by Becky Wicks
'Sure, why not,' Aaron says. 'Chloe? Got anything else on with your megastar boyfriend?'
'Boyfriend?' Zayne repeats with interest.
'Noah Lockton is not my boyfriend,' I clarify quickly, for both of their benefits. I picture Jayde still draped all over him, or someone else, probably, now that she's at work. 'Sure,' I say. 'A drink sounds good.'
A couple of hours later I'm sitting at the hotel bar between Aaron and Zayne, wondering when it will be appropriate to leave. The others in his makeshift band have gone and I'm not drinking, obviously. I told them I never drink as soon as we were inside. I haven't touched a drop since that bottle of vodka in the tree house and I won't touch another drop, ever. I don't want anything to make me lose control like I did that night.
'So if Noah's not your boyfriend, who is?' Aaron asks me now from under his cap. There's whiskey on his breath and he's leaning close. I notice for the first time that his eyes are a little too close together, that his straight white teeth might well be veneers.
'I had a boyfriend, the one you heard me yelling at,' I say.
'How did he fuck up?' Zayne probes; his brown eyes boring into mine.
'How didn't he? Aaron, did you get any good shots of Courtney?' I say, changing the subject and sipping my orange juice.
He shakes his head. 'Nah, not today. I'm sure there'll be more disasters with her though, she's on a downward spiral. Gonna do a total Britney, I'm telling you. Lucky I got Anne Hathaway and spaghetti earlier, hey?'
'Vulture!' Zayne laughs and Aaron jostles him across me, brushing my breasts accidentally with his arm as he does it. I lean backwards on my seat, pull out my phone to eliminate myself from their conversation, and presence.
'You didn't mind when we got shots of you!' Aaron says. 'Admit it man, the paps made you look like rock stars.'
'After I paid you off!' Zayne says, shoving him back. 'And we were rock stars. Want your photo with a rock star, Chloe?' He grabs the phone from me, holds it out in front of us and takes a shot. Then another. Aaron grabs it from him.
'If you're a rock star, I'm fucking Santa Claus -- here Chloe, pose for Santa.' He leans into me and snaps a shot of both of us. This time I'm smiling as I grab for the phone back.
'We still do what rock stars do,' Zayne says thoughtfully. 'Minus the albums and hotel room trashing, I guess.' He's tapping his fake nail on his empty shot glass.
'Like what?' I ask.
'Come with me,' he says, hopping down from his barstool and forcing me to do the same. He's drunk, I can tell. He grabs my hand when I don't take his.
'Where are we going?'
'You wanna see what rock stars do?'
Already I know what he's saying but I'm led towards the bathroom and Aaron's on our trail. He catches me, moves in front of me and blocks Zayne. The closeness of him makes my stomach jump. I'm about to pull away from them both and go grab my stuff from the bar when there's a crash behind us. We all swing round and there in front of us, totally trashed and sprawled on the floor is none other than Brandon Cleaver.
I barely recognize the sixteen-year-old pop icon at first but in a flash Aaron's grabbing my camera from my neck, pulling off the lens cap and snapping, over and over and over as Brandon scrambles up with slitted eyes and a shirt covered in drinks. He rights himself and Aaron grabs my arm, yanks me into the bathroom.
'Holy shit, did you see that?' He's flicking back through the photos. 'Damn, Chloe, these are worth a fortune! He was wasted! There's no way his mom and dad, let alone his label know he's drinking. Did you see his face? When the world sees these...'
'What?' I snatch the camera back off him quickly, shove the lens cap back on. 'Aaron, there's no way in hell we're doing anything with these!'
'Are you kidding me?'
'You'll ruin his life!'
'He's ruining it himself by the looks of it,' he snorts as Zayne does the same with the white powder on the back of the toilet. I delete most of them as I turn away, then put the camera into its bag again. 'I have to go,' I tell them. This day needs to be over, now.
Aaron puts a hand to the door. 'Wait till he's finished, you wanna get us busted?'
'Aaron...'
'Chloe, don't put those photos on the Shimmer blog,' he says. His face is serious. 'Email them to me; I'll get you a deal.'
