Page 132 of Bad at Love
My phone rings,blasting its way through my dreams until I'm awake.
I reach over to the nightstand and fumble for it.
Marina.
It has to be her.
Please God, let it be her.
Even with my brain heavy from sleep, it's the first thing it latches onto.
Her.
Hope.
Hope that maybe, after everything, maybe she's willing to give me another chance. Maybe she can see what an idiot I've been, maybe she can search through my layers of bullshit, the armor and the masks, and find that part of me that's worth a second chance.
Maybe when she came home tonight after her night out, she saw what I did to her house.
But when I lift up the phone to my face, my eyes blinking rapidly at the garish light shining in my face, I don't see Marina's name come into view.
It's Noah's.
And it's past midnight.
The boy rarely calls me and never at this hour.
Without even knowing why, my heart is already in my throat.
Something is very wrong.
I answer it. "Noah?" I say, my voice craggy.
I hear sobbing in response.
Noah's crying.
Something inside my chest drops.
"Noah?" I say again. "Is that you? Are you okay? What happened?"
More sobbing, sniffling. Then someone yelling in the background.
"I'm going to kill you!” they yell, followed by a horrible slur.
Daryl's voice strikes through the air, the fear going straight to my heart.
"Noah!" I yell. "What's happening?"
"He knows," he manages to say through a pained sob. "Laz, I need help."
And then the yelling stops. His cries stop.
The line goes dead.
Holy shit.
I stare at the phone, wondering if I should call back. But if Daryl "knows"...no, there is no but. He does know. He knows and who knows what he's doing to him. If Noah needs help, he needs my help.
