Days Are Numbered

46. Deeper than the surface

Noah finished slipping the last button of his shirt before turning around to glance at his mother, a sense of relief washing over him. "Finally, I can go home and you can have a good rest," he said with a smile, his eyes meeting Cordelia's with a mix of gratitude and affection.

Cordelia huffed in response, a small smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Definitely, just that you're the one who needs the rest," she replied, her tone gentle.

Noah moved closer to her, his expression softened with remorse. "I'm sorry for scaring you," he muttered, his voice filled with genuine regret.

Cordelia shook her head, dismissing his apology with a wave of her hand. "Nonsense," she exclaimed, her tone firm yet gentle. "If anyone owes an apology here, it's me. I shouldn't have forced you to stay, and to make up for it, I've already opened a file on the table of justice. That punk will be going to jail for attempted murder," she declared, her rich woman accent adding a touch of revenge to her words.

Noah shook his head, his expression emotionless as he spoke. "It is not necessary. I did some horrible things to him before. I wouldn't blame him, I deserved it," he declared guiltily.

Cordelia furrowed her brows, unable to comprehend Noah's self-blame. "How can you say such a thing? You were just a kid, and you didn't try to kill him, did you?" she asked, her voice filled with disbelief and a hint of worry.

Noah sighed heavily, the weight of the situation bearing down on him. "Please, mum, drop the case. I'm fine, I have survived worse, by the way," he pleaded as he sat up, his eyes pleading with Cordelia to reconsider.

"What do you mean worse?" Cordelia questioned, her brow furrowing at Noah's statement.

Noah paused, realizing the slip of his tongue. "I mean, the broken ribs. It's not so terrible," he argued, attempting to downplay her imagination.

Cordelia's expression softened slightly, her concern evident as she stared at her son. "You're dropping your part of the story today at the police station. I won't take no for an answer, son," she stated firmly, her maternal authority kicking in.

Beatrice entered the room followed by a nurse, her presence bringing a sense of authority with it. "Already causing trouble?" she remarked with a smile directed at Cordelia, her eyes briefly giving Noah a stern look that spoke volumes.

Cordelia sighed, "Nothing I can't handle," she muttered under her breath, her gaze flickering between Beatrice and Noah.

Beatrice shrugged nonchalantly, "I would like to see you in my office for the discharge," she informed Cordelia, her tone professional yet tinged with a hint of amusement.

Cordelia agreed to the request, her expression resigned as she prepared to follow Beatrice. Noah watched the exchange with a suspicious stare, his instincts telling him that there was more to Beatrice's intentions than spoken. As their eyes met, Beatrice smirked in response, a silent challenge passing between them.

Alone in the room, Noah lowered himself gently to the bed, his movements careful and deliberate. With a trembling hand, he lifted his sleeves, revealing thin marks that encircled his wrists. They were not just one, but multiple scars on the same line on both wrists. As Noah gazed at the scars, memories flooded his mind, threatening to overwhelm him. He tried to shut down his thoughts, to push the painful memories aside, but they persisted. The voice of Dhakirah yelling his name echoed in his mind, the sound reverberating through his consciousness like a ghost. He could almost feel himself lying in a pool of his own blood, bleeding out, and consciousness slipping away as darkness threatened to consume him. Noah's breath caught in his throat as the memories washed over him, the weight of his past pulling him down like a suffocating blanket. In a flash, he could see the glint of a knife, stained with blood and tears in his grips.