Kept (16 page)

Before I know what is happening Noah has me over his
shoulder and is carrying me up the stairs as I nervously giggle and squeal in
protest. Is this what I want? It’s all so familiar, yet fraught with
uncertainty.

‘Put me down,’ I squeal.

He dirtily laughs in response as we reach the top of the
stairs and he heads towards a doorway to the far right, but then he seems to
change his mind, pausing outside the door.

‘What’s wrong?’

Immediately, I fear the worse, all pretences forgotten. Has
he changed his mind about me? Doesn’t he want me? The question I should be
asking myself though is, do I really want him?

He laughs again, not so dirtily this time, but I detect a
nervous tinge like I did downstairs – what is with that? ‘Wrong room,’ he
explains. ‘You’re sending me dizzy. I can’t find my way.’

That’s sweet, right? Not at all strange that he can’t find
his room, relatively sober. He takes us to the opposite end of the hallway,
kicks open the door and throws me onto the bed. I sit up in surprise as he goes
to shut the door. Not from the throwing either.

‘Bit impersonal isn’t it?’

The room looks like a hotel room, like a guest room.

He laughs again, nervously. ‘I’ve just moved in,’ he
explains. ‘I still need to sort it out.’

‘Oh.’

I consider this and what he said downstairs about his friend
decorating the place. Guess she only had time to do the downstairs. It’s a bit
chintzy for a boy’s room though – too floral and twee, very Cath Kidston – and
far too clean. That’s potpourri for heaven’s sake, in a cut crystal bowl. This
room looks like my parents’ spare room as they’re too square to realise a Jo
Malone candle is the potpourri of modern time.

‘When did you move in?’ I ask.

‘A few weeks ago.’

‘Where did you live before?’

His face looks thunderous as he storms over to the bed and
grabs my legs, causing me to topple onto my back. I gaze up at him, my heart
beating wildly for the wrong reasons – what’s up with him?

‘What’s with the questions?’ He sounds on edge. He looks on
edge. Aren’t I allowed to ask him a simple question? It would be stranger if I
hadn’t expressed an interest.

‘I’m just curious about your life.’ I smile at him, hoping
it will calm him down.
 

‘Well,’ he hastily mocks me. ‘I’m just curious whether you
still look fantastic naked and if you do, which I’m sure you must, I’m
wondering exactly how I can show my immense gratitude to you,’ he growls.

OK, so who cares where he used to live with an offer like
that? Certainly not me.

‘In fact,’ Noah continues, ‘let’s get this skirt off and
see.’ He tugs down my skirt and I wriggle my hips so he can pull it off. ‘What
clever knickers,’ he murmurs, sinking to his knees and hooking my legs expertly
over his shoulders.

I’m wearing a tiny thong, black naturally, that fastens at
the sides with black silk ties. Designed so I can be un-wrapped like a ribbon
on a present. Slowly and delicately or fast and furiously. He goes for fast and
furious by ripping off my knickers and diving his face in their recently
departed vicinity, much to my
immense
delight.

Heaven. I’d considered him fantastic before, but now?
Mind-blowing. I would die happily right now… I think. I’m not supposed to think
in moments like this, am I? I should just
be
.

‘You are one gorgeous girly,’ he mutters thickly.

He’s stood up to drop his trousers, kicking them off with
his shoes as I lie on the bed panting and trying to control my racing heart
from his expert technique. He’s flung his shirt off so he’s now standing
completely naked in front of me. His body is even better than I remembered it
to be or, more accurately, it’s better looked after recalling his appalling
student diet of beers and takeaways.

I try to say something to him and sit up, so I can look him
up and down properly, but my breath is still rasping, my body still heaving. I
close my eyes trying to balance myself so I can open them to take him in, but I
don’t get a chance to because the next thing I know, Noah has flipped me over
and is removing my top and bra in an impressive manner. He’s clearly in control
nowadays, unlike before.

A second later, my dangling legs are back on the bed and I’m
leaning on my knees, head down, bottom up. A pause, as I hear a wrapper rip,
then Noah enters me from behind with such a force that I can feel my knees buckling
mere seconds in as my body starts to immediately guiltily respond to him. It’s
as far removed from how he used to treat me when... No. I mustn’t think of how
he dismissed me as a plaything, how this shouldn’t be happening. I must
concentrate on this grown-up sex. This
much
better sex, though is it better than it is with P? No, no. Don’t think.
Concentrate on what Noah is–

‘Fuck,’ I gasp. What have I just let happen?

