MIA
There are some things that I look back on and wonder why I ever did it in the first place. If I were to ever rethink the fact that I actually wanted to go and talk things out with Noah, I would have definitely regretted it.
Maybe it was Morgan's death. Maybe that made me not want to do anything hasty or sudden or without considering the consequences first. After all, maybe if I'd thought things through before my transformations, she would have still been alive.
I went straight from apologizing to Dad about my makeovers to sitting back in Mom's salon chair as she snapped on her hair-dying gloves and began to section my hair back in pieces. This time was different, though. It wasn't a transformation I was using to escape from my problems or cause trouble. I honestly did want a solution, and the only way I could ever have closure was if I talked to Noah--and not as Nicole.
So I sat in that chair as let Mom dye my hair and do my makeup, turning me into someone else yet again. When I explained the situation to her, she thought it would be reminiscent if I looked similar to Katherine, so she gave me red hair. The circumstances of the last few weeks were the last things I wanted to remember, but I let her do as she wished because I really couldn't care less what I looked like.
Instead of feeling calm as she worked, I found myself reflecting upon everything I had done. Sitting in that chair became like torture as I was forced to remember all the times I'd been in that chair before, and the things I had done. I'd destroyed my little brother's trust in me, uncovered the truth behind my boyfriend's actions, defied my parents, torn apart my parents' marriage, and killed my best friend.
My breath caught and I squinted my eyes shut tightly, against the sunlight streaming through the windows. I tried to block out the cheerful pop music playing from the speakers, too, but I couldn't make myself not hear. The second Mom finished, I stood from the chair as quickly as possible, not even bothering to look in the mirror.
Mom had told me what she was doing as she worked. I had an enormous spray of freckles painted onto my face, fire-engine red hair, and pale skin. It was enough just knowing--I didn't want to see another girl's face where mine should have been.
I knew Noah was working at Aroma Mocha, so I hurried to drive to the shopping plaza after a quick stop at home to change my contacts and wardrobe. It was a beautiful April afternoon, which seemed contrary to all of the depressing emotions that were flowing through me right now, but I didn't even want to think about that. I just wanted to drive and talk to Noah and then go home, where I'd be one step closer to having this entire mess behind me.
As if to get to the shopping plaza faster, I pressed my foot harder against the gas and sped through an intersection, passing several cars in the lane next to me. When I'd finally swung into a parking spot across the street from the coffee shop and got out of the car, the drive had improved my mood slightly. I'd need all the patience I could possibly muster in order to confront Noah right now.
Taking deep breaths, I crossed the street and then swung open the door to the coffee shop, where the all-too familiar smell of coffee beans and the all-too familiar sight of Noah in his barista's apron greeted me.
I quickly got in the short line by the counter and waited, running my fingers through my long red hair over and over again. I'd had to look at myself in the mirror to put on my blue contacts, and I had seen a girl who hadn't looked like me at all. Instead of feeling relieved, I'd been hurt that I could have ever wanted this. I'd also been scared, because now I finally realized how easy it was to lose myself, and I never wanted to again.
The line advanced, and I was next. Noah was watching me expectantly, his deep brown puppy-dog eyes surveying me with professional impatience.
"Hi," I said, bringing my hand down from my hair so that I didn't look nervous. I worked to keep my voice level and steady, exactly how I'd rehearsed in my head over and over again. "I'm a friend of Nicole Thorn's."
Noah's brow furrowed. "I'm at work right now," he said. "Are you going to order anything? If not, I'm going to have to ask you to move."
I didn't even blink at his rudeness; it was something I was way too accustomed to. "I know exactly what you're up to," I said.
He just stared at me blankly, and I cleared my throat before insisting, "Everything. With Lindsay and Hannah and the dare and Erin and--"
"Stop." He held up his hand, and it struck me again how enormous his palm was. How he had held me to the wall that day as Hannah, how much I'd been afraid then. "Who are you?"
He seemed to have forgotten all about his request for me to move aside. When I glanced behind me, I saw no line had formed, so I quickly resumed talking, my voice earnest. "I already told you, I'm a friend of Nicole's," I explained. "My name's Mia."
