I stayed in the living room, curled up on the oversized couch, doing my reading for my classes the next day. I was somehow able to lose myself in the case studies and the legal briefs, turning pages and making notes, highlighting passages in my books and on my iPad. I blocked out everything that was going on – that Noah had been arrested, that he had withdrawn from me again, that he’d opened up to me about his childhood and told me something horrible that might have only been the tip of the iceberg.
Finally, at around midnight, Noah came back to the living room.
“Charlotte,” he said. “It’s time for bed.”
“I’m not tired.”
“I don’t care. You need your rest.”
I sighed and packed my books and papers back into my bag.
I followed him into the bedroom. He was already dressed for bed, in just a pair of loose-fitting grey drawstring pajama pants and no shirt. The pants hung low on his hips, and I admired his body as we walked down the hall, letting my eyes linger on his tight ass and his chiseled back muscles.
I got ready for bed in the master bathroom, quickly brushing my teeth, washing my face, and slipping into a long t-shirt. The bedroom was dark when I got back, and Noah was already in bed. I slid in next to him, turning over on my side and facing away from him, toward the windows.
I held my breath, hoping he would reach for me, or whisper something, or pull me close. I didn’t even care if it was just about sex, if he just wanted to use me to satisfy some kind of urge. I yearned for some kind of connection with him, and if I had to settle for a physical one, I didn’t care.
“Good night, Charlotte.”
“Good night, Noah.”
I lay there for a while, hoping there would be something more, but there wasn’t. I pressed my eyes together and prayed I would be able to fall asleep. And miraculously, after a long time, I did.
When I woke, the room was pitch black.
The blinds had been open just a crack when we’d gone to sleep, allowing a tiny strip of the city lights to filter into the room. The bedroom door had been open as well, the nightlight in the hall throwing a faint circle of light onto the carpet.
But now there was just blackness. For a moment, I was disoriented, blinking hard, trying to make out any objects in the dark room. I groped for my phone on the nightstand and unlocked the screen.
2:08 am.
I turned over and shined the light around the room.
The door was shut, the blinds were closed.
And Noah was gone.
I swallowed hard, wondering where he could have gone at two in the morning. He’s probably just in his office, I told myself, working. I didn’t need to go and check on him. It would have been perfectly normal for him to have had trouble sleeping, to decide it was better to get some work done than to lie in bed tossing and turning. He was a grown man in his own house.
A grown man who’d just been arrested for murder.
I slid out of bed, making my way to the bedroom door and opening it slowly. The apartment felt eerily quiet, the kind of quiet that came from an empty space.
“Noah?” I called. But there was no answer. My heart started to pound, wondering if I’d been wrong about him, if maybe he was a murderer, one who’d decided to just skip town and take off in the middle of the night. I started down the hallway, using my phone as a guide.
I crept into the kitchen, peeking into the office as I went, but it was empty, the door open. The kitchen was neat and tidy, with no sign of anyone.
I was clutching my phone so hard the hard plastic of the case was digging into my palm. I was about to call Noah’s name again, when I heard a muffled voice. It took me a second to realize it was coming from the terrace outside – the one off the kitchen.
The door to the terrace was closed, but I could see the outline of a figure through the glass. A scream threatened to spill out of my throat, but then I realized it was just Noah, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
But my relief was short lived. Why was Noah out on his terrace, the rest of the house locked up tight, at two o’clock in the morning? My eyes were beginning to adjust to the darkness, and I realized now there were two figures on the terrace.
Someone was out there with Noah.
“…shouldn’t have come here…” Noah was saying.
The other figure was a woman, dressed in black jeans and a black leather jacket, her hair pulled back under a black baseball cap. She was leaning back on the railing, her elbows perched on top of the bars.
“It was important,” she said.
“Shhh!” Noah said. “I told you to keep your voice down.” He looked behind him into the house, and I quickly crouched down behind the island, holding my breath and praying he wouldn’t see me.