I look at the clock. It’s twenty past four in the morning
and sleep is still eluding me. Guilty thoughts aren’t though, they are right
here in my mind. Does this count as cheating on Piers when we were broken up?
Were we ever broken up to begin with?

‘What’s that look for?’ Noah asks as he returns from the
bathroom, climbing back into bed and pulling me towards him. I rest my head on
his chest as he wraps his arms around my body stroking my tummy so I don’t have
to look at him. ‘Don’t tell me,’ he cheekily asks. ‘Is it me?’

‘Maybe,’ I mutter.
 
I
knew I should have tried to flee when he went to the loo.

‘Just maybe?’

No, Noah. I was just thinking about… I can hardly tell him
who I’m really thinking about, but before I can fabricate an answer appropriate
to this twisted situation, he tickles me, causing me to giggle crazily more
from panic as I try to get away from him. He thinks it’s a game though and
grabs my hip furthest from him to stop me escaping his clutches, then props
himself up, keeping his hand possessively on my hip.

I roll onto my side so I can look up at his face. I’ve never
felt like this with him. I always felt precariously balanced, from what I
suspected to be dizziness and excitement at the time, but now I realise was
from anxiety at the risk and edginess of what our “thing” entailed. It wasn’t a
relationship we had – I see that now. Yet with Piers, I felt protected from the
word go.
What am I doing here?

‘We need to talk, Ariel,’ he says seriously. He’s staring at
me with his moody gaze that sends a shiver down my spine because it creeps me
out rather than anything else.

‘I love you,’ he says. ‘And I’m so sorry.’

Immediately my heart lurches. He means that then, that he
loves me? I don’t love him though. This was a mistake, and I realise now that
Obélix was right, and that it was never love that we had.

‘It’s over, Noah. It’s all in the past now.’ Like this will
be, I say in my head – this big, stupid, one-night stand that I need to escape
from.

‘You don’t care about my past then?’ he asks softly. ‘You
don’t want to know about my life?’

‘My life ended when you left me, Noah. Tonight is the first
time I’ve truly felt like I haven’t been living a lie,’ I tell him.

Sort of true. I have always felt like I was living a small
lie with Piers because he didn’t know about Noah but seeing Noah tonight has
made me let go of the past. Finally.

‘But you’ve had boyfriends since me?’ He looks concerned.
‘You told me downstairs you’ve only just split up with one chap?’

‘They were nothing, Noah,’ I say brazenly, knowing I only
mean this in this moment because I don’t want to have to explain to him. I
don’t want Noah to know about Piers and that what I have with Piers is the real
thing, I just want for him to stop talking so I can make my excuses and flee.

‘You don’t mean that, Ariel?’ He seems a little shocked at
my remark.

I hesitate. ‘I thought we just agreed our pasts don’t
matter?’ I finally snap. I don’t know why he’s pretending that this will be
more than a one-night stand. I need to set him straight, but I think I’d quite
like to hear his bullshit first.
 

‘The past doesn’t matter, Ariel.’ He reaches to stroke my
face, but I bat his hand away. ‘But I’ve lived these past ten years and you
seem to be telling me you’ve been stuck in limbo.’

‘Well, I have.’ Oh, please. Is all this to make him feel
better about his past behaviour? Who does he think I am? Still naïve
Ariel
, quick to believe his lies? Not
anymore. It’s about time he learnt the truth.

‘Do you think that I wanted to remember you? Did you think I
didn’t want a high-powered career to feel satisfied with, one that allowed me
to live on my own and support myself? Do you really think I’m happy or even
proud of myself?’ I rant. ‘Happy and pleased that I’m a pathetic
twenty-five-year-old, one that has never worked a day in her life because she
sponged off her boyfriend as that was more convenient than accepting I made a
huge mistake degree-wise.’

I’m rambling but I’m on a roll. Noah is evidently clueless
given I’ve not filled him in on my lack of career, having been too occupied
with other things.