Just like that, I stuck out my hand and let him shake it. There were no sparks as our hands met and his fingers lightly wrapped around mine, and as soon as he let go, I went back to messing with my hair.
"Are you angry?" he asked, emotionlessly, his eyes not leaving mine.
I hadn't expected him to ask this question, and I hadn't rehearsed an answer. Shouldn't it have been a given that I was angry--after all, I had just told him that I knew every last thing he had done. And he hadn't even apologized.
"Of course I'm angry," I said finally, but I didn't really look at him when I said it. I didn't want him to see just how mad and hurt and frustrated I actually was.
Noah reached down and started playing with the unused coffee cups stacked on the counter absentmindedly, his head down and his somewhat floppy hair shielding his expression. When he looked up at me, he asked, "Are you going to tell her?"
"She already knows."
I hadn't been planning on saying it. I hadn't wanted to admit anything to him until Saturday. But as Mia, I had wanted to talk to him, to see if he had any regret. He clearly didn't, but I didn't even feel bad about it anymore. Maybe it was because I was just so used to the awful way he treated me, and nothing would have surprised me anymore. Who knew how many other girls he had seen these past few weeks in addition to Erin and Hannah and Lindsay and all the others?
Noah had broken my heart shamelessly that night out on the porch, when I'd been Hannah and he'd told me everything. I'd kept going with my transformations, hoping he would explain and mend it for me. He hadn't. I'd had to tape the shattered pieces together myself. It had been done messily, and I wasn't sure how long it would last, but for now I felt stronger for it. I wasn't going to let him shatter me to pieces anymore.
Noah cleared his throat, clearly not sure what to say. After a few more seconds of fiddling with the coffee cups, he looked up to see that a line had started behind me. "Listen," he said, his voice rough, "I really want to talk. Can we meet after my shift? I'm done in half an hour."
"I don't think you have much explaining to do," I said stonily.
"Please." There was something in his eyes that I'd never seen before, and I realized that he was genuinely pleading for me to agree. "I'm not going to try anything, I promise. I just need to explain."
The way he had said that reminded me of Morgan, and I realized I had to listen even if I chose not to believe him. "Fine," I said, stepping aside so the customer behind me could place her order. "But I hope you have something decent to say."
While he continued to wait on customers, brew coffee, and take orders, I sat at a table in the back and continued twirling my hair around my index finger. I didn't care if it made me look girlish or shallow--it helped me think, and that was exactly what I needed right now. To Noah's credit, he was careful not to flirt with customers as they entered and exited the shop, probably because he didn't want me to go tattletaling to Nicole Thorn anymore. Was that who he thought I was? A tattletale who was trying to get involved in his personal business?
In exactly half an hour, he emerged from behind the counter with his apron off, revealing a blue plaid button-down that somehow seemed to enhance his dark eyes.
"Can we take a walk?" he asked.
I just shrugged and tucked my hair behind my ear before following him out of the shop. We walked in silence for a few seconds, his hands stuffed deep in his pockets, before he turned to me and asked, "How did you find out?"
"I hang out around Aroma Mocha a lot," I said pointedly. "Plus, I have a lot of friends. News gets around."
He didn't question this at all, and he didn't make any move to deny what he'd been doing. Maybe he knew it was useless, or maybe he didn't care anymore. I was honestly beyond trying to understand his warped motives.
I was starting to question why he'd even wanted to talk to me in the first place when he cleared his throat and said nervously, "I actually have an explanation. Not that you'll believe it."
"I probably won't," I said honestly. "But I guess it wouldn't hurt to hear it."
We had reached a bench, and Noah sat down and laced his fingers together while I took a seat beside him, as far away from him as I possibly could be. Based on his tendencies to randomly and abruptly push the physical touch boundaries, I figured I should stay away from him as much as possible.
"My dad left when I was six," he said finally, not looking at me. "He ditched me and my mom and moved to Vegas to be with some showgirl."
I tried to get a look at him, tried to see if there was truth in his eyes, but his head was angled away to face the street opposite of us. He was either ashamed to be saying this or lying, and the trouble was I didn't know which.
His either complete sob story or totally fabricated lie didn't end there, however. "I haven't gotten to see him since then," he explained heavily. "I really wanted to, so I proposed a Vegas trip this summer to the guys. I can't afford a plane ticket, though."