'I don't want a deal! The kid's underage, he'll be in serious trouble and so will the hotel. I'm not putting them anywhere. I'm deleting them.'
He frowns. 'You're the worst pap ever,' he tells me with a wry smile.
I go to open my mouth but I shut it again, study his face feeling stupid and tired and angry. I shouldn't have come. 'I really have to go,' I say again as Zayne puts the wrap back in his pocket and wipes his nose. Aaron looks at me imploringly but lets me leave with a sigh and within five seconds flat I'm back on the street.
I bump into a girl who's smoking outside, mumble my apologies, scrape through a few more waiting paps and go to hail a cab. But I pull my hand back instantly. I need air. It's not too far to walk. I hold my camera bag close, head towards the park. It's a short cut. I'll be back at the apartment in minutes.
The air feels good around me, like the space I've been craving all day. I'm just thinking of the hot tea I'm going to make; the call I'm going to make to Alyssa when there's a giant shove from behind me and someone's hand is over my face. I can't even scream because a foot comes down heavy on my back and I'm pressed into the dirt with one cheek against cold, hard stones. The world goes dark.
20
Noah
The apartment is quiet when I walk in. I guess Jayde hasn't finished her shift yet. I breathe a sigh of relief. I'm looking at my phone as I throw the keys onto the kitchen counter and grab a Corona from the fridge. Five messages already from Denzel about appointments next week, and a meeting with Ryder Telling and his people about the tour. Crazy. Apparently they called the moment I was done with Tree House, wanting to book me in. I'm not supposed to tell anyone till it's official.
I'm about to head up to my room to call Jack when it strikes me that something doesn't feel quite right. I can't describe it, it's just a feeling. I flip the light on and see her. She's sitting on the couch.
I jump slightly with the shock. She's motionless with her face covered by the hood of her jacket; not doing anything. I want to laugh for a second. 'Chloe? Why are you sitting in the dark?'
She doesn't even move. Man, is she really so beat that she's fallen asleep sitting upright, without even turning the TV or her laptop on? 'Hey! Is everything OK?'
When she doesn't respond I put the beer down on the coffee table in front of her and it's only when I bend down that I see the blood trickling down her face.
'Fuck... Chloe, what happened?' I'm on my knees instantly, hands on her thighs over her blue dress, shaking her. Her eyes are open now but she's not looking at me and I realize she's trembling. 'Chloe, talk to me!'
I feel sick. Fuck. What's going on? I take her hands, feel how cold she is. I make a grab for the blanket Jayde left on the back of the couch, sit beside her and drape it round her shoulders. I turn her face to me gently and I have to bite my tongue, grit my teeth. Her face is cut above one eye and the blood is running in a stream down her cheek, onto her neck, over Tinker-Bell. I think she's in shock.
'Chloe, can you hear me?' I shake her slightly again, not too much, and she makes a noise like a groan or a cry, or something in between. My stomach's churning now. Someone's done this to her; at least, it doesn't look like she's had an accident. Her hands are clenched in her lap but I can see her fingers are scratched and covered in blood, like her face. Like her fucking face!
'Chloe, speak to me. Tell me what happened.'
She blinks, seems to bring me into focus. 'He took my camera,' she whispers after a moment. Her voice is so faint I can barely hear her.
'Who did?'
Her bottom lip is cut, too. She flinches as I go to touch her and a burst of rage flares up inside me. 'Who took your camera?'
&n
bsp; 'I don't know.'
As soon as she says it, her face crumbles and I feel a million different things at once, but mostly I feel as though I want to punch a hole in the fucking wall.
'Did he hurt you anywhere else?' I say, brushing her bangs back from her forehead. There's a bloody scratch there too, and knots in the silky brown of her long hair. 'Chloe, did he...'
'No. He just threw me on the ground and kicked me, and took my camera, Noah...'
'Sssh, it's OK, it's OK,' I pull her against me, hold her against my shoulder. I definitely want to punch a wall. 'Where did this happen?'
'In the park,'
'You were in the park at night? Chloe!' I realize I'm clenching my fists in her hair and I can feel she's still trembling.
