson. “Maybe you could help her relax. Offer her some calming words?” Tyson nodded, his face impassive and stepped up on my left side. Sliding his hand under my chin, he forced me to look up at him and away from what the doctor was doing. “Come on,” he said, a scowl overtaking his handsome features. “Stop being a big baby. You’re going to be fine.” Stop being a big baby? Those were his calming words? You’re going to be fine? I know he’s not my real boyfriend and all, more like a complete stranger, but still. A situation like this and that’s what he would say to his girlfriend? I opened my mouth to snap at him, to tell him to shove his calming words where the sun don’t shine, when a sharp pain permeated my hand and I yelped instead. “Ouch!” I grabbed hold of Tyson‘s free hand and squeezed it hard. Several more stings followed, the sharp pains lingering. Finally the doctor declared the worst part “all over now” in a cheerful voice like I was some small child and brusquely but efficiently cleaned my wound before breaking out his suture kit. Tyson said nothing as I continued to hold his hand, for which I was grateful for. I was not ready to let go. Not while Dr. Happy-go-lucky was hovering over me with a huge needle and thread. I know I couldn’t feel it, that my hand was numb. But it was still nice to have a comforting hand to hold. Even if the owner of said hand was more than a little aggravating. Chapter 2 — Updated Jan 11, 2011 — 9,266 characters Fifteen minutes later my hand was heavily wrapped in a bandage. A nurse had been in and out, forcing me to drink three cups of juice and eat four cookies. “To help with the blood loss,” she’d said. They wanted to keep me under observation for the next few hours, just in case I had lost more blood than they thought. I sighed contentedly. This was fine with me. I was no longer bleeding, and was no longer in pain. Plus, I didn’t think my legs would hold me up if I tried to walk out right now. “You might be feeling a little anaemic,” the nurse said, handing me some pain killers and water. “So when you get home you should get some rest, and don’t forget to eat.” Tyson, who had moved to the foot of the bed while the nurse was fussing over me, sat in a chair similar to those that occupied the waiting room. Elbows on his knees, head ducked, he was rolling an unlit cigarette between his fingers, seemingly lost in thought. The nurse departed, saying she would check back in every so often. The curtain closed with a whoosh behind her. I shifted uncomfortably on the bed, suddenly all too aware that I was alone with a boy. A very hot, moody boy. And wouldn’t you know, I looked like crap. My long hair was tangled - no doubt there were golf ball sized knots waiting for me to brush out, my hazel eyes were heavy and bloodshot, and my exposed skin felt all sticky and clammy. I could only imagine what kind of image that created as a whole. Minus my sweater I was wearing a pair of dark gray, blood-spattered jeans and a gray singlet. I’m sure all guys just loved girls covered in blood. I more than likely looked like something out of a bad horror movie. I glanced at Tyson again. I should probably tell him he could leave now. I mean, I was fine, and it seemed more than a little weird to have a stranger keep me company in the hospital. While I was thinking of the best way to tell him to leave, Tyson surged to his feet abruptly. “I’m going outside to have a smoke. I’ll be back in ten.” I guess the opportunity just presented itself. “Um, That’s okay. I’ve already taken up enough of your time,” I said, twisting the thin hospital sheet with my good hand. “You don’t have to come back. I’m going to be here a while, so you should just go.” For some reason, even as the words were coming out of my mouth, I didn’t want him to go. How absurd. I didn’t even know the guy and here I was, a little sad at the thought of him leaving. “Yeah, I should.” was all he said and started to leave. “Thank you for your help.” He paused half way through the gap in the curtains, his back facing me. “I’m um, sorry if I ruined your evening.” Without another word he left, and I had to stop myself from calling him back. I opened my eyes to a nurse hovering over me. Disoriented, I looked around at my surroundings. A hospital? Why the hell was I in a hospital? I moved my hands up to rub at my eyes, but a throbbing ache in my right hand stopped me. I looked at my bandaged hand and everything came flooding back to me. Wow, those pain killers must have knocked me out. “How are you feeling?” the nurse asked. “You’ve been sleeping for a few hours.” “What time is it?” I sat up slowly and swung my legs over the side of the bed. “Almost three in the morning. Do you think you’re well enough to get up? Is there anyone I can call for you?” She seemed genuinely concerned. I sighed and rubbed my good hand down my face, trying to get my bearings. “No, it’s fine. I’ll call someone from my cell to pick me up. Thank you.” Once outside, I pulled my cell from my pocket. Shit, it really was 3a.m. I laughed bitterly when I saw there were