"You can't afford a plane ticket?" I asked, leaning forward so I actually could see his face. Noah Murdock couldn't not afford anything. True, the house I'd visited him in as Erin hadn't been large, but it was a well-known fact around the school that his family was well-established.
Noah's lips formed a thin, thin line. "I can't," he said simply. "You don't have to act so surprised."
"I am surprised," I said, not bothering to curb my rude bluntness. "You're supposed to be rich, Noah."
His eyes met mine for the first time since we'd sat down, challenging me. "Spoiler alert," he said, snapping a little. "Things aren't always what they seem. Do you think I'd be working in this wreck of a coffee shop if I didn't have to?" He threw up his hands, gesturing vaguely in the direction of Aroma Mocha. "Do you think I'd work so hard at lacrosse so I could get that full ride to college?"
"But--" I struggled for a way for this to not make sense, so that I'd know he was lying, and it came to me instantly. "You told Lindsay you'd buy her a plane ticket."
"I lied. Come in, it's not that new. You don't have to act so naive."
I bristled at that. He'd called Nicole naive countless times for falling into his trap, for honestly believing that he'd cared about her. I still didn't even know if I believed him--even if it was true, though, it didn't justify his actions. He was still a heartbreaker and a liar and a cheat. Nothing could change that.
"I made the guys give me a dare for a plane ticket," he continued. He'd turned away again. "I didn't expect them to pick something like that. It's awful, what I did to Nicole, but I had to. I have to. I've got to get over there and--"
"Stop." I held up my hand to silence him, my voice cracking. I didn't know how much of this I could listen to. Angrily, I grasped his chin and pulled it towards me, but when I looked into his honey brown eyes I couldn't tell if there was something deceitful in there or not. He'd lied to me so many times that I didn't even know what his poker face looked like.
"Stop what?" he asked.
I let go of his face, disgusted, and twisted my hands together in my lap. "I don't know if what you're saying is true or not," I said, staring down at the concrete so that I didn't cry, "But I do know that what you did to Nicole was unjustifiable. No girl deserves to be treated like that, Noah."
"I know. I regret it so much--"
"Then why don't you stop?" I demanded. "The dare's not over yet. If you feel bad enough, break it off and break up with her so that you can bounce from girl to girl like you used to and evidently still did when you two were together."
"I can't. I can't stop it." He squinted his eyes shut tightly, trying to block everything out. I'd done that same thing so many times before, and I knew it couldn't be blocked out. I'd tried so hard to ignore my problems, and I had never succeeded.
Chewing down on my lip, I asked, with a little more sincerity than before in my voice, "Then why didn't you at least stay loyal to Nicole while she was your girlfriend?"
"I can't," he said stubbornly, opening his eyes. "I'm not that kind of guy. I hate relationships and I hate having to be with someone like that. All relationships end up in the dust in the end, anyway."
And then he'd turned again so that all I could see was the back of his head, and I found unwanted tears starting to prick at the corners of my eyes. This wasn't how it was supposed to be. Noah wasn't supposed to be like this--a confused, lost boy just like I'd been, trying to find his place and failing. Was he even telling the truth? What if he was just playing me for pity? I'd never know.
Quietly, I asked, "Are you going to end the dare?"
"No." His voice was so firm, so resolute, that I knew there'd be no questioning it. My work here was done.
I stared at him, long and hard, one last time before I stood. It felt like leaving behind a part of me, walking away from this boy who had consumed my life and fantasies for so long. I'd memorized the freckle on the left side of his face and the way his laugh lines brought out his dimples, the way his straight teeth had always gleamed at me and how his strong, capable hands had always known what to do. But he'd played with and broken my heart so many times that I could never take him back--especially when I didn't even know if his excuse was real.
It hurt the most that I couldn't even trust him to not have fabricated this entire backstory that I'd never known, because even though it lined up with everything I knew about him, he was such a liar that I wouldn't have been surprised if he'd made it all up. I'd given him so many chances, and he'd went and wasted them all. I couldn't turn back now.
With a final glance, I walked away from him, my combat boots thudding on the pavement, matching my heartbeat. It was the only sound I heard as I walked towards my car, my strides purposeful. And I prided myself on never looking back.