— Chapter 15 —

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I want to crawl into a hole and die.

Emptiness was usually the only thing I felt when I woke up in the mornings.

I'd find myself looking up at the ceiling with a blank stare, blinking slowly and breathing quietly. I would wonder what the whole point of everything was—always waking up to the same routine, getting through every day with a gross numbness, and never feeling like anything truly mattered.

It wasn't like this once.

Letting out a quiet whine, I shuffled between my sheets and pulled the blankets over my head, shielding myself from the blaring light coming from my window. I didn't want to move. I could hardly speak. My throat felt like it was burning.

I could vaguely remember my father splashing water on my face after I'd fallen unconscious, jerking me out of the darkness I'd succumbed to. Little fragments of memory reminded me that he was the one who'd carried me to bed, too. At least he cared for me enough not to leave me on the floor.

I hadn't ever felt pain like I had last night, crying out silently into my pillow as I begged for the pain to stop—at least for long enough so that I could fall back under the blissful waves of sleep. Instead, I did nothing but fight with my bedsheets for hours, holding back the urge to sob at the aching coursing through my veins.

My throat felt sore, and I couldn't move much without feeling a striking pain in my side. The pounding headache at the back of my mind wasn't much help, either, and I couldn't help but notice the stinging in my arms from when my father had clawed into me last night.

It was a hassle to call in sick to Eve the night before. Even putting myself in the wrong position made me want to throw up.

I wasn't rostered on for a shift at Joe's tonight. Thankfully, too. I didn't have to drag my ass out of bed before midday, for once. I had no commitments, no bills due to pay, nothing that needed urgent attention. I didn't have to deal with any rowdy bikers, either, and I especially didn't have to deal with my old man.

Then it hit me.

Oh my god—Noah.

Snapping a hand out from the ball of sheets I'd curled myself under, I felt around my bedside table for a few moments before I found the outline of my phone and pulled it off its charger.

Squinting in annoyance at the bright screen, I slowly adjusted and rested my gaze on the notification being displayed.

Yesterday at 11:14 pm

I'd totally bailed on him the night before.

Fuck me, I grumbled to myself. Finding the effort to open my messages despite the raging headache at the back of my mind, I found Noah's contact and typed with a blurry gaze.

Today at 12:27 pm

Elliot:

His reply was almost instant, catching me off guard.

Noah:

Elliot:

Noah:

Crave. I'd almost forgotten that I'd agreed to go with him.

So much for my day off.

Elliot:

Noah:

Noah:

I sighed, tossing my phone to some corner of my bed and gently rubbing my tired eyes.

Maybe going out tonight wouldn't be so bad. I needed the fresh air, and something to take my mind off things. Crave had decent alcohol, too—and alcohol was always the solution to every problem, apparently.

And some part of me wanted to see Noah again. Noah, whose presence always made me feel strangely warm. A part of me hated that I couldn't help but feel soft inside whenever he smiled at me with those shiny, honey-colored eyes of his. I was... comfortable around him.

Isn't that something? I scoffed lightly to myself, pressing my face into my pillow.

For now, I just wanted a few more hours of sleep—until the beams of light coming through my window weren't fuelling my raging headache anymore.

Letting out a raspy cough, I curled myself up beneath my covers and rested my heavy eyelids shut. Just for a few more hours.

Perhaps I'd bitten off more than I could chew.

Standing awkwardly before the mirror that afternoon, I couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with my own reflection. Uncomfortable... because I could see first-hand just how unappealing I looked.

My lip was busted on one side, with a small bruise just beneath it to match. There was a tiny cut on the side of my cheek, too, though it had already scabbed up and wasn't so noticeable. My skin was paler than usual and there were subtle shadows beneath my eyes.

The marks around my neck were the worst part.

I could almost make out the individual fingers of my father's hands, leaving soft, brown marks as a reminder of just how far I'd pushed my luck the night before. I could cover up with layers of clothes, but it still made me sick.

After letting out a cough, I picked out a stray hairband from one of the drawers and stared blankly at my hair.

It was getting long.

The strands were hanging just above my shoulders now, and the clear signs of my dark roots growing in made it all look like a damn mess. The rest of it had been lightened a while ago to a pale, light brown, but I'd been thinking of bleaching it back to my old blonde for a while.

Pinching the ends between my fingers for a moment, I eventually sighed and pushed the hairs out of my face, turning away from the mirror.

I should cut it soon.

After tying the top half back and fixing my chain earrings, I got dressed in more layers than I usually did. A black t-shirt with a thick, grey hoodie and an oversized black jacket, to go with old cargo pants and worn-out trainers.

Every part of me ached, but not as strongly as before, considering the near-dangerous amount of painkillers I'd choked down to make myself able to stand. The pounding in my head had died down, too, though my movements felt slow and uncoordinated. I wasn't planning on being out for long, anyway. Just enough to make my presence known.

The club was on the busier side of the city. Boston wasn't exactly known for its bustling nightlife, but there were a few places that still managed to stay open past two am. Crave was one of them.

It was a decent bus ride and a walk from my place. By the time I'd arrived, it was already buzzing with activity—a line had formed outside the front doors.

