Running Free

Chapter 3 | Painting

The following Saturday, I found myself waiting impatiently in the kitchen, tapping my fingers on the countertop, listening intently for a knock on the door. Noah and I had arranged that he would be at my apartment by 1:30, but I had a feeling that it wouldn't work out like that - not with his obsession for being continuously late.

He was probably still sleeping at this time; I figured most 19 year old boys did that. His age struck me as I thought about it.

Toby was silently sleeping in his room, exhausted from the excitement he'd endured at daycare whilst I attended college. From the first day there, the only words that parted ways with his lips were those about the center. He was overjoyed that he'd made a friend, despite the fact that they didn't speak one another's language. It was kind of sweet.

As it was a Saturday, neither Noah or I had classes, and so there would be no reason for him to be late today. He couldn't have gotten lost, not with the directions from the GPS. I guess in the words of Hannah Montana, everybody makes mistakes.

Jack and I used to love that show. We'd binge watch it daily, squealing as it came on. It was almost like a switch had flicked when he turned around one day and spat in my face that the show was stupid and ridiculous.

It had been the first time I saw him snap.

Boredom drizzling over me, I grabbed my phone from my back pocket, attaching it to the stereo and starting my favorite Spotify playlist to fill the odd silence of the apartment. I kept it at a low level so as not to wake Toby up, but still so that I could hear it perfectly well, and drown out the quiet.

This low noise wouldn't wake Toby up, and I was grateful. I struggle to think how my parents coped with his temper-tantrums when he woke each day.

Interrupted from my thoughts at the sounds of a door knocking, I scrambled from my chair, pausing my music and heading to the door.

I peered through the hole of my door, a safety precaution that I always took, to see Noah waiting patiently outside. Opening the door, he walked in awkwardly, his hands tucked into the pockets of his navy blue sweater, his eyes trailing around my apartment. "Nice place," He admired.

"Oh, thanks. I'm renting," I replied with an awkward nod, rocking back and forth on my heels.

This so-called conversation was edging into the realms of awkward, though I was determined to steer it away from that path. 

"Oh, that's cool," He smiled, but his tone sounding almost bored. As if he's got better things to do; why wouldn't you want to spend your days painting the apartment of a girl you crashed into the previous week, so you don't get your ass thrown in jail?

"You sure you still want to do this?" I asked sheepishly, crossing my ankles and moving my stare to the vase of roses on a shelf. "I guess I feel kind of bad for making you."

"Don't, I'm only here for the money. I've got a debt to pay to my roommate; we made a bet and I lost it," He shrugged.

"You're a gambler, huh?" I smirked. 

Noah shook his head with a frown, "No, it's not like that. I guess it's kind of embarrassing, but we were betting on who could win over a girl we both liked. He won, obviously, so now I owe him 100 euros to his name."

"Yeah, I guess that is a little embarrassing," I grinned with a laugh. Guys, always making  ridiculous bets on stupid things.

Betting on who could get a girl? Seriously...

Noah bowed his head, his cheeks turning to a shade of pink. "I know, he dragged me into it," He mumbled.