Bad Things

| Chapter Twelve |

I couldn't explain it, but I felt a storm was coming.

Things have been going too well.  Noah and I spend most of our time together, and maybe it's too much too soon, but I don't care.

Noah tasted of nicotine and I was addicted.

I was addicted to how he made me feel, how he held me, touched me, tasted me.  I was a girl obsessed.  I hated working the nights he wasn't there.  I never wanted to be away from him.  I recognize this as unhealthy behavior.  This is how things started with Jackson, but I didn't want to stop.

I was a girl who rarely, if ever, denied herself anything.

I had spoken with the country artist, whose name was Rory, we had planned a shoot for next week on my only off day.  Noah was crazy excited for me, and I can't help comparing his reaction to what Jackson's would have been.

We are playing cards on the balcony, we are sharing a Shiraz and there's a cool breeze blowing.  It's October now and the temperature is dropping.  It's loud outside tonight, the sirens are blaring from the street below and there's a couple fighting a few floors down.  It's a playful fight, they're debating where they first met, it's full of laughter and memories.  It's the kind of fight couples should have, just for fun, they aren't supposed to end with bruises.

"Tell me about your family," I say, I just won the round.  I've wanted to bring it up since we talked about it briefly that night in his apartment.  He had said not now, like he wanted to let me in, but that wasn't the right moment.

"It's a long story, pretty girl, are you sure you want to hear it?"

"Yes," I'm hoping it will fill in some of the mystery.

Noah pours himself another glass of wine before he begins, "I had the best mom, she tried really hard to take care of me.  She was loving and she worked two jobs to take care of us.  My dad was a loser, he just laid around and drank all day, while she did all the work.  It was never enough for him."

Noah rubs his large hands over his face and shoved his long hair behind his ears, he fidgets with the sleeves of his hoodie, "I think the first time was an accident, but I think he got high off the power of being stronger than her.  It started as bruises that couldn't be seen, I didn't even know about it.  He broke her arm one night, throwing her into the wall of the trailer we lived in.  She got it fixed and denied the nurses questions about her home life."

Tears are shining in his eyes as he takes another drink, "With the broken arm she got a narcotic script, her arm never healed right between working two jobs, so the script kept getting filled.  She needed more and more until it wasn't enough.  She started doing heroine, couldn't work, and the two of them were just home with each other all the time.  I was 14 the first time I saw my dad hit her.  I was a skinny kid, I couldn't overpower him."

"Noah, you don't have to finish if this is too much," I say, grabbing his hand.  The card game was completely abandoned now.

"No, I want to tell you, I want you to know why I inserted myself into your life the way I did.  I knew what was happening to you because I've seen it play out before."

I nod, Noah wipes at his face and takes another drink, and continues, "I had to watch it for another year before I could do anything about it.  One night, he was passed out and I just covered his face with the pillow.  He struggled a little, but he was so drunk that he went out easily."

I gasp, audibly.  He smiles sadly at me.

"Yeah, my mom found him the next morning and called 911, they came and bagged him up.  They didn't even do an autopsy because he was an alcoholic.  I told her I did it after they left, I told her I did it for her.  Do you know what her reaction was?"