He tries to interrupt, but I continue. ‘So much so that the
only option I had one month ago was to slink back home to my parents, a place I
hate so much because it reminds me of
you
,’
I angrily say. ‘It was either that or live on the streets though. I am a
twenty-five- year-old unemployed graduate, Noah,’ I state blazingly. ‘I have no
career prospects, no money, and no life to call my own, so forgive me for being
stuck in limbo and please don’t chastise me about that fact. I’m painfully
aware of that more than anyone else in this world. I get it, OK? I’ve messed
up.’ I finish in a big rush, the final words exploding out of me as I think of
Piers, tears streaming down my face.

Noah looks shocked. ‘Ariel,’ is all he manages to say. What
else can he say? He only
pretends
he
cares. ‘I had no idea.’

‘Of course you didn’t,’ I scoff. ‘You never came home once
to find out how I was. From what your mother tells mine you’ve barely been home
since
that morning and you don’t talk
to Peter according to Obélix. What happened that morning? What caused you to
give me up and never return home?’ I screech at him. Yes, like a fishwife.

He looks at me sadly. ‘I’ll tell you Ariel, but first I want
to hear what happened?’

‘What do you mean “what happened”?’ I can’t believe he’s
stalling me. He’s not going to get away with his lack of explaining any longer.
Funny how he can stall these so-called explanations, yet not himself in
other
departments.

‘To you. What happened to the girl I loved who told me all
about her dreams and ambitions to become a top fashion designer? The one who
wanted to go to St
Martins
and be someone? Where has
she gone?’

‘She died the day you left, Noah,’ I angrily say, pushing
his arm away from me and sitting up in bed. I feel claustrophobic.

‘So, you gave up on life?’

‘No, I gave up on my childish dreams, Noah, because that’s
what they were. That’s all they ever were.
You
taught me that.’
 

‘Shit.’ He holds his head in his hands. ‘I messed up, didn’t
I?’

‘No,’ I shakily reply. ‘
You
messed
me
up.’

‘Oh, Ariel. Jeesh, come here!’

He tries to grab hold of me but I leap out of his reach and
scramble out of bed. I feel like bolting. Like running and running and never
stopping until the world stops spinning.

‘Don’t leave,’ he implores, also getting out of bed to take
my hand, but I flinch. ‘I love you,’ he tells me again. Words I do not want to
hear.

‘What are you going to do, Noah?’ I laugh, quite
hysterically. ‘Do you think your so-called love,’ I spit, ‘can make all this
better? Do you have some magic wand? Are you going to phone your fairy godmother
to sort this out? Oh, wait–’

I am livid. I have never felt pure anger towards Noah
before, only sorrow. Now I am fuming with him not only about how he treated me
back then but how he impacted on the rest of my life. Only now do I realise
that I’ve let the
idea
of him mess me
up. I’ve stupidly clung on to a warped idea of him, even though he never cared.

He expects me to
forgive
him
now? Worst still, to love him like he can just wipe over the past and
cancel everything out? I can’t forgive or forget so easily. I was naïve to
assume I could. Things have changed,
I’ve
changed.

He flinches at my words as I sit back down on the bed
feeling dejected. Hesitantly, he sits down next to me, his hand twitching as if
he wants to take mine but he thinks better of it. Instead he nervously twists
his thumbs together. I believe the silence between us could be described as a
pregnant pause.

‘Where did you go to university?’ he finally asks.

‘Warwick.’ I hope he hears something different, like
Manchester.

He blanches. ‘To study?’

I mumble in response.

‘To study?’ he repeats not daring to look at me.

‘Economics.’

Guess who else studied economics at Warwick? I told you
before, I fail at life. Reject. Loser. Failure. Also goes by the name of
Arielle Demi Lockley. Hi, that’s me. Perhaps I should add
pathetic
to that list, too.

Now I finally realise though as I’m calming down – and this
is the hardest truth to accept – that as much as I’ve always tried to blame
others, I’m at fault. I’m the one who chose to inflict Noah’s torture upon me
when I should have forgotten him. I should have moved on, but I’ve never learnt
to let go and I’m doing exactly the same thing with Piers. I am selfish,
selfish,
selfish
, and I need to clear
my head. Piers-shaped thoughts are trying to poke through the Noah thought
bubbles in my head and I need to deal with this ugly mess before I can deal
with how I’ve probably just destroyed everything with Piers.