When I was a kid, I used to adore surprises so much that it became the bane of my existence. You know, when you love something so much, you totally ignore the tactics used in achieving it, even if it was a lie employed to make sure you didn't get a hint of the idea on the curated plan? I didn't mind. I just always wanted to be surprised. Because when I saw the effort, and I calculated the estimated time my mum spent on rushing home to decorate my room, with hanging alphabet balloons arranged to spell CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR PERFOMANCE, and sprinkled shimmers she must have searched possibly multiple stores for, and the compliance of our small family of friends and neighbors been present to make me feel better on my failure. I felt special. The love behind surprises is impossible to ignore.
Just like the surprise in front of me right now. It's not the kind of surprise I appreciate or reminisce about. It's an unpleasant surprise brought by someone I didn't wish to see again, but I already opened my door to him, so I must say something to prove that I'm not dumbfounded over a course of hours.
I blink for half a second, and Liam has already made his way inside my hotel room. I don't recall letting him in. Boys aren't invited into my room.
"Hello," Noah echoes through my pods, my ears almost shrink from the loudness.
"Yeah, I got that, um…he's here with…Thank you, Noah." I fight down my words as I watch Liam proceed to my balcony.
"You haven't seen what's in the box yet, have you?" How could I have when your mischievous brother is still holding on tight to my supposed gift while he gives himself a room tour.
"I mean, still, thank you…Can I…can I call you back after checking it out?"
"Sure, of course," Noah says tiredly. I don't say anything after, and I think he gets the memo as he drops the call. Phewww. Now to the present situation. I draw a deep breath from both my nose and mouth, summoning the tolerance for crazy men that last time I checked, I didn't have in me.
I turn to see Liam resting his upper body on the balcony, with his broad back facing me. His physique is more toned than that of his brother, which is not my business. Except that I'm a little curious about how long it took him to achieve that. I got baby abs from core ballet practices, but that took over a year to attain.
"It was nice of you to volunteer to deliver that," I stretch my hand to receive my package. "Thank you, please, you may take your leave now," I say as he hands it over to me. Some of us have good home training and manners.
He watches me take the brown, flat, rectangular carton box to the white, long, shiny shelf beneath the hanging smart TV. I carefully place it in the first drawer. I do a swivel turn, facing him with an arching brow and a mean stare that would signal even the slowest person to use the door.
But it doesn't work on him; he doesn't look phased. Rather, he remains tall and annoyingly handsome in my space. My hotel room, like my actual space?. A male can't be in my space. The courage that I had built to walk him out quickly converts to fear. Fear of what they say men do when they are given the chance to be in a woman's space with her alone.
"About your apology earlier today, you shouldn't go to places you don't belong," he finally speaks for the first time since his arrival. "Don't go to clubs if you can't handle what they offer."
I think the air conditioner is broken because it has gotten unbearably hot. My fingers are vibrating, but it's from hunger. The wailing sirens are now so loud that I can't hear my inner mind's instructions on what to respond.
"Sorry?"
"Get dressed into something…better, you're coming with me," the scoff I scoffed. Something better? I don't look good in PJs? And where could we ever haply be going together?
"Sorry, what?" I question the second time, like I didn't get him clearly.
"One of Noah's arrangements," he shot his alluring gaze at the room and back to me. They have the potential to induce someone into the ocean to be eaten by mermaids. But that's not the entire vibe they hold; they look distressed, perhaps from having to carry out Noah's requests; nevertheless, I don't let unnecessary sympathy overwhelm my overbearing, emphatic mind by convincing myself he volunteered for obvious reasons to haunt me.
Noah took my request to show me around New York a little too seriously, but I'm enjoying every ounce of it. There has always been love at home, but getting it from external sources feels peculiar. I don't know if I can trust it like I trust Anna's. A part of me discriminates against the notion of this being too good to be real. But that thought is justifiable, knowing Noah has been a nice person towards me, just because he can. It's usually a rare occurrence, so I must appreciate it. Good people still exist, and Noah seems like one of those good people.
Regardless of how much I appreciate Noah's kind gestures, I'm not letting Liam take me anywhere. Not when I still have my dignity.
. . .
I'm sitting stoically in the passenger seat of Liam's jet black BMW M3 with my dignity screaming from my hotel room to be taken along with me. Sorry, girl, but Olivia doesn't make empty ultimatums. How did I get here?
Being the curious person I am, after Liam left, or so I thought, I unboxed the mystery box from Noah to find a card buried in shredded pink papers and fresh petals. The card read 'I'D BE HONOURED TO BE FRIENDS WITH YOU, MISS OLIVIA'. I remember freezing from unadulterated shock for a whole minute. I've only ever had one friend, and that is Anna. We didn't go through this official process to be friends; we literally just chose each other on one random day at school after my first week of resumption. So experiencing that in such a way felt unreal. I felt like a naive caveman, Cave-girl, rather than being introduced to cooked food, like maybe pasta.
Safe to say I felt way too much out of the excitement of getting a new friend.