'I just wanted to get back here, I didn't think...'
'Did he get your wallet?'
'It was all in the camera bag.' She's looking at her hands now, turning them over as though she's only just seeing the blood.
'Then we have to cancel your cards. And Chloe, we have to call the cops.'
She's crying now, wiping her face on her sleeve as I stand up and reach for my phone in my pocket. 'I'm calling the cops now,' I tell her, 'but you should stay warm, you're in shock. If he touched you we should wait to clean you up 'cause they'll probably need to check you out.'
She covers her face with her hands and my heart shatters. With the phone to my ear I pull her to her feet with one hand and lead her up the stairs. Instinctively I take her into my bedroom. I guess I just want her near me. And as I pull back the covers and she climbs into the bed, the only thing I can think about is how it could have been so much worse.
It's half an hour before the officer knocks on the door with a medical advisor. And it's another hour before they leave again. They ask a lot of questions, most of which Chloe can't answer, like what did he look like (she doesn't know because he had a hoodie pulled over his head) and how old was he (she doesn't know because he had a hoodie pulled over his head - Jesus).
There are no CCTV cameras in that part of the park and I think they know full well her camera is gone for good, but they do a few swabs and then let her take a shower.
I'm strumming the guitar when she comes out of the bathroom and hovers in my doorway. The cops are gone. She looks at me anxiously and the first thing I think is that I don't want her to go to her own room. 'This won't be in the papers, will it?' she says in a small voice.
I stop playing. 'No, there were no journos here, just cops.'
'I don't want to be the next Noah Lockton story,' she tells me and for some reason her words bring a lump to my throat.
'I don't want you to be either, come here.' I motion for her to come in, to sit next to me on the bed.
She nods towards the Fender acoustic as she steps inside. 'Keep playing,' she says. She's wearing her ridiculous My Little Pony sleep shorts and a green tank that just covers her midriff and her damp hair smells of her shampoo. She's put the lotion on too; the blueberries are stronger than ever. I look at her in the lamplight as I lean over the guitar. My hand reaches for the cut above her eye as she sits down next to me. It's not bleeding now but she flinches slightly again at my touch and fresh rage soars through me. I swear to God, I'd murder whoever did this.
'Play something?' she asks, motioning to the guitar.
'Like what?'
'Something I'll like.'
For a second, I admit, I'm floored. The smell of the lotion and the soft in and out of her breath and the look of her long legs in the Pony shorts as I clutch the guitar throw my mind into nothingness... back to the tree house, and then back to nothingness. She's looking at me expectantly, so I start to play the first thing I can think of; something I've been writing for the last few days. It's not finished, but it's almost there.
I'm surrounded by girls who whisper sweet lies
All convinced that their kisses
Are the best match for mine
But they don't know the crazy stupid things I can do
Or how you hold me and control me, being you
It's always you
But love you're like a shadow always dancing out of reach
And I don't know if we can ever really be...
It's almost an us
It's almost a we
It's almost an end to the solo you and solo me
It's almost a yes
It's almost a dream
It's the start of a brand new
Almost love story…
Chloe lies back on the bed and closes her eyes. I swallow, watching her long hair spill out around her on my pillow and I can tell she's fighting sleep already. They gave her painkillers. I lower my voice and sing the chorus again, this time softer, watching her shift, watching her eyelashes flutter like butterflies landing on bruises.
Her left arm rises above her forehead and the side of her face without the cut sinks into the bed as she lets out a small sigh. I stop strumming, climb off the bed and put the guitar down in its stand. Should I lift her up and take her to the spare room? Jayde will be home soon.
Keeping one eye on her I change into my PJ bottoms and I'm just about to pull a T-shirt on when she turns and shivers.
'Pan?' I say. She doesn't respond.
'Chloe, get under the covers,' I tell her. I don't know if she hears me consciously or if she just does it in her sleep but she shimmies slowly up the bed and slides under the covers and I want to join her, to sleep beside her like I have done a million times, like I did all week after her dad died, before she sent me away. I just want to keep her safe.