no missed calls, no new text messages. Yep, that was Aidan alright. Pushes me through a window in a jealous rage and then doesn’t bother to pick up his damn phone to send me an apology text. Didn’t bother to call to see if I was alright either. Asshole. Still, I needed a ride home and seeing as my brother was out of town on business again and Courtney was away this weekend, Aidan was my only option. I hit speed dial and waited. When I was greeted with his answering machine I almost snapped the phone in half. I was so pissed. Call me when you need a ride home. Yeah, right. That lousy, good for nothing, stupid ass! I left him a very long voice message and hung up. I don’t think I’ve ever sworn so much in my life. Surprisingly, I felt a little better. Maybe I should ring back and leave another one. I was about to push the call button when someone cleared their throat behind me. I whipped around. Oh, my god. It was Tyson, leaning on the hospital wall, smoking. Something told me he’d witnessed my hysterical phone call. “Have you been standing there that whole time?” “Yep.” Suspicions confirmed, I cringed inwardly. How was it I kept embarrassing myself in front of this guy. And what was he even still doing here? Wait a minute. “Were you waiting for me?” His trademark scowl appeared. “No.” Of course not. I huffed in aggravation. I didn’t have time for his attitude right now. I needed to find a way home. I figured I had enough cash for a taxi and reached into my jeans pocket for my wallet. It wasn’t there. I patted myself down searching for it, before groaning. I’d left it in Aidan’s car. Craptastic. Just freaking craptastic. Now what was I going to do? “So, your boyfriend’s not coming to get you?” he asked, taking a long drag on his smoke. “Ex boyfriend. And no, he’s not.” “So you need a ride then.” It wasn’t a question, and I wasn’t sure if he was offering or not so I stayed quiet. “Come on. My car’s this way.” He flicked his smoke onto the ground and stubbed it out with the toe of his boot before heading to the main car park. Even though he was limping, I had to power walk to keep up. He must have been around six foot one, six foot two inches tall. My poor five foot five frame was struggling to keep pace. “I thought you said you weren’t waiting for me.” “I wasn’t.” “Then what were you doing here?” We came to a stop in front of a sleek black Ford Mustang. It was one of the older, classic models too. Tyson clicked the button on his key ring to unlock it. Well, someone had obviously tinkered with it to make it more modern. I didn’t remember classic cars having central locking. “Do you always ask this many questions?” he muttered, getting in the drivers side. I stifled a smile. He’d avoided the question. So he had been waiting for me. Strangely, that thought sent a wave of butterflies through my stomach. “Are you getting in?” he snapped impatiently. “Yeah, yeah. No need to get your panties in a bunch.” I slid into the passenger seat and gave him my address. The ride to my house was, awkward to say the least. An uncomfortable silence settled in the second we hit the freeway, and with the stereo turned off there wasn’t even music to fill the void. After a few minutes of deafening silence Tyson wound down his window and pulled a cigarette free from a pack in the centre piece. He put it in his mouth and reached back down for a lighter. I tsked at him. “You’re not going to light that, are you?” His eyes narrowed and his hand stopped halfway to his lighter. “Why? You have a problem with that?” Yes, I did. It may have been his car, and he may have been generous enough to offer me a ride home. But there was no way I was sitting in this car while he smoked. I hated the stink cigarettes gave off. I couldn’t imagine why anyone would want to inhale smoke directly. It was bad enough second hand. “Yeah, I do. I don’t want to die of second hand smoke.” He gave me a droll stare before returning his attention to the road. “One cig isn’t going to kill you, you know.” “I don’t care. It all adds up.” I continued to glare at him until he sighed in frustration. “Fine,” he said, pulling it from his mouth and dropping it in the centre piece. “You shouldn’t be smoking anyway. How old are you? Seventeen? Eighteen?” I don’t even know why it bothered me so much that he smoked. Yeah, I‘d never liked people that smoked. But for some reason, his smoking was like a personal affront to me. “Don’t even go there. If I want to die early, that’s my prerogative.” With that said we fell back into another uncomfortable silence. Tyson pulled up to my house twenty minutes later and killed the engine. “Um, thanks for the ride.” I stammered, clumsily unbuckling my seatbelt. “Yeah, sure.” He rubbed his hands down his face, as if staving off sleep. I had to stifle a yawn myself. It had definitely been a long night. “I um, guess I’ll be going now.” “Right.” I climbed out of his car awkwardly, careful not to jostle my injured hand. Hanging on to the door I leaned down so we were face level. “Thanks for everything, Tyson.” He nodded and started the