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Chapter 11

When I got home from Maria's, I went straight to take a shower. I felt terrible about how I left things with her, I knew I was snappy, and the three hours of sleep I got the night before probably didn't help. Still, her sudden drop in interest was upsetting. The more I thought about it, the more upset I became.

I got out of the shower, and went to heat up some food in the kitchen; my dad was watching tv, probably smashed, and nursing a beer in his hand. Looking at him was irritating, and I felt my temper bubbling.

Then I smelled it, "Did you smoke inside the house? Could you not?" I asked sharply as I walked into the living room.

He completely ignored me, and I let out a measured breath, upset at his lack of reaction.

I went to my room and slammed the door, feeling my anger beginning to boil over. I took out everything from the box I carried from Maria's house. It was full of receipts and checkbooks, tax statements, three different journals. I am sure there was more at her house, but I would get through these first.

I opened the journal Liam gave me and read through an entry. I could hear the TV blasting in the living room and gritted my teeth, trying to concentrate.

 I felt so frustrated I could almost burst. Imagined my skin splintering open. Sometimes imagined myself jumping off buildings or bridges just to feel some sort of release. As if the fall would push out the breath I had stuck in my chest.

I opened my door, "Can you turn it down," I asked.

Silence.

I rolled my eyes and stomped into the living room, my eyes were wild as I searched for the remote.

"You don't pay the bills," He said gruffly.

Found it. I lowered the volume anyway, "I'm trying to study."

"Put it back to how it was."

"No. it's too loud, you're not the only person that lives here," I chastised.

His hand grabbed my hair before I could take another step.

"Raise the volume,"

My hands shook a little, but I felt a fire inside, "No."

The remote was out of my hands despite my tight grasp. I felt the hard plastic slam into the bone between my eye and my temple a second later, then again on my cheekbone.

The volume went up even louder, and he was back on his chair, ignoring me.

I went back into my room and slammed the door as hard as I could. It made a cup holding pencils on my dresser fall over. I sat on my bed, grabbed my pillow, and screamed into it. The release didn't feel as good as I expected it to.

 I sat afterward, looking at the wall where Robbie placed hooks so I could hang my lanyard and my bag. The gold key that opened the art room gleamed with the sunlight that came through my window. I could just study somewhere else, I thought to myself. Maybe I could tutor Chris. I didn't feel like being alone.

I grabbed my bag, stuck two of the Bennett journals inside, and put the lanyard around my neck.

"Where are you going?" My dad asked as I opened the door.

"There's food in the fridge. I'll see you tomorrow or whenever you're back," I said and closed the door.

Once I was on the bus, I realized I didn't really have a destination in mind. Chris hadn't answered his phone, and I figured he was still in practice.

I thought about texting Chris to tell him to let me know when he was done but realized I left without putting on any makeup. I took out a compact mirror. 

My face was starting to look pretty bad. I didn't think Chris would make a big deal out of politeness, but I know he would get worried and say something to Robbie. I suddenly remembered the key on my lanyard. I pulled on the bus chord to indicate I wanted off at the next stop.

Trinity was an eery place after dark. Quiet and looming with its high arches and molded ceilings. I wasn't the only student in the school after hours. 

I almost turned around and went home, but then I heard the voices at the end of the hallway. Student council office was still up and running. Their voices echoed in the empty hallways. The council was made up of overachievers who made me look like a slacker with their extracurricular activities.

I entered the art room and turned on one of the lights. The large studio looked different without any students. It was quiet and sparse, and a faint breeze ran through it from a window that had been left open. The room smelled like dried acrylic paint and canvas. I made my way across to pull down the window shades. Good, I wanted privacy.

I made myself comfortable on the couch that was pushed to the back of the room and pulled out a journal from the bag. While I would have preferred not to be alone, I appreciated the silence.

I started rereading the green journal, trying to figure out a pattern with the mess of smudges. There was something about them that seemed fabricated.

"You know this is the art room, not the reading room." said a voice coming from the entrance.

"Jesus H. Christ," I said, grabbing my chest.

Noah stood leaning against the doorjamb. He was still in his trinity uniform as if he had never gone home.

He let out a laugh.

"What are you doing here?" I asked.

"I want to paint... it's an art room. I thought you were a genius?"

"I meant, how are you even in here?" I asked, shaking my head.

He held up a gold key as his explanation.

My jaw dropped. 

"What?! How did you get that? Those are supposed to be for responsible students, not second chance delinquents."

"Princess Lia, that's just rude. Are you trying to say I am irresponsible?"

"I mean, if the shoe fits?"

He gave me an amused smile and shook his head.

"Someone sure listens to the rumor mill," he said, smiling at me, then added with a slight shrug, "they thought it would be good for my mental health."

"Your dad could build the school a library but can't add an art room to your penthouse?"

"My stepmom doesn't like any messes. Also, my dad doesn't know about this."

"That you are here?"

"That I paint, princess."