My eyes landed on the few motorcycles parked alongside the building, proudly displayed with polished metal and stickers that read ''.

Noah's bike wasn't anywhere in the group, though, which made me frown as I waited in line to go in.

I didn't know much about motorcycles to be honest, but I liked Noah's. It wasn't over-the-top or flashy, instead elegant and exuding a wild and dangerous charm—much like Noah himself, actually. It was the fastest one in the Stray Dogs too, which was apparently important.

He's not here yet? I thought to myself, hoping that I hadn't shown up early. It's just past ten.

Shaking my head, I turned my attention to the building and got out of my own head.

Crave certainly looked much better than it did back when I used to frequent it. The neon signs outside were bright, ice-blue, matching nicely with the dark navy paint job they'd done. It was bigger, too—I figured they must've bought out the space next door for added room.

Finally heading inside, I descended down the marble stairs and flinched slightly at the bass-heavy music pulsing through the club as I entered. A ringing sound was subtle in my ears for a few moments as I adjusted to the atmosphere, resting a slightly widened gaze on the hundreds of heads in the large space.

Oh, yeah. It was definitely different.

It looked so much bigger inside than it did on the outside. I realized quickly it was because they'd opened up the second story—an extensive glass banister sectioned off what appeared to be lavish VIP sections overlooking the packed dance floor and newly renovated bar.

Everything was illuminated by colored spotlights and neon lighting, flashing different hues in time with the music. It all reflected off the shimmering floor, too. There was a large stage at the other wall, occupied by an impressive DJ and surrounded by massive speakers.

Considering how it had looked in the past, I almost didn't recognize the place.

Snapping out of my temporary daze, I pulled out my phone and moved out of the walkway. I found Noah's contact and opened our messages.

Today at 10:34 pm

Elliot:

After a few moments with no answer, I bit the side of my cheek and exhaled softly. Finding the only free stool by the bar, I took a seat and placed my phone on the counter. A bartender took notice of me as I pulled out my card, ready to order.

The shiny counter was much bigger than the one at Joe's, with neon strip lights illuminating the alcohol bottles and shiny glasses on the wall behind it. I could spot four bartenders working, smiling, and making fancy drinks for the patrons. The energy was an incredible improvement compared to how low-key it was in the past.

Pushing back the locks of hair fanning my face, I let out a soft cough before the bartender eventually stopped before me.

"What can I get ya'?" They asked politely, resting a cloth over their shoulder.

"Double shot of vodka. Cold, preferably. Smirnoff works," I requested, reciting the same order I typically had. "Please."

There was a pause.

Then, "Holy. Fucking. Shit."

I snapped my head up at the words. My gaze came to rest on a familiar face, and for a split second, I couldn't register who I was looking at.

But the name quickly popped into my head as I saw the black curls, honey-brown skin, and silver lip piercing staring me in the face.

"...Riven?" I blurted, surprise immediately crossing over my expression.

"Well, Christ—don't just stand there!" He laughed, sticking out his hand. With a smile on my face, I met it with my own, leaning over the table to meet his embrace. It put a strain on the muscles in my neck.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, speaking loudly over the music. There was hoarseness to my voice. "Didn't you move back to Sydney?"

He nodded with wide eyes. "Yeah, I got back a few months ago. I can't believe you're still here—I would've tried to reach you if I knew you were still around. Jesus—how have you been, Eli? What've you been up to? Feel's like forever since I've last seen you."

Forever, I found myself repeating.

I answered him as he went to get the vodka for me. "I've been alright. I'm bartending now. Granted, my place isn't as fancy as this, but... I'm enjoying it."

"That's awesome, dude!" He said eagerly, showcasing that subtle Australian accent of his. "The student has become the master. I feel so proud."

I owed everything I knew about bartending to Riven. When I first met him through James back as a junior, Riven was about eighteen and working at Crave as a part-timer. Noticing that I'd taken an interest in his craft, he had offered to teach it to me on the condition that I got my bartending license first. I picked it all up relatively quickly after that.

"Look at you," he continued with a grin, resting a double shot glass before me and undoing the cap of a Smirnoff bottle. "Still don't drink anything other than cold vodka, I bet—and your hair. I can't believe it's still the same after all this time. You really haven't changed."

"Is that a bad thing?" I chuckled shyly, instinctively taking a lock of hair between my fingers.

Pouring the smooth liquid into the glass, he clicked his tongue and flashed me his pearly whites. "Nah, not at all. I think it's nice."

Riven looked good. His dark head of curly hair was slightly longer than I remembered, with an undercut to match. He'd gotten a few more piercings, too. There was silver metal at his lip and at his slitted eyebrow, as well as many studs around his ears. And he appeared to be more buff, considering the dimensions of his shoulders and how defined his arm muscles were.

"Who cares about me—how've you been?" I grinned, curling my fingers around the glass. "How's Australia?"

"Hot," he joked, as I took my time to swallow the vodka. It stung the back of my throat, making me cringe slightly. Riven continued, "Yeah, I've been doing alright. Finished trade school back in Sydney. Kind of hated it, though. Moved back here in December with my brother, found out this place was re-opening and applied for one of the openings. I'm the manager now, actually."