car, clearly eager for me to shut the door so he could leave. I sighed heavily and obliged. God that guy was the moodiest person I’d ever met. And one of few words at that. So aggravating! Yet as he drove off down the street without another word, I got that same twinge of sadness at his departure that I had in the hospital. “Goodbye,” I whispered. Chapter 3 — Updated Jan 11, 2011 — 9,906 characters “So, what do you think?” Courtney sashayed out of the fitting room and struck a pose in front of me. Clad in a pair of hip-hugging jeans and a silky white halter, she almost looked like a runway model about to hit the catwalk. Tall and slender, with dark curly hair and a set of piercing green eyes, she was the envy of every girl at our school. “And remember, as my best friend it’s your honour bound duty to tell me the truth. This outfit could end up getting me my dream guy.” I sighed wearily. The girl could walk down the street wearing a garbage bag and people would stop to admire her. It wasn’t her looks she needed to worry about. It was her deeply flawed personality. Blunt, arrogant, demanding and loud, she sent most guys running within the first few weeks. I don’t think she’d ever held a boyfriend longer than a month. Still, that obviously hadn’t dampened her spirits in her endeavour to find Mr. Right. She’d already been through half the student body. He’s gotta be close, right? “Well, in that case. Your ass looks huge in those jeans.” I watched as she spun around like a dog chasing its tail, trying to get a good look at her backside. I cracked up laughing and thought, for all her flaws, she was the best friend a girl like me could ever have. “I’m kidding. Anything you wear looks good on you. So I don’t know why I’m here. You don’t need my expert opinion. Guys would chase you wearing a plastic bag.” I lounged out over the comfy chairs provided for people waiting to try on clothes. We were the only two in here, the store was having a slow day. Unconvinced by my solid argument, Courtney turned to face the full length mirror, shifting her weight from side to side, pouting at her reflection. “You’re here because we’re celebrating you getting your right hand back. And what better way is there to do that than go on a shopping spree?” I looked down at my right hand, flexing it. The stitches had come out earlier that week, leaving me with a prominent scar that ran in a vertical line from my wrist to the base of my fingers. The doctor told me it would fade over time. I hoped not. It looked kind of cool. Like a battle scar. “Besides, we need to get you some killer threads for school next week. We can’t have you rocking up in your usual getup. It’s so last season. We’re seniors now, we need to make a statement!” Not bothering to go back into the fitting room, she shimmied out of the jeans, revealing a pair of bright red lace panties. I handed her another pair from the mountain of prospective clothes we’d dragged in here to try on. “Yes, well I don’t want my statement to be ‘I’m a slut, come and get me!’. That may work for you, but I’m a bit more reserved.” “Hey!” She chucked the discarded pants at me, laughing. “You know, I should totally be offended by that comment.” She pulled on the pants I’d given her. A pair of red skinny jeans. I threw her a strapless top to match them with. “Pretty hard to be offended when it’s true.” “Yeah, well. What about you? You dumped that loser Aidan a month ago and every time I point out a cute guy you make up excuses.” She yanked off the white halter and replaced it with the black strapless. “You’re always like, “His hairs too short. He’s not tall enough. His eyes aren’t blue. He’s not tan enough.” Girl, anyone would think you’ve got a certain guy in mind.” I froze. Oh, my god. Bad imitation of my voice aside, she was spot on. Now that I thought about it, everything she’d just said made me think of Tyson. The bright blue eyes. The evenly tanned skin. The long, dark hair. My mind honed in on the memory of him carrying me into the E.R a month ago. The way his strong arms held me. Remembering all of that made my cheeks burn and my ears turn red. “Oh. Em. Gee!” Courtney immediately jumped on my hesitation at denying there was a certain someone. “Who is he? Do I know him?” All thoughts of shopping banished, she got right up in my face demanding answers and barely containing her excitement. I mean, it wasn’t very often her best friend was interested in someone. “Tell me, tell me!” “Um.” A half hearted denial was on the tip of my tongue when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Checking the caller ID I saw it was another call from Aidan, the moron. Courtney leaned over my shoulder and made a noise of disgust. “Ugh! Is that toad calling again? I thought after a hundred rejected phone calls he would get a clue.” “Please. He wouldn‘t know a clue if it hit him over the head.” I moved my thumb over to the end call button but before I could press it Courtney snatched the phone out of my hand. “Whoa, what are you doing?” I tried to snatch it back but she held it over her head, way