But the thought of it sends a bolt of fear right through me because I can't, can I? I mean, I can't keep Chloe safe anymore.
21
I creep out and into her room next door, where I lie in a state somewhere between awake and asleep until the front door opens and Jayde comes home. I catch her on the landing and she looks at me in confusion as I motion for her to come into Chloe's room. She smells like the bar; all stale booze and disinfectant, still in the dress from before. The dress that made Dan Lebowitz look at her like she was a hooker.
'What's going on?' she asks.
'Sssh.' I put a finger to my lips and point to my room, where Chloe's sleeping. I shut the bedroom door after her and flick the light on. 'She got mugged,' I tell her.
'Chloe did?' Jayde's eyes grow wide. She drops her purse on the floor by the door and fixes me with this gaze that I swear I've only seen in horror movies, shitty or otherwise. 'Is she OK?'
'She's OK but they got her camera and pretty much everything else. The cops came over... she was exhausted. She fell asleep in my room.'
Jayde nods and seems lost for words for a moment. 'God, that's scary, poor Chloe,' she says eventually, studying my face. 'Was it near here? I mean, wasn't she supposed to be out with that Aaron guy tonight?'
I shrug. She's got a point. I forgot about that.
'Are you OK?' Jayde asks me, reaching out a hand to my cheek. Her fingers smell like a dirty dishcloth and instinctively I move away from her and walk back towards the bed. I totally forgot about Aaron. Where the hell was he tonight? If they did go out together, why didn't he walk Chloe home? Or put her in a cab?
I want to pummel the guy and I don't even know him.
I climb into the bed, sit up against the headboard, try my best to process the million thoughts spinning round in my skull. Jayde heads out to the bathroom but moments later there's a cry.
'Noah!'
I fly off the bed and fling the door open. I race to my room at the exact same time as Jayde, who hovers in the doorway with her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.
'Noah!'
Chloe's screaming my name. As I reach the bed I half expect to see more blood, or someone trying to hurt her, but she's asleep. She's asleep and screaming like Freddy Kruger's gonna slice through her prom dress in her dreams.
'Chloe, it's me.' I'm at the bedside now. Christ, she's burning up; her hair is stuck to her face like she's been trap
ped all night in a sauna. I push the covers aside and grab her forearms, pulling her up as I drop onto the mattress. 'Chloe, you're dreaming!'
Her eyes flash open and for a second she looks terrified. She scans the room and then focuses on me, mouths my name and swallows hard. I pull her into my arms, hold her head against me and rock her as she starts to sob. I bunch her hair in my hand, rub her back as her arms snake around my neck. My lips kiss the top of her head over and over instinctively.
Shit, shit, shit, my heart is breaking. It's a fucking flashback to that night. 'It was just a dream, baby, come on,' I say, holding her head against me with my whole hand. I can feel the dampness on my flesh from her tears. I don't have a shirt on and she's so hot against my naked skin. She feels like she's got a fever.
'You didn't come,' she says into my shoulder. I can feel her fingers in my hair now, balling it up, holding on like I'm a lifeline.
'Fuck. I didn't come? What?' Her words hit me like trucks. 'Where was I supposed to be, Chloe?'
'In my dream, you didn't get there in time,' she cries, and then she swipes at her face like she's embarrassed. 'God, I'm such an idiot!'
'No, you're not.' Dammit, she's making me cry now. I can feel the fear radiating off her in spite of what she says. I can feel her trembling, like she was back then when I found her.
I hold her tighter against my chest and hide my face for a moment in her hair. I run my hand up and down her spine over her tank top till it finds the clammy flesh between the fabric and the top of her shorts. My fingers freeze. I want to murder whoever did this to her. I want to curl up into her and make it all stop. When did I stop being able to do that? When did I stop thinking I should try?
'Noah?'
There's a tap on my shoulder. I ease myself away from Chloe and smooth stray strands of sweaty hair back from her face. Her bangs fall right back into her eyes. 'You need some water?' I ask her. Her face is red, flushed. Seeing her cuts and bruises make me clench my fists, bite my tongue.