My eyes widened, pleasantly surprised. "You're the manager?"

He grinned, "Only for the bar, but yep. And this place looks different now, doesn't it? Hard to believe it was just a small hole in the wall a few years ago."

There was a small pull on my lips as a few warm memories came to mind. Succumbing to a soft cough, I cleared my throat and flashed my gaze to the club for a moment.

Speaking fondly, I said, "I think it looks great."

He poured me another shot as I opened my mouth to speak again, knowing exactly what I wanted before I even got the request out. A small chortle left my lips.

Passing me an amused look, he said, "All we need now is to get the old band back together. I got drums, Nate on guitar, James on that swanky piano of his, and you on the mic. I can already see it now."

Gesturing to the stage with his hands as if envisioning it exactly in his mind, I cringed slightly at his words and laughed for a bit at the idea. But my humor slowly died down as I began to focus too much on that one specific name.

I brought it up with a casual tone of voice, trying my best to make sure he could hear me over the music. "You still talk to James?"

Riven shrugged.

"We used to text sometimes," he told me. "But not much anymore. A label in LA signed him a while ago. He produces music full time now, apparently."

A producer? I frowned briefly to myself.

"That bastard really did it, then," I said with a subtle tone of disbelief in my voice. Briefly raising the shot glass as if making a toast at his success, I added, "Good for him."

Shooting the alcohol to the back of my throat, I swallowed every last drop despite the burning of the alcohol and the pain in my neck. James had always been in love with music and had even thrown around the idea of pursuing it as a career, but I never thought he was being serious about it.

Changing the topic, Riven smirked, "Are you still singing these days?"

I choked at his words.

"Oh, God no," I said, shaking my head.

"Really?" He asked. "Damn. If I had a voice like yours, I'd never shut up."

The bartender beside him, who must've overheard, pointed out with a snicker, "You never shut up as it is."

Riven rolled his eyes. "Alright, wise-guy."

Turning back to me, he shook his head as I laughed with the other bartender. After they left to serve a customer, I turned up a smile to Riven, feeling warmth in my cheeks. I never did know how to react to compliments.

"Thanks, Riv," I said to him, tapping my card to the table to let him know I wanted to pay. I never trusted myself with tabs—they tended to bring out my habit of bad spending. "But yeah... my singing days are over."

Leaving him a nice tip, he smiled at the gesture and passed the card terminal over to me.

As I paid for my drinks, he said, "Alright, man, if you say so. But we have an open mic night here on Fridays—y'know, if you change your mind."

I answered, "Good to know."

Just as the payment went through, my phone flashed up on the counter. Turning it to get a better look, I squinted to read the words on the screen, feeling the drunk haze that the shots had already brought over me. I never was one to handle my liquor.

(1) Message from Noah Black:

Confused, I turned my gaze upwards, feeling slightly stupid when I realized I was staring up at nothing but the bare ceiling. Jeez, I thought, slightly embarrassed with myself. I registered quickly that he meant for me to look to the second floor.

Turning my head, I trailed my gaze along the glass railing of the upper level, taking a bit of time before I finally saw him. The lights bothered me—a pounding echoed in my mind as I adjusted to all the different spotlights blaring in the club.

A small smile pulled onto Noah's lips as I spotted him.

Oh, god... I thought to myself, noticing just how incredibly attractive he looked at that moment.

Snapping out of my daze and looking at Riven, I said, "I have to go meet with a friend, but it was great seeing you, Riv. Is your number still the same? I'll call you sometime."

He nodded.

"I still can't believe I ran into you. What are the odds, huh?" Riven asked rhetorically, a friendly shine in his eyes. "Yeah, my number's still the same. We'll catch up soon, yeah?"

"Definitely," I said.

He offered me a brief wave as I got to my feet. "Alright. You go enjoy yourself, ya' hear me? And don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"Oh, because you're so responsible," I laughed. "Bye, Riv."

"See ya', Elliot."

Waving my hand in Riven's direction before I left the bar, I turned back up to see Noah still leaning against the glass railing.

My breath caught in my throat at the sight of him.

Resting his elbows against the railing with his hands hung over the side, the rings on his fingers sparkled brilliantly under the lighting. His black, leather jacket hung off one shoulder, with the distressed shirt he had on perfectly defining the muscles in his arms.

The colored lights hit him at all the right angles. I could make out his defined jawline and lean muscle regardless of the distance between us, but something else quickly caught my attention.

He had tattoos.

How hadn't I realized before? His jacket always covered them up, but I couldn't believe it had taken me so long to find out about them.

I couldn't make his tattoos out exactly, but it looked to be a sleeve extending just to the bottom of his neck. And if I didn't find him attractive before... God. Noah was absolutely breathtaking at that moment.

He flicked his wrist, making a quick gesture for me to come over.

I nodded hesitantly. Slowly moving through the crowd, I tried to spot how exactly I was supposed to get up there. It wasn't until my gaze landed on the large staircase and the two bouncers standing by it that it hit me.

They reserved the VIP section.