out of my reach. Seriously, the girl had five inches on me. So unfair. “Hitting him over the head with a clue” she said, as if it was obvious. “Courtney, no. Come on -” Too late. She pressed talk and put the phone to her ear. “Hey, EX boyfriend. Stop calling. She doesn’t want to hear your pathetic apologies.” Courtney paused while Aidan began shouting obscenities at her, demanding she put me on the phone. “Listen, ass! You don’t get to push my girl through a window and then act like she’s the one who wronged you. I don’t care how long ago it was! I don’t care that you think it’s old news! She has a scar thanks to you, you prick. Stay away from her, or I‘ll walk all up and down your sorry ass!” She hit the end button and handed me back my phone, smiling broadly. “God that felt good. And don’t think I won’t make good on that last part. If he annoys you at all, let me know. I’ll go Bruce Lee on his butt!” She flung her arms up in what she thought to be a deadly karate pose. I burst out laughing at how ridiculous she looked. Gotta love her enthusiasm. Also gotta lover her short attention span. She’d completely forgotten our little boy talk moment. And I sure as hell wasn’t going to refresh her memory. “Come on Bruce, I’m starving. Hurry up so we can get out of here.” Several hours later I let myself into the house, laden down with shopping bags. I’d asked Courtney if she wanted to stay the night but she had a family dinner to attend. Looking around the dark entryway, I sighed heavily. What a sad and lonely place. With my older brother Riley out of the country on business, all that greeted me when I got home was silence. A deafening silence so loud it gave the house an eerie feel. Dumping the bags in the entryway I made my way down the hall and into the kitchen, flipping on light switches as I went. The phone on the kitchen counter beeped at me letting me know I had a message. Wow, make that 11 messages. Three guesses who the majority were from. Still, I couldn’t delete them all without listening to them in case one was from Riley checking up on me. Stifling a groan, I hit play and opened the fridge, grabbing some greens and tomatoes for a salad. “Yo, it’s Aidan. Why aren’t you returning my calls? Hit me up when you get this.” Beep. I made an ugly face at the machine and began slicing a cucumber. “Come on, No. This is getting old. Pick up already.” Beep. “You’re telling me,” I muttered. And so I begrudgingly listened to the rest of the messages, all similar to the first except the very last one. “Hey Noah. Just checking to see how things are going. Hopefully you haven’t burned the house to the ground. I should be back in a few weeks, all going well. I know school starts next Monday. Use the credit card to get whatever you need -” “Way ahead of you big bro,” I said, remembering all of the bags I’d left in the entryway. “But don’t go crazy. Anyway, I have to go. Miss you. Love you. Don’t forget to check in.” Beep. I finished up my salad and took it into the spacious living room. A 100” plasma was bracketed to the wall surrounded by plush, black leather armchairs and two seaters. The whole room screamed money, with expensive art pieces mounted to the walls at various intervals and a grand ten seater dining table off to the left of the room. Even the carpet looked expensive, which it was. Ivory in colour, it was so thick my feet sank a few inches every time I stepped on it. Heck, it was thick enough to sleep comfortably on. All these luxuries were the result of my parents commercial shipping company. When they died a few years ago they left us the business, and since then Riley had doubled the size of the company and was now swamped with work. On the upside, we had more money than we knew what to do with. All profits were divided equally between us with me getting a generous five thousand dollars a month in allowance, plus extra money Riley left me when he had to go on a business trip. Courtney was constantly telling me I’d hit the jackpot, and that if anyone else knew what kind of lifestyle I lived they’d be totally jealous. “Who wouldn’t want to live in a big fancy house, with plasmas in every room, and loads of cash?” she’d say every time I complained about the house being too big or about never having enough dishes to load the dishwasher with. I guess she was right. Yet, as I sat down on one of the couches, munching on my salad, I couldn’t help but think: What was the point of having a huge 4 bedroom house if only one person was living in it most of the time? Why did we need a ten seater dining table when I was the only one who ever ate at it? What was with all the spare seats in the house? I cursed as a depressing mood overtook me. Great. Now I was lonely and sad. But truthfully, all of the stuff that occupied our house just made me feel the loneliness even more. Almost as if the furniture was mocking me with its emptiness. Suddenly not hungry anymore, I dumped the rest of my salad in the bin and headed to my room, trying to escape my depressing mood. Chapter 4 — Updated Jan 15, 2011 — 10,310 