Page 38 of Darien
SEVENTEEN
Not that it mattered, but Darien didn’t come home that night. Really, could Noah blame him? They had just broken up, and things would doubtless be a little bit uncomfortable if they were both in the same place.
Which just gave Noah more reason than ever to get these websites done. To get paid, so that he could have the funds to move out. This was Darien’s place, no matter that Noah had felt at home in this apartment almost immediately, and it was early in the morning when Noah realized that he was going to go crazy if he stayed in the apartment any longer.
He kept waiting for Darien to get home. Broken up or not, the man still had far too much of a place in Noah’s heart, and the only way he was going to be able to keep whatever was left of his sanity was if he took off, found somewhere else to write.
Or he could go to bed. That might be smarter, considering that he hadn’t slept at all that night and had slept only fitfully the night before, if he had just gone to bed, but the idea didn’t appeal to him.
He felt almost drunk on sleep deprivation as he made his way to a little coffee shop just down the street from where Darien’s apartment was. They had free Wi-Fi, and they were open all night, and Noah found that he didn’t much mind the chatter of the late night patrons.
It was all background noise, a buzz, nothing to do with him. He sank into work much more easily here, in this place where he had never seen Darien, where he and Darien had never been together. So much easier to just let himself fall into his old habits, to wrap himself in his work like it was all that mattered.
No matter how much he told himself that was true, that his relationship with Darien had been nothing but a foolish distraction, he couldn’t truly believe it. And Darien’s sweet, gorgeous face kept creeping around the corners of his mind, ready to jump in and stab a knife into his heart every time he let his guard down.
It was about five in the morning when Noah had to admit to himself that it was hopeless. He had finished Darien’s website and checked in with his social media accounts, and until he’d spoken with Ken, Lance, and Aaron, there wasn’t much else he could do. And his homework was long done.
Besides, the rush of being so overtired had faded. His body craved sleep. He could barely see, and his eyes felt heavy like they could drop shut at any time. As much as he hated to do it, he was going to have to go back to Darien’s apartment, grab at least a few hours of sleep before class. He wasn’t going to make it otherwise.
So he packed his laptop away, then rose to his feet, swaying as though in a strong wind, though of course there was no such activity in the cafe. Rubbing at his eyes, he tried to bite back a yawn, but it came out regardless, so wide that he felt his jaw creaking in protest.
As he stepped out into the dim, pre-dawn light, shivering in the chill of the breeze, he felt his phone buzz cheerfully at him in his pocket. Frowning, he reached for it, hating himself for hoping that it was Darien, that somehow, the man had been worried enough about him, or had wanted to speak to him enough, to try to contact him.
It wasn’t Darien, though. It was an email, obviously automated, that told him with a sort of mechanical insincerity that they were pleased to announce that he had a ticket waiting for him for that night, and he could pick it up at Will Call, thank you very much and thank you again for supporting the Lost Boys.
A ticket? Noah remembered Darien mentioning a concert, but he had never suggested that Noah should go with him. And they were broken up now. Noah went to press the button to delete the email, but then hesitated and slipped it back into his pocket.
His mind was full of the few lines of unremarkable text. Would Darien take that ticket away? Should Noah go, even if he could? He had never seen them perform in person, but did he even want to?
As he stepped off the curb, his mind was whirling, trying to figure out what to do through a brain which was too tired to figure out if he wanted a cup of coffee or not, much less something as complex as going to his ex-boyfriend’s concert. Either one of those things would have been enough to make him not pay the strict amount of attention that he should while crossing the street.
The driver was not paying attention, either, though Noah didn’t see him until it was too late, he still saw before the driver, distracted by something on the phone that he clutched in his hand, only paying a sliver of attention to the road. Noah was wearing black, and the driver, probably not expecting anyone else on the road this early in the morning, didn’t see him until it was far too late.
Noah dodged, but lack of sleep dulled his reflexes, and he’d never been much of an athlete. The bumper of the car hit his shin, and something went terribly wrong in his ankle, which twisted and gave way with a smallpopthat was loud enough that Noah heard it even over the squeal of the tires as the driver, after it was already too late, tried to throw on the brakes.
His phone fell from his pocket, hitting the ground and bouncing before lying flat, and that was the last thing that Noah saw before the world went strange and fuzzy around the edges, and he was surrounded by people, the driver, all of the people from the cafe, who hovered around him and blacked out the lightening sky.
* * *
The pain woke him sometime later. Pain not only in his ankle, which felt oddly thick and which he couldn’t seem to move but also in his hands, in his ass, from where he’d skidded against the ground, erasing skin as he went.
He reached for his phone because the first thing he thought of was Darien. How pathetic was that? He had just broken up with the guy, and yet, when he was injured, he still wanted to run to him and be comforted.
And it was all his fault that he couldn’t and that it would be a terrible idea if he did. Besides, his phone wasn’t in his pocket, and he dimly remembered it hitting the ground. Was it back where he’d been hit by the car?
“You’re awake. Thank God you’re awake,” someone said, and for a brief, desperately hopeful little moment, Noah thought it might be Darien. But that was ridiculous since Darien would have no way of knowing. And the voice was different, anyway.
Noah’s eyes focused on a face that was only vaguely familiar. He had seen it for only a split second, and their eyes had met as the man’s car slammed into Noah. This was the man who had hit him, and any anger he might have felt was greatly mitigated by the way that he was pale and shaking, obviously upset about what he’d done.
He’d even stuck around, though his suit and tie spoke of more money than Noah had ever had in his life. He was obviously some sort of important businessman, and yet he was taking time out of his day to make sure Noah was okay.
So Noah just looked at him, and as he watched, the man came over to the bed and put something familiar down on the little table beside it. Noah’s phone, but with the screen shattered, catching the light like crystals, obviously not usable anymore.
“I’ll pay for this,” the man said. “And your hospital stay, of course. Anything. I didn’t mean …”
Noah gazed up at him and waited for the hatred. He didn’t find it. Yes, this man had been reckless, but Noah had allowed himself to be distracted, too. It wasn’t entirely the fault of either of them.
“It’s okay,” Noah forgave him, and it felt good to do so. “It’s okay.”
