Good Intentions - Noah Sebastian

Safest Haven

The words Stella spoke from the other end of the phone gutted me. I felt numb. Overcome by thoughts and theories I didn't know what to think or believe.

Matt was abusive, sure. But he wasn't malicious, at least not to this extent. Yes he put his hands on me in the worst ways he could. Yes, he didn't take it lightly when I left, he stuck around for a few months, tried to fix things, got angry, made a few empty threats. But after five years it just doesn't make sense for it to be him behind all of this.

It was the photos that puzzled me most. If it had been Matt I would've noticed him at least once. I would've see the neck tattoo that still haunts me. The tattoo that when I see any similar design, a sinking feeling in my stomach happens like a bad omen.

It bothered me that they were Polaroids. Polaroid cameras were hard to miss. The only time I can recall seeing one was during performances. My thoughts continued to swirl as I sat there silently with my knees pulled to my chest.

Noah continued to drive, his hands in a vice grip on the steering wheel. His jaw clenched tightly, his eyes never left the road. I could feel anger radiating off him like heat from a sunburn.

The five-hour drive felt like minutes before we pulled into the driveway back in L.A. Pulling my body out of the car felt difficult with the heavy feeling in my stomach weighing me down. Silently we collected our things from the car and made our way inside. The somber atmosphere between us reminded me of returning home from a funeral; the mood was set and unchangeable, only time being capable of fixing it.

I didn't know what to do with myself, so I did the only thing that sounded appealing. I slid my shoes off at the door before trudging up the stairs. Once in the bedroom I pulled my leggings off, leaving them on the floor before slipping under the covers of the bed we left unmade. Something about the sheets that smelled like Noah helped settle the voices in my head and lulled me to sleep.

When my eyes cracked open of their own accord, the sun was setting. Gold and orange painted the sky, peeking in through the curtains, washing the room in a calming aura. I rolled over away from the window with a stretch. Letting my limbs fall back onto the bed, I noticed the suitcase in the floor. Noah took a duffle bag on the trip didn't he? I started scanning the surrounding area. Across the room by the door, his duffle back sat, empty and flat. I sat up slowly, my brain still turning over in a fog of sleep.

As I pulled the covers back to swing my legs over the side of the bed, the door opened, revealing Noah, a wad of laundry in his arms. A weak smile quirked onto his face as he saw me, he stepped forward and dropped the laundry on the foot of the bed.

"I did our laundry" he started pulling articles from the pile and began folding them. Full of confusion I shifted to my knees on the bed and started folding the laundry between us. "I booked us a flight; we need to leave the house in two hours" his voice unwavering to give any emotion.

"I'm sorry. What?" I was dumbfounded.

"We're going to New York." He said as if it was so simple.

"W-what?" my voice trembled. What was he doing? Is he trying to get rid of me?

He saw the fear flash across my face and immediately dropped the shirt he had half folded and reached out to touch me. "Violet" his voice finally broke to let emotion in. "We need to face this. It's not going to better if we're on the other side of the country like this."

I felt sick. I could only nod my head in response.

"These scare tactics they're using are only going to get worse." His voice is softer now. "I know it's scary but we need to be there." He pulled me into a hug, I buried my face in his shirt, willing myself to suffocation, to my dismay he pulled away as my lungs started to burn.