characters A crashing sound startled me awake. I bolted out of bed, my heart pounding. What the hell was that? Another crash came from downstairs. Oh, my god. Someone was in the house. What do I do? I thought frantically. I needed to call the police. Where was my cell phone? Scanning my dressers and nightstand I couldn’t see it. Then I remembered. I’d left it on the kitchen counter the night before, along with everything else I’d need for my first day of school. Well wasn’t that just craptastic. Good one Noah. Barely breathing, I tiptoed to my closet and swung it open noiselessly. Leaning against the wall was an old hockey stick from my middle school days. Bingo. I grabbed it and stealthily crept from my room and down the stairs, my heart threatening to pound its way out of my chest. It seemed like someone was rummaging around in the kitchen. I could hear cursing and a draw being slammed shut. Great. My cell was in there. So was the closest landline. The other phone was in the living room. To get to it I’d have to walk past the kitchen door. So basically I had two options. Try to sneak past and get to the phone in the living room, or face the intruder head on and hope I had a good swing in me. Rearranging my grip on the stick, I opted for plan B. No way was I going to let some bastard scare me in my own house. Letting out a shriek like a banshee I charged into the kitchen, hockey stick raised like a cricket bat. The intruder screamed and spun around to face me. “Riley!?” “Jesus Christ Noah! You scared the crap out of me.” My brother leaned heavily on the kitchen island, one hand over his heart. His everyday suit looked crumpled, like he’d slept in it and he had a few days growth covering his angular jaw. “I scared the crap out of you?” I screeched. “You’re the one crashing about the house at-” I checked my wrist, where there was no watch. Not that I ever wore one, but recent events had me more than a little flustered. “-well, whatever time it is this early in the morning! Aren’t you supposed to be in Japan or something?” “China,” he said, running a hand through his short brown hair and attempting to smooth out his suit. “As you can see, I came back early.” “Whatever.” I scowled at him, a little peeved that he’d just scared the bejeezus out of me. “Well, this isn’t quite the welcome home I expected,” he said, glancing at the hockey stick. “But it’s nice to see you, kid.” Unable to stay mad at him, I dropped the stick onto the island and leaped towards him. He caught me in a tight hug and in that moment, all of my loneliness evaporated. My big brother was home. Nothing could have made me happier. Okay, maybe one other thing could have: him being home for good. No more business trips. No more of his brief trips home where I was constantly filled with dread and anticipation of the next time he would leave. Yes, I was definitely tired of living alone, while Riley used our house as a pit stop. We broke apart, with Riley ruffling my hair and smiling broadly. “It’s your first day of school right? How about I make you breakfast.” I was about to tell him I wasn’t hungry, that I never ate early in the morning, but his hopeful expression made me bite my tongue. He was in such a good mood and I was loathe to ruin it. It was like he finally sensed my feelings about our lack of relationship and was trying to make up for it in his own way. Heck, if he was making breakfast as an apology, maybe things were looking up. Maybe this time it would be different. Dare I hope that he’d decided to make a lifestyle change? One that meant he‘d stop treating our house like a hotel? No. That was to good to be true, I decided, crushing that little flare of hope inside me before it could crush me like it had many times before. And looking deep into his hazel eyes, I could see it. He was still Riley duke, co-owner and President of Azalea Shipping. Not Riley Duke, loving brother of Noah Duke. But, even as that familiar feeling of dread washed over me, that nagging thought in the back of my head rearing up to tell me “he’s only going to leave again”, I found myself being caught up in his good mood. Might as well enjoy the time we do have together, I thought. “Breakfast sounds great.” I pushed my tangled hair away from my face and jumped up onto a kitchen stool, watching as Riley opened and shut cupboards, locating a frying pan and spatula. Grabbing several eggs, a loaf of bread and a carton of orange juice from the fridge, he set about making scrambled eggs on toast. “So how was China?” I asked, accepting a glass of juice from him. He’d been gone for eight weeks, his longest trip yet. Apparently the Chinese were having some problems with their main branches due to a whopping 300 per cent growth in customers. Azalea Shipping was becoming ever so popular because it charged a few dollars less than all of its competitors. “Good. There’s such a high demand right now that they want two more branches. One in Tianjin and another in Shanghai.” My good mood vanished, and that deep feeling of dread intensified at his news. Two new branches. That