Wait For Me

Chapter 3.

Three - and a half, thanks to my numerous toilet breaks - hours later, the car stilled and the sudden stop flung my weight off the backseat and I hit the floor like a sack of potatoes. The muffled whirring sound of passing traffic leaked into the quiet car as Noah rolled the window down. My temples throbbed and I muttered incoherent curses to myself before I attempted to sit up in vain; the strength in my legs was weak and I slid back down, exhaling with frustration.

"Are we there?" I managed to grumble as I hauled myself up to the seats. Noah turned the engine off before he leaned back, turning his head to the back of the car.

"Behold, The Pegasus!" He announced sardonically, nodding his head to the building squeezed between a grocery and a newspaper shop on the corner.

Small squares of thick glass in latticed mahogany frames made up the dark curved bay windows nestled within the old brickwork. A sign creaked as it swung above us with a painting of a winged horse and The Pegasus written beneath it in old medieval writing. It was like something out of Diagon Alley. The heavy double doors were shut tight and I turned to Noah with a bewildered look.

"Why is it closed?" I asked, leering over the back of his seat.

"It's closed because half past five in the morning." Noah recoiled, grimacing. "FYI, you smell like a wet dog soaked in alcohol."

"FYI?" I scoffed. "What are you, a twelve year old girl?"

"You need to clean up, big time." He insisted, disregarding my remark completely. "Do you really think it's right to see her in this state? And you really need a shave."

The man in the rear view mirror looked nothing like the Zachary Caldwell I was four years ago. I brushed my knuckles across my beard and sighed. He was correct, as usual. My once piercing dark eyes were dull and bloodshot, I was still wearing the suit I had on all day at work the previous day and I no longer had a confident presence anymore.

"I like the beard." I protested like a child.

"You look like a yeti." Noah asserted plainly.

"You're a baby faced househusband but do you see me complaining?" I retorted.

"I'm not a househusband!" he exclaimed immediately. "I own the publishing house and I've been doing your job for the past year and a half!"

Before I could reply, three hard knocks rapped on the window and we both turned to the person standing outside the car. The man must have been 6'3" at the very least, bald as a vulture and as big as an ox. He folded his bulging biceps as he stared at us with a stone cold expression. It was silent for a few seconds before the colossal man began hollering with laughter heartily.

"You silly bastards, quibbling like girls!" he guffawed, opening the car door and practically dragging Noah out from his seat like a rag doll before gripping him in a headlock.

I panicked, scrambling out of the car to do something. "What the fuck are you doing?!" I bellowed, attempting to pull Noah out of his grasp. The man kept laughing as he let go of Noah, hitting him on the back with a huge grin.

"Calm down Cinderella, he's my nephew. I wouldn't harm a hair on that pretty blonde bombshell head of his." He chuckled.

"This is my Uncle Phil you idiot." Noah informed me, rolling his eyes.

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "Sorry."

"No hard feelings lad, hungover is it?" Phil smiled, showing a gap where one of his canines should have been. He noticed me looking, and smacked his lips. "Got knocked out by a couple of big blokes that were causing trouble in the pub, if you were wondering."