Present Perfect(82)

“Me?!”

He walked up to me, wrapped his arms around my waist, and whispered in my ear, “Don’t be mad, Stick. I told you she wasn’t any good.” He started to nuzzle my neck.

“I have bone cancer, will probably have to have my leg amputated and go through chemo,” I said, flatly.

He stepped back. When he looked at me, his face was void of any emotion. I assumed he was waiting for me to finish, so I did.

“I just packed up my room. I’m not coming back next semester.”

He didn’t say anything for several minutes as he ran his hand through his hair.

He let go of a deep sigh and said, “I got the lead in next semester’s production.”

I thought I heard him wrong for a second. When I had played this conversation over in my head, this was not even a possible option of what I imagined he would say to me.

I headed to the door. I heard Matt’s footsteps behind me.

“Stick! Wait! You caught me off guard!” He grabbed my upper arm and spun me around to face him. “I didn’t know what to say to you. I thought you were coming to break up with me because you were mad about Danielle.”

“I don’t care about you enough to be mad about Danielle. I have to go. Noah’s waiting downstairs to drive me home.”

“Are you f*cking him?”

He still hadn’t let go of me. In fact, his grip had gotten tighter.

“What?” I tried to yank my arm away, but his hold was too strong. “Matt, let me go. You’re hurting me.”

“I’m not an idiot, Amanda. I see how you react whenever he calls. And he calls a lot. How long have you been f*cking him?”

“He’s my friend.” I yank again, harder, but still couldn’t free my arm.

The next few seconds happened so fast, it was a complete blur. I looked at Matt and saw a hand clamp around his neck and shove him up against the wall. He released his hold on my arm causing me to stumble backwards. When I looked up, I saw Noah’s hand tighten around Matt’s neck. Matt was gasping for air with each squeeze.

“A tight grip doesn’t feel so good when you’re the grippee, does it, Smurff*cker?” Noah put more pressure on Matt’s neck, completely cutting off any air flow. Matt’s eyes began to protrude and he was starting to turn blue. “Tweet, go get in the car.”

“Noah, he can’t breathe. Don’t kill him.”

“Go get in the goddamn car. Now!”

I turned and rushed out the door. Once in the hallway, I heard some loud thuds, grunts, and the sound of furniture breaking coming from the apartment. Within minutes the noises ceased, and Noah walked out, grabbed my hand, and led me back to the truck.

He flung opened the passenger door for me and I got in. I watched as he paced back and forth in front of his truck, trying to calm himself down. He walked over to the driver’s side. There were a couple of loud blows to the side of the truck just before he got in. I thought something had been thrown and hit the truck. He was clenching and unclenching his hand. I could see his knuckles were red from hitting something and someone.

“Noah, are you okay?”

“Has he hurt you before?” he asked through gritted teeth.

I wasn’t exactly sure how to answer him. Technically, Matt had never hit me. He almost did one time, but he claimed he was just playing.

“He’s never hit me.”

“Has he ever hurt you?”

“Just grabbing my arm a few times too tight, but he was drunk and…”

His chest was rising and falling faster, pumping oxygen in and out of him in short spurts. “Has he ever forced himself on you? Don’t lie to me.”

I hesitated for several seconds before answering. “Yes,” I whispered.

Noah began pounding relentlessly on the steering wheel. Seconds later, he shoved his door open and jumped out. I heard and felt the pounding of metal over and over again while he yelled, “Fuck!!” over and over.

He got back in the truck, turned the ignition, and sped out of the parking lot. Beads of sweat were dripping down his forehead.

“Noah…”

He raised his index finger and said in a low growl, “I can’t talk right now.” The entire hour and a half drive home, he wouldn’t talk to me.

He walked me to the front door. We decided to unload the truck the next day. I desperately tried to think of something to say while I fumbled for my keys.

“Thank you for everything and I’m sorry about…”

“What time is your appointment tomorrow?”

“The MRI is at 10 o’clock and I see the doctor at 3 o’clock.”

“I’ll be over at 8 to unload your stuff. We’ll have plenty of time to get to your appointment.”

“You don’t have to go. Both my parents will be with me.”

“I know I don’t have to go. I want to go. Get some sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” He gave me a kiss on the forehead and headed down the steps.

Tomorrow my life will start to change. It will be filled with doctor appointments, diagnostic tests, and hospitals instead of classes and frat parties. I will no longer be Amanda Kelly, journalism major. Instead I will be Amanda Kelly, cancer patient. As I watched Noah drive away, I realized that this was one of the last moments of anything ever being normal in my life.