I nodded. Surprisingly, something about Noah finally made sense. 

"Well, the room is taken, so come again another time," I said.

"Come on, don't be like that; there's more than enough space for the both of us," he said, setting up an easel.

"Sorry, I don't really want to be alone with you," I said, getting up.

"Because of the kiss? That was just a joke. I won't do it again; you're not my type anyway," he said, shaking his head.

"I could have had you suspended for harassment."

"I'm sure you could have. Especially with Robbie ready to defend your honor."

"I still can," I said, staring him down.

He sighed, "Come on, pull up an easel and paint with me, don't you have to work on your portfolio? I overheard you talking with Harris. I promise I will keep my hands and lips to myself," he added.

I hesitated, and he rolled his eyes and pulled out a black oval-shaped box object from his pocket, "here," he said, holding it out.

"What is that?"

"A switchblade, you can whip it out if I try anything," he said.

"A switchblade? This is the Upper East Side, not A West Side Story," I said, raising my eyebrow.

"Switchblades aren't just for fighting. They are good for other things, too," he answered with an air of mystery.

I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I could tell Noah wanted me to ask him for what, but I didn't feel like playing his game. I took the switchblade out of his hand and put it in my pocket.

We painted in silence for the first few minutes we were in the room. Finally curiosity got the better of me. 

"So, what did you do to get sent away?" I asked.

"Well, you don't beat around the bush," He said, giving me an amused look.

"You don't have to tell me," I said, annoyed,

"I stole a car," he answered after a pause.

"Ahh," I said.

"And then I crashed it, and then I stole another car."

My eyes widened, "Okay," I said slowly.

He shrugged.

"Okay, but... aren't you really rich?" I asked, confused,

"I didn't steal it because I couldn't afford one, I stole it as a dare, and then the second time, I was drunk and thought it would be funny."

"How funny was it in the end?"

"At the moment very, afterward not at all," he answered shrugging.

"Whose car did you steal?"

"My dad's, and then my stepdad's"

"Daddy issues?"

He scowled at me but then shrugged "he's a giant prick. He has a nice Lambo, though, or well had. My stepdad drives a boring jag, but it was still fun to mess with."

"Well, you sure showed them," I said sarcastically.

"I know it was stupid, princess, I don't know; it's just everyone in my family is so perfect. They all have their perfect marriages with their perfect stepchildren. Harvard graduates, seven-figure salary, blah blah blah. They think I'm such a fuck up. I felt like, well, let me live up to my reputation."

"Well, you certainly did that," I said, shading in my lily pads.

"You don't get it; you're perfect like them."

"I'm not perfect. You don't know me," I said, looking up at him.

"Oh, come on, you're a straight-A student; teachers love you. You dated Robert the robot Bennett."

I rolled my eyes, "why are you always bringing him up?"

"Because he's everything my family expects me to be. A corporate shill."

"You don't know him."

"I know him well enough."

"Obviously not. He's not like that at all; he hates all of that."

"Spends a lot of time traveling and working for his grandparents for someone who hates it so much."

"Trust me, you don't know what you're talking about," I said, frowning.

We worked silently for a few minutes when I heard him clear his throat.

"What happened to your face?" He asked me suddenly.

"I opened a door on my face," I said, shrugging.

"Liar. My dad used to beat the shit out of me. I'm assuming it's something similar?"

"Well, you know what happens when you assume," I said, pursing my lips.

"I don't know what happens when you assume, but when I do it, I'm dead-on. What I'm curious about is why? I mean, I'm a colossal fuck up. My dad did it to try and beat the delinquency out of me. You, on the other hand. I can't see you really doing anything that deserves getting your face fucked up like that."

I ignored him and continued doing upward brush strokes to fill in a flower on my canvas.

"Come on, I thought we were talking about our feelings. I told you all about how I was a fuck up and how shitty my parents are."

"Are you trying to guilt me into telling you my personal shit? Aww, poor multimillionaire, your life must be so hard." I rolled my eyes and started packing up; this was not how I wanted to spend the rest of my night.

"Okay, relax, don't go, I'll drop the subject," he said, lifting his hands up in surrender.

I hesitated. I didn't want to go home. I also needed to finish something for my portfolio for the end of the week. I was already on a catchup schedule; it would be a lost cause if I fell behind on that too.

"Sit, Lia, I'll even let you use my brushes, he said, holding out a cup of brushes that were much nicer than the ones the school offered.

I sat down and grabbed one from the cup. After a few minutes, I sighed.

"I provoked him; I knew he would react like this," I said.

"Why?" He asked rolling his stool across the canvas covered floor to sit next to me. 

I shrugged, "I was angry," I said, not really sold on the why.

He nodded and shrugged, "I get it. I get pretty fucking angry too," he said. He grabbed my hand and changed the way I was painting in the lilies. "You keep painting the way you're painting, and it's going to leave you with a gap up top. Then you're going to fill it in when the oil paint dried, and it's going to look like crap," he explained.

