Never Have I Ever (20 page)

“Yes,” I confirmed with a resolute nod.

“Fine.”
Declan sighed and took a long pull from his coffee like it was whiskey. “You know we met in college right?” I nodded. “We were in the same fraternity.” Again I nodded. All things I was well aware of. “My second year, his last year, we were roommates for a few weeks. Normally seniors got their own rooms. Actually, Noah had his own room for every semester even when he wasn’t a senior.
Should have been a hint.
Anyway, we were short a room so I offered to bunk. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but it wasn’t like he turned his nose up at me. We were friends by then.”

“Can you Cliffs Notes it for me?”

“Getting there.
Being roommates happens to be integral to the story. Basically he has some demons he needs to sort out.
Major ones.
He doesn’t like sleeping in the same room with anyone because he gets night terrors something fierce. A couple weeks in I found out first hand just how fierce.”

“What happened?” I asked cautiously.

Declan went deadpan and more serious than I ever heard him sound in his life. “I woke up in the middle of the night to him screaming in a way that no human being should be able to. I never saw anything like it happen before so had no idea what to expect. I tried to wake him up.

“Let me tell you, for ten seconds the world may as well have exploded. It was all swinging fists and howling and I almost thought I was in a fucking horror flick. Once it was all said and done his hands were around my neck and I was trying to grapple him to the ground.”

As Declan finished recounting his story, my hand seemed to touch the base of my neck and collar bone of its own accord. The ghost of Noah’s fingers clasped around my throat during our time together returned to me. I really did like that feeling. I lost all control when Noah did it. I put my life in his hands and thus far trusted him not to step over the line.

“I’m bigger than he is, sure,” Declan continued, “but when you’re already in a
groggy
state it takes a while for the adrenaline to kick the fuck in. I threw him off me in the end. It gave him a mild concussion ‘
cause
he smacked his head against the wood floor pretty hard.”

“Jesus.
Poor Noah.”

I thought Declan might choke on his own tongue when he blurted, “Poor Noah?! What about poor
ME
? Dude nearly killed me!”

“She’s not fucking you, Declan,” Anya muttered into her coffee. “Trust me; let’s just stick with ‘Poor Noah’, okay?”

He just stared at her. “You’re unbelievable, you know that?”

Anya sighed and put her coffee down. “Let me tell you a little something about people who get night terrors: they can’t control them. It isn’t like he’s going out and getting drunk and starting a bar fight.”

Declan leaned against the back of his chair, throwing his arm over the backrest and pivoting to the right so he could face Anya a little better. “Drunken belligerence would have been preferable. At least all the violence would have been focused on someone that
wasn’t me
.”

To her credit, Anya defended Noah by adding, “People are paralyzed when they get night terrors. The only time they’re a danger to anyone is when
somebody
”—she looked pointedly at Declan—“tries to snap them out of it rather than letting it run its course.”

“Why does he have them?” I asked. “The night terrors, that is.
PTSD?
He wasn’t in the military was he?”

“Oh God, no!
I can’t picture Noah in the military,” Declan said. “He never told me why he gets them. He just apologized profusely and another guy gave up his room to bunk with me so Noah could have his space.
Scared the shit out of the both of us.
But, yeah.
That’s why he never falls asleep with anyone. It’s why he doesn’t date. Dating leads to sleeping together and eventually maybe moving in and he can’t afford to screw with a woman’s head like that.”

It certainly explained why Noah slept in his car instead of on my couch the first night we met.

“Mostly only kids get night terrors,” Anya explained. “Adults can, but not as much. Though, I have seen it personally as carryover from child abuse. I doubt that’s what it is in his case however.”

“No, definitely not, not ever,” said Declan confidently. “I know his whole life story and abuse was never in the mix. His brother’s a bit intense. Maybe the whole Selene debacle fucked with him somehow, but not abuse. Never abuse.”

I narrowed my gaze at him. I remembered the picture on Noah’s mantle; the former girlfriend who had passed away. “What’s the Selene debacle?”

Declan waved a single finger at me. “No. Uh-uh.”

“I already know she died, Dec.”

“No—no—no. That’s one you’ll have to hear from him. Consider me Switzerland.” Then he added quickly, “Wow. I can’t believe I’m speculating on one of my best friends’ mental stability. It shouldn’t even be on the table for questioning. He’s not on trial. And all in all he’s an awesome dude.”

The last was reassuring at least. My vision roved toward Anya; Miss Psychologist. “Self-indulgent question here but is this something that can be treated?”

She snorted. “Don’t you think he’s tried?” I just stared at her like she thought I was an idiot. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. I forget sometimes that you never took the classes I did. It’s treatable, but there are occasions where they just don’t go away. Hell, if he actually slept with you and didn’t kick you out then maybe he has treated it.”

“Not possible,” I said. “He told me he broke his rule when he asked me out for drinks. That’s a pretty solid indication they’re still happening. Also—” I cut myself off. “No, never mind.”

“Also, what?”
Anya pressed.

“He.
Well. He called me the other day. It must have been three in the morning in Paris. He sounded upset and short of breath. When I asked him what was up he said he just wanted to hear my voice.”

“That’s… actually really damn sweet,” Declan said. He sounded surprised.

“Cavity-
inducingly
sweet,” noted Anya.

“That’s not a word,” I laughed.

“It is now,” she teased. “But that does sound like it may have been another episode. Or, you know, maybe he just really likes you.”

I hoped it was the latter more than the former. For the life of me I couldn’t shake the sound of his voice when I first answered the phone. For a short-lived second the solid, commanding and confident man who kept me in his apartment all weekend disappeared and was replaced with someone else. It was a disconcerting feeling to say the least.