could only mean one thing. “You’ll be overseeing the development of both branches?” I tried to keep the disappointment out of my voice, but it managed to seep through anyway. If he went back to China to oversee, he’d be gone for at least four months. Was he really going to leave me alone for that long? Suddenly, cooking scrambled eggs seemed to take way more concentration than it warranted as Riley ducked his head and went quiet. “Well?” I prompted. He sighed heavily, before finally meeting my gaze. “I’m sorry No, but there’s no one else I trust to do it. It’s too important a job to hand over to an amateur. But I swear, after this, I’ll hire someone to take over and I’ll be home for good.” Why was I finding it so hard to believe him? Oh, that’s right. “That’s what you said last time.” And the time before that. And again, the time before that. “I know, but I haven’t had the chance to train someone properly. These things take time. After I’m done in China, things should settle down enough for me to train someone up so I can step down and take a less active role in the company.” I made a sour face at him, all thoughts of trying to preserve his good mood forgotten. He shook his head sadly, as if disappointed by my reaction. Well, what did he expect after he just dropped that bomb. Peace and tranquillity? Understanding? “Look, this really is the last time. I promise, okay?” I was about to tell him that no, it wasn’t okay when his phone rang and he gave me the universal gesture for “one second” and answered it. “Riley duke. Yeah, about that…” With that he brushed past me and out of the kitchen, no doubt heading for his home office. “The last few weeks of my life have been fine, by the way. I got pushed through a window and I come home to an empty house every night,” I mumbled, but he’d already left the room. I looked at the egg mixture in the pan which had begun to bubble merrily. “And thanks for cooking me breakfast.” Sliding off the stool I trudged over to the stainless steel stovetop and picked up where he left off. The school parking lot was already teeming with activity when I drove in an hour later. Students congregating around cars, catching up on their hot summer gossip. Drivers circling the lot for car parks. I sighed. Finding a spot large enough to accommodate my Dodge Ram was going to be a mission. It wasn‘t that the black truck was so big there wasn’t a space big enough. No, sadly it was because I lacked the ability to park a car. For some strange reason, even after a year of driving, I hadn‘t quite got the hang of it yet. Circling the lot, I found myself remembering sitting my licence. The instructor had been quite impressed with my driving, right up until the end, when he’d asked me to park the car in the building parking lot. I had swung in full speed and slammed on the break, missing the barrier in front of us by a mere inch, and the car beside us by less than that. The horrid look on his face made me wonder if I’d almost caused him a heart attack. We’d both had to squeeze out the drivers side door, my instructor a little shaky on his feet. I thought for sure I’d failed, and was so surprised when he handed me my shiny new licence that I’d hugged him. Now that I thought about it, he probably only issued the damn thing to make sure I didn’t come back. Riley, who had witnessed the whole thing from the safety of his car, was also shocked I’d passed. And when he’d taken me the next day to pick out a car, he hadn’t known whether to laugh or cry at my chosen vehicle: my black Dodge Ram. Still, true to his word, he’d purchased it, as well as slapped it with the best insurance he could get, and handed me the keys for better or for worse. I inched toward the back, spotting a park right in front of me. Yes! Easy parking. I wouldn’t have to turn into one. Thankful for small blessings I drove into it and killed the engine. Grabbing my bag, I jumped from the cab and headed toward the entrance. A group of freshman crowding a car several feet away stopped their chatter to admire my Ram. I had to admit, it was one of the nicer cars driven by a student. “Nice ride,” a redheaded guy said as I passed him. I offered a tentative smile in response and kept walking. It wasn’t until I was fifty feet from the entrance that I stopped dead in my tracks. There, nestled among the other cars, was a sleek black Ford Mustang, the exact model of the one Tyson drove. Gaping, I moved closer to the car, wondering if it was indeed his. Could it really be? Was he a student here? No. That was ridiculous. If he was a student here, I damn sure would have noticed him last year. Although I supposed he could be a new student. I shook my head. Not likely. And It wasn’t like he was the only person who owned a car like that. It could’ve been anyone’s. Forcing myself away from the vehicle and towards the main entrance of the school, I purged all Tyson related thoughts from my mind. It wasn’t his. He wasn’t here. It was just wishful thinking on my part. I mean, seriously. What were the odds?
Posted on: Mon, 02 Sep 2013 17:40:49 +0000