We Are Stars | OLD DRAFT

Chapter Seven: Nightlife

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Noah's all too familiar face triggers memories of mixed emotions in flashes of white and blue. All of the sudden, I feel myself falling into a sea of ghosts and forgotten thoughts, and Noah is one of them. I never thought that I would see him again. I thought that that part of my life was behind me for good. But the past has a funny way of sneaking up on you.

"I can see you're just as surprised to see me as I am to see you," he says. His voice hasn't changed.

"Surprised is an understatement," I say. "Try completely shocked."

He chuckles. "Yeah, this definitely is a surprize."

It takes me a moment to get my bearings in order before I can actually speak. Two years has changed nothing about Noah - same eyes, same voice, same clothes - and it's like I'm staring at a ghost. The only difference in him is his hair. That subdued, earthy shade of brown that seemed to play with the light is now almost identical to Silas' dirty blonde hair. Both are now so close to one another, that I can't even tell who is who from their backs. At first glance, they could even be twins. That's a scary thought.

Realizing that I've mistaken Noah for Silas, I have to quickly come up with a getaway line. I say the first thing that pops into my head. "Well, it was nice seeing you again," I say, motioning a goodbye.

"Woah woah woah, you're leaving already?" Noah asks, stopping me before I even get a chance to walk away.

"Um, yeah, I have some... stuff to do and my friend is holding my spot in line so I've got to get back."

"Couldn't you just wait another few minutes?"

"Not if I want to keep my spot. My friend is pretty impatient," I explain as nicely as I can and begin to walk in the other direction.

A few seconds later, a hand wraps around my shoulder and I hear Noah's voice. "Rowen, wait," he pleads. I turn to him again. His hands are now shoved deeply into the pockets of his leather jacket. "Look, I know it's been awhile, but I hate how we left things."

"You mean how you left things?"

Guilt appears on his face. "Yeah... and I just wanted to say that I'm sorry."

"Sorry doesn't make up for what you did, Noah. You left me. You left me when I needed you most. I didn't see or hear from you for two years. For all I knew, you were probably dead. And now here you are, not dead, standing right in front of me." I take a step back to gain a clear view of his body, trying to prove a point. "And now that you're actually here, I don't know what you can say to make up for what you did, but 'sorry' isn't apart of that list."

Noah's look of regret reforms into a sadness as he loses our eye contact and his gaze falls to the floor. He then shakes his head in denial. "Nyc, I know I hurt you, and I've regretted that for two years." He takes his hand out of his pocket and a small notebook is in his clutch, along with a pen. I watch as he jots something down on the paper. From this angle, it looks like numbers. "Here," he says, ripping the sheet of notebook paper and handing it to me. It's an address and a phone number. "Come here tomorrow afternoon and we can talk."

I almost crumble the paper in my hand. "There's nothing to talk about."

"Yes, there is," he says. "If you come tomorrow, I will answer any questions that you may have."

"And what if I don't show up?"

He pauses and his eyes drop to my hand that's holding onto the paper. "Then I'll have my answer." For a moment, Noah almost reaches for my hands, and I slightly pull away and he put them back into his pockets. "Just think about it?"