Anya’s returning voice snapped me out of my thoughts. “Judging by that look on your face I’m beginning to think that you really like him too.”

“Yeah,” I admitted at length. “I really do.”

Declan stopped berating himself for talking about his friend behind his back for long enough to throw some caution at me. “I would say this with anyone you bring into your life, so don’t take it the wrong way when I tell you to be careful, Piper. Noah’s like a brother to me, but you’re like a sister. I’d rather not have to pick sides or kick someone’s ass if I don’t have to.”

Ah, Declan, the obligatory Knight in Shining Armor of our circle of friends. Not just for me, either. He helped everyone. It was simply the way he worked. I smiled at him. “Thanks
hun
, I appreciate the warning. I don’t anticipate there being an issue though.”

He flashed me a wan smile. “I hope not.”

I really didn’t want to think about the possibility of not trusting Noah. On the other hand I’d placed my trust in him very fast as far as relationship standards were concerned.
So fast my head was still spinning.
He also showed me so many different faces that I began to wonder which one was the real him. Could a person flip a switch like that and not be lying?

For now I shouldn’t have a reason to seed doubt. Or maybe I didn’t want to seed doubt. Maybe I was blinded by how exhilarating the whole thing was. Gossip was the last element in which I should place my trust. I would have to confront Noah about it face-to-face, however long I had to wait. Either way, the insight into Noah’s head didn’t deter me from wanting more of him. Rather, it served as a catalyst to delve even deeper.

***

Sunday morning I woke up to the sound of a text message from Noah rolling into my inbox. The time on my phone said it was just after nine o’clock.

Noah:
Good morning my pet. I am sending you an address. If you’re ready for
your
assignment
then arrive at 1:00PM and speak with Howard Cartwright. Follow all of his
instructions as if they were coming directly from me.

I read and re-read the text several times before the meaning behind the string of sentences fully registered. The wording of it hit me with awkward clarity. “If”, it said, as more of a proposal. As more of a gentle nudge rather than the express and decisive commands which, up until this very moment, he gave me. He presented me the choice this time.

With little more to go on than that of the name of the individual with whom I would meet, and the suggestive implication which the phrase “Follow his instructions as if they were coming from me” provoked, I was supposed to make the decision whether or not to comply with his request.

My stomach knotted while sleep waged war with my psyche. Thus far I hadn’t denied Noah anything he asked of me. The more I stared at the words, however, the more intimidating the whole idea of this assignment sounded. When he warned me that it would push my boundaries he really wasn’t kidding. Regardless, I wanted my boundaries pressed. I even asked for them to be pressed. The entire point of entering into the whole semi-casual-but-not-really-so-casual-because-I-essentially-told-him-I-belonged-to-him-sort-of-relationship was, for my benefit, to break out of my shell and discover the things I never previously considered doing without that extra nudge. I didn’t only want to chip away at the brick dust of those walls of resistance; I craved to smash them down.

This assignment, of all things, could conceivably shatter a substantial amount of my resistance. Or it could shatter me. The question became a matter of whether the reward outweighed the risk.

My decision made, I shook away the fuzz of morning from my head and replied:
I’m ready. I’ll be there, Sir
.

Noah:
Good to know. I look forward to his
review of your progress at the end of your day.
And, of course, don’t forget to have fun.

The address was texted to me a minute or so later. I flopped back down on the bed for another instant, content with the warmth of my comforters and the cool pillow beneath my head. I loved lazy Sunday mornings. On the surface I really didn’t at all feel up to leaving the apartment even for a moment today. As I lay there in flux between the dream world and birds chirping outside my window I wondered what Noah could possibly want me to do with this Howard Cartwright fellow. I was not a call girl—that was not at all what I signed up for—and, even as his submissive I figured that if anything sexual was involved he would be right there with me for it. It was still technically a relationship, right? Some form of monogamy had to remain in place.

I took my time to wake up in the shower and stand under the hot water while I washed my hair and shaved the necessary places: legs, underarms, and even my pubic hair. While I realized that a lot of men liked that, I did it more for my own comfort than anything else. Waxing or shaving every couple of days was preferable to living with an itch I couldn’t publicly scratch should the need arise. As I stepped out of the shower to towel off I caught a glimpse of my backside in the mirror. All of the bruising on my ass from last weekend’s escapades faded completely by then. It sort of saddened me. They were good bruises after all. I’d grown rather attached to the memory of them.

I chose a pastel green sundress and short summer heels which barely made me an inch taller. Before I left for the day, I decided to not make the same mistake as I did with the piano bar. This time I would know what to expect when I arrived at wherever I was going.

Google Maps highlighted the location as a dance school. That didn’t make me feel any more confident in my ability to grasp what to expect. An internet search provided little details about Howard Cartwright beyond news articles and art magazines making mention of his success as a teacher and director of a myriad of ballets and musicals. Not so much as a picture of him had been added to any of the reviews. In the end I stood even more confused than prior to looking it up.

Come noon I was out the door and on my way to the other side of the city for my assignment. This, unfortunately, was not an off day. The vibrator worked with the plug against me. It proved difficult to find a comfortable position in which to drive. By the time I arrived at the address it was closing in on one o’clock.

The studio was nestled in a strip mall with a sparsely populated parking lot. That was odd for a Sunday afternoon in most places. As I locked my car and approached the building, I saw the wide windows and mirrored walls inside. A small class of what looked to be Jazz dancers finished out their last round of practice with an older female instructor.