"Thanks," I said and he nodded and rolled back to his canvas. "Did you smash the car because you were angry," I asked. 

"Not really. I mean, I'm always angry, but that day I was just really drunk, and it just seemed like a fun thing to do," he said.

"I hate feeling like this. I feel so out of control," I said softly.

"Do you know what I do when I'm angry?" He asked.

"Set buildings on fire?" I asked, giving him a smile, and he narrowed his eyes at me.

"Come," He said, putting down his brush and holding out his hand.

I looked at him wearily.

"I promise it's not illegal," He said.

"I'll hold you to that," I said, slipping my hand into his.

He took me to the school gym. "You want me to pump weight?" I asked, looking around.

"No," he said and stood in front of a large punching bag.

I rolled my eyes again. At this rate, I felt as if he were going to make my eyes take residence in the back of my head.

"Just hit it," He said.

I gave it a half-hearted punch.

"That was really pathetic; pretend it's my face," he said, giving me a cheeky smile.

I hit it harder.

"Ouch, princess, tell me how you really feel," he joked.

"You know how I feel already Noah, I don't think you need me to explain it to you."

"Fine. Hit it again. Close your eyes; imagine whatever it is that makes you upset."

I closed my eyes; I didn't know what to focus on. My break up. Robbie's grandmother. My parents getting a divorce, Maria's lack of enthusiasm when she promised we would fix this. My dad. I felt hot tears stream down my face. It made the cut on my cheek sting.

"Okay," he said, "now open your eyes and widen your stance," he said, lightly tapping my shoes with his to push them into a wider stance.

I nodded.

"Okay, hit it hard, princess," he said, holding the bag in place. I punch the bag a lot harder and it made my knuckles sting. 

I took a deep breath. 

"Noah?" I asked, straightening up, "Is this what you do when you're upset?"

"Yeah."

"Your therapist told you to do this?" I asked.

"No. Just my dad would take me to a gym as a kid."

"Doesn't it seem, kind of...counterintuitive?"

He stared at me.

"Like, don't you think you're just creating a connection with frustration and an act of violence? I mean, wouldn't violence just beget violence?"

He stared at me and bit the inside of his cheek, "fine. Want to get ice cream from the kitchens?"

"Is that allowed?"

"No. But if they never find out so, who cares?"

When we finished, we went back to the art room. I lay on the floor drinking a Gatorade Noah got me from the vending machine. He was eating a bowl of pilfered ice cream. 

My knuckles were pretty raw; Noah said next time, I should probably use gloves. I told him I'll pass on my boxing career. 

"So, what's your plan after Trinity?" He asked, sitting next to me.

"I don't know, probably Harvard, probably medicine like my parents."

"Why are you trying to create a portfolio if you're just going to be a doctor?"

"Keep my options open."

"Hmmm," he said he said leaning his head back.

"What about you?" I asked and wiped the sweat off my face with my t-shirt.

"I kind of want to travel the world on my motorcycle."

"Like Jack Kerouac?"

"Yep. Except without the busses and hitchhiking. Busses smell and I'm too pretty to hitchhike."

I looked up at him to see if he was joking, and he gave me a small smile.

"So, no school?" I asked. 

"Nah, not my thing."

"No. Work either?"

"Also, not my thing," he said, giving an amused look.

I shook my head and took another sip of my drink. Rich kids.

"How long have you been painting?" I asked, changing the subject. 

"Since I was a kid. I don't know. It's the one thing everyone said I was good at, so I did it more."

I let out a snort.

"What?"

"Nothing, it's just I like it because it's the one thing everyone leaves me alone about."

"So, are you going to submit anything to the competition?"

"I didn't even know there was a competition."

"It's before winter break. If you win, you'll get the attention of pretty much any art school you would have applied to."

"Are you submitting anything?" I asked him.

"Yeah. I always do. I just don't know what yet. It needs to be original, so your Monet rip-off wouldn't work," he said, pointing with his chin towards my water lilies.

I smacked his leg, "I feel like I've never really done anything a hundred percent original, just copied other people's style."

"Well, you have a few months to figure it out."

I leaned my head back like he did and closed my eyes.

"Hey, Noah, I have a question."

"Shoot."

"You're 19. You don't want to work. You don't want to continue your education. Why are you here?"

"My parents."

"But you're an adult. You seem to have no issue with money. I'm sure they couldn't force you. Also, you hate Trinity. To the point you got yourself expelled. I mean, what did you even do?"

"I destroyed a pretty expensive amount of school property."

My eyes widened, "Why?"

"I was pissed."

"What made you so angry?"

"A girl."

"Geez. This girl, she graduated?"

"No, she's still here."

"Oh."

"That's all I'm going to answer though, I don't really like talking about it. Or her."

I nodded, and we switched the subject to art. I never did get an answer as to why he was still at Trinity, why he came back.

Or maybe I did. 

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A/N

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