Moments Before

Ashton

I trail him out of the office. He's taking off towards the parking lot and moving so fast I'm basically jogging to keep up. Noah is pissed about something though I can't even begin to fathom what. He stops in front of a big black truck riddled with dents and scratches. In total it doesn't even look roadworthy. 

"That looks like a death trap." I stop in front of the vehicle taking in the cracked windshield, smushed in bumper and crater on the passenger door.

"It's pretty reliable." Noah answered with a chuckle. Shaking my head I swung the large and heavy door open. I have to use the handle to lift myself into the tall vehicle. The gray cloth seats aren't stained with anything and the area is spotless except for a fast food drink in the cupholder. 

"Seriously how bad of a driver are you?" I ask as he slides into the driver's seat and ignites the engine. The more I intend to go through with this plan; him driving me to the hospital the more I get a bad feeling about it. My mother's voice rings clear in my head, don't get in the car with strangers. I mean I barely know Noah. 

"I'm a fantastic driver who bought a used truck and hasn't fixed it up. The AC doesn't work by the way so if you're too hot roll down the window." He sounds very defensive so now I've definitely pissed him off. 

After a few minutes in the car with him I learn a few things. First, he's an okay driver, he speeds a little but we don't crash. Second? He listens to a wide variety of music. He had pop, rap, and rock in one CD. Third, his car smells like pineapple coconut because it's his little sister's favourite smell. He was right the car was boiling so I rolled down the window and stuck my head out like a  five year old. The drive to the hospital is a ways away because the school is far from the major city. 

Like I'm in a stupid romance novel we're both laughing, singing to the radio and every time our eyes meet my heart leaps into my throat. His teeth are white and clean but a bit of blood is smeared on them. His busted lip must have re opened when he started laughing so much. I don't have butterflies in my stomach, more like goldfish splashing around anxiously. 

Sooner than I would have like we arrive. Like a chivalrous gentleman he opens my door and assists me out of the vehicle. He talks to the nurses more than I do. I'm also learning that Noah loves to chat with people, as long as the focus isn't on him. I, on the other hand, keep spacing out. I despise hospitals. It's where a lot of people die, and I've seen it all, cancer, surgical complication, trauma victims who don't pull through. Now I'm being lead to a room, standard hospital room windows, bed, chair and curtain. Noah struts in behind me and I've decided that's one of the things that separates him from everyone else. Most people walk, or stroll but he struts everywhere he goes.

I hop into the bed and smile at him while he sits in the chair. Once again mom's voice plays through my head. "Don't trust bad boys. He's just trying to get into your pants. He'll play you. You'll get your heart broke." And because I've always been the sensible one in my family I listen. I tuck my smile away and give him a blank look. 

"If you have other stuff to do you can leave. You don't have to stay with me. I'll be fine on my own." I think I managed to keep that monotone. I can't let him know how disappointed I'll be if he leaves.

"And what let you sit in this room all by yourself? I mean, if you want me to leave I can but I don't think you should just wait by yourself. Either way you should call your folks. They'll want to know you're here."

"No. I- um, just don't want to bother them. This is nothing and they're busy people. And stay if you want. Either way." I shrug. He's clearly trying to solve why I wouldn't want my parents here.

"Than I'll stay." It's such a simple statement and yet relief washes over me.

"Okay, cool." I can't help the traitorous smile that slips onto my face when I say it. I clear it but he doesn't bother concealing his returning smile.

"So... what do your parents do fro a living?" Shit. The smile isn't fighting it's way onto my face anymore it's vanished. He wants to know why I think that they're too busy to be here and I have zero intention of dropping a life story on him. 

"Dad's a detective. Human trafficking. Mom co-owns a bakery." I answered truthfully but hopefully kept it vague enough that he doesn't feel the need to press.

"Oh. That's cool. Tons of good food than?"

"Yep." It's starting to get awkward and I try to grasp a question to ask him. Mercifully I'm spared by a doctor and his posse of med students.

Suddenly the onslaught of questions begins. What happened? Parents? Charges against the assailant? Who's this sitting next to you? Previous injuries? Scale of one to ten how is my pain?

I've stopped thinking about my answers and just say whatever comes to mind. Noah is sitting in the chair next to me giving me a knowing grin taking pleasure in my annoyance. After what feels like hours of interrogation they start to examine me. Thank god for small mercies they're wearing gloves. 

The youngest one is given the job of pushing it back. He's got a few pimples near his hair line, and seems a little twitchy. They all offered pain meds that I refused. I just want to get out of here. The pop sounds loud to me and a wave of pain rolls into my head and settles there. 

I'm curt the entire time that they're there. No concussion, ice my jaw and get it checked out in a while. After an eternity they give me discharge papers so I can leave. Like I said I hate hospitals and even being in one makes me anxious. Additionally the doctor took off his gloves and is reaching out to touch me. I evade his hand as well and Noah cocks his head to the side as he takes in the scene. 

I know logically that I should call my parents but I can't bring myself to give them more problems to stress over. Especially with Derrick's recent news. Noah offers a lift home and I take him up on it so I don't have to call them. Hoping back into the death trap he calls a car I plug my address into GPS and hum along to the music. 

The drive home is filled with useless chatter. Which teachers we like, homework assignments and that the school needs to fix the flooding bathroom in the east corner. We pull up and I see his eyes widen. We're parked next to a beach property. The main floor has a bakery sign and display windows, but the real sight is that it's four stories tall. Home sweet home.

There's a pink advertisement in the window and some of my mother's best cake designs. Sweet tooth bakery is printed in cursive announcing the bakery's presence. Noah declines my offer of going inside so I start to get out wondering what I did now to piss him off. His mood swings go up and down like a yoyo. I'm stepping out of the truck when he grabs my hand. Before I have a chance I'm sucked into the vision.

Wherever I am it's darkly lit. The place smells like a smoker den and there's a leak in the building causing  puddle to pool on the floor. That's when I see it. Noah strapped to a chair with ropes binding him. A woman is standing there with a crazed look in her eyes, her hair a frizzy tangled mess on her head. She's waving knife around and yelling something but I can't make it out over the ringing in my own ears. This can't be how Noah goes out. Not like this. He's shaking and crying, there's a cut on his forehead and judging from the bruised skin there was a struggle getting him strapped to the chair. The woman screams something and propels herself forward. Stabbing into his chest. I launch myself between them but I'm not really there so it makes a squelching cutting noise as he cries out. 

She laughs maniacally and I drop to my knees totally helpless. She's slashing, not just to kill him but to mutilate his soon to be corpse. His chest is starting to become ribbons and he passed several slashes ago but the woman doesn't stop. I'm gagging at the waterfall of blood and dead eyes. Than I'm plunked back into reality.

"Sorry I know you don't like to be touched. I just didn't want you to forget your sun glasses." I'm back in the truck. Noah looking at me like I've lost my mind, I think I'm crying. My voice is wobbly as I say thank you before saying good bye and bolting from the car. 

The worst part of the vision? He wasn't even any older.