Fools Fall

25 - Sam

Sam

"Stop, Noah. Please," I begged. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I should've told you the second I saw her. Just please don't go," I cried reaching out to him, but Noah slammed our apartment door shut quickly behind him.

I just stood there in utter bewilderment from what occurred. The urge to open the front door and run after him was palpable, but I held back because Noah was way too angry to think accurately, his judgment would be clouded.

So I sat on the couch, knee bouncing up and down and gnawing on my thumb nail as anxiety sank in, and I watched to front door. It felt like forever and I had to keep swiping my eyes to rid myself of tears, but about twenty minutes later, there was a knock at the front door.

I sighed in relief as I ran to door, but then thought, why would Noah knock? and when I opened the door, I found my answer. It wasn't Noah, it was his mother again.

"Noah's not here," I said, my voice shaky from how emotional I was.

"When will he be back?"

"You shouldn't be here. He told you to go," I ignored her question because I learned my lesson, I wasn't going to meddle in this time.

The mother frowned, her bottom lip quivering like she was about to cry. "Could you just... give this to him," she begged as she handed me an envelope from her purse.

I sighed and took the envelope. "You should go," I told her.

"I'm sorry," and she began to cry.

"I'm not the one you need to apologize."

"I know, I know. Please help me, I need to talk to him; explain everything. I love him, I do," she insisted while sobbing. She looked desperate and guilty. "Can I write down my number for him to contact me if he changes his mind?" His mother's were wide, pleading, begging me to help her.

Ahhhh, Sam, just shut the door in her face. You should not get involved.

I wanted to scream at myself as I said, "let me get you something to write with," and I shut the front down while I grabbed a post-it note and a pen. Okay, maybe I was meddling, but I truly thought that when Noah cools down and thinks more on the situation, he'd want to contact her. I knew he'd regret it if he didn't.

Which is why I let his mother write down her number on the post-it before I told that she really had to leave before he got back. She listened and when I shut the front door, I tried calling Noah, but he sent me to voicemail.

I wanted to cry again, but I took a deep breath and willed myself not to. I set the post-it note on the kitchen counter and went back to sitting on the couch, watching the front door for Noah to return.

He didn't. I sat there for an excruciating three hours, calling him three more times and texting him about seventeen times to see where he's at and if he was okay, but I was left voicemails and 'delivered' notifications. I wanted to pull my hair out.

Then I noticed something and for some reason I decided to check it out. It was Noah's sketch book  sitting on the entertainment center. I grabbed it and flipped it open and you wouldn't guess the page I flipped to.

I drawn picture of a shirtless Jude. The picture was so detailed and I prayed it wasn't Noah's sketch book, that maybe his friend left theirs there. But on the bottom corner of the page was Noah's signature and a date, November 5th. Last week. I dropped the sketchbook like it was a flame to my hand. Why the hell was Noah drawing pictures of Jude?

Even if it was for a school project, Noah had plenty of friends to choose from for a portrait. Or, ya know, his boyfriend.

I'll bring it up tomorrow, I decided as I sat back down to wait for Noah, but the thought that there may be more drawings like that of Jude in Noah's book was making me feel nauseous.