I didn't know if I was going to make it, but I ran down the hotel in search of Liam, because I needed that free ride to Noah, my newfound friend. Lucky for me, he was just outside the hotel getting a gorgeous girl's contact from the look of things. How convenient. That pretty much explains why I'm in my dream car, his car.
I exhale away the swelling agitation in me that sprang from sharing such a small space with Liam, and allow my mind to drift off to half an hour ago in my hotel room. The thing about me is I feel too deeply, and then I wonder if I'm doing the right thing by letting myself feel that much. I don't know much about Noah, but I think it's riskless to say he is an intentional guy, an intentional friend.
I take that back, maybe I've been too fast with this, clothing him with the friendship tag already. The word friend is only an empty label if it's not backed up by genuine actions, so I can't do my best laugh yet; I have to hold it in for now.
I float back to reality when Liam does what I consider a dangerous screech and comes to a halt at a beach resort parking lot. It was supposed to be a 30-minute drive from the hotel, but my ever observant eyes follow his hands that are still wrapped around the steering wheel. Everything about the sight in front of me is tempestuous. With his arms still stretched forward towards me, I get to see a peek of his biceps that make my breath hitch. His knee-length shorts are now mid-thigh as he's seated with his legs agape. His thighs look strong and well-trained. Above his knee is a tiny written tattoo in an unfamiliar language. It's so brief, I believe it means in English I HATE PEOPLE. He genuinely looks like someone who would say that.
Against my will, my eyes lustfully wander between his thighs
"How many memory pictures have you gotten? I need to get down now."
My breath hitches again as I clutch my mini purse tightly. Lately, I've been feeling like a criminal caught doing everything but the right things. I've been finding myself in messy situations, but I blame it on the New York air and the handsome narcissist men they have here.
Liam left the car already, he's heading for a building with RECEPTION boldly written at the head-top. I can't spot Noah anywhere around, but I scurry behind Liam, my feet hurting badly inside my extremely tight flats.
Liam makes an entry payment to the receptionist, who answers every one of his inaudible requests with a wide smile. She looks so in love. Ugh, girls, why so easy? I examine my crusty nails. It's overgrown and requires filling, or better still, I need to get a new set done. This time around, maybe I'll try a stiletto
. The plan is to stuff my hands in my pockets the entire time I'll be with Noah; he mustn't see my nails this way. I must respect my pledge to show love to myself, like my mum taught me, by always looking presentable. And that's why even in a short space of time, I was able to pull a good fit. I'm wearing a pitch colored tube top, under a light white short open jacket, and a regular oversized blue jean that my belt helps sit perfectly on my waist. I packed my hair up in a sleek pony without the tail because it's rolled up in a bun.
Wearing something I feel comfortable in fuels my confidence. I shrug off the unease Liam's disapproval scowl leaves me with, ignoring his judgmental look, because I understand not everyone has a good eye. People are entitled to having tastes that differ from mine, but what you don't do is look at people that way, like they are poor, both in cash and in fashion sense. What the heck, I'm utterly irritated. Where is Noah?
"I don't see Noah anywhere," I techily say over the loud dinning beach house music as I hasten my pace to catch up with Liam, who's walking so fast ahead like he doesn't want to be spotted with me. I don't either. Gosh.
"He's not here," is all he dryly says.
"What do you mean by that?" Impatience is beginning to build a sand castle in me, and I don't see any sign of incoming waves that would wash it off. "Liam," I, with every atom of annoyance in me, call him to a standstill.
Liam gradually turns towards me with a look I once again cannot apprehend. My frustration grows even bigger wings as I can't access the tunnel of thoughts behind his light brown eyes just by looking at them. I feel a dash of peak crashout rush through my veins, but as much as I would love to keep it tamed, he's making it so much harder by not giving me anything to work with. I deserve an answer to my question, or maybe I don't; he already said I don't belong, he doesn't think I'm worth answering. He brought me here to humiliate me.
"I asked a question: where is Noah?" I speak from a place of hurt. Not from Liam's actions but from the pain of my tight flats.
"I hate to repeat myself," he doesn't blink an eyelid when he gruffly says those words. My impatience melts into magma, rushing up to my neck as I struggle to contain it, but I can no longer endure the burn. I want to run up to him, jumping on him as I bring him down with me. Then bite off his annoyingly perfect nose, leaving him nose-less.
"You coming?" Liam points towards the beach tent. And my eyes spot the clear blue water just in front of it that exhibits its creative curved wave stunts, washing off the letters a girl drew deep in the sand, as it laps the shore. She giggles, running after the water that retreats into its chambers in her sexy red bikini.
She's having the time of her life. I admire that for her. I want that for me too, the part where I giggle with a light heart, not a heart zipped in melancholy. I've grown exasperated in a flitting space of minutes. I don't know how I got this triggered, but I do know I can't take any more doses of whatever this is. It feels unhealthy. I'd explode if I were touched by the lightest feather. I hate how I feel; I blame it on this city. I want to leave, I miss my mum. I miss her food. I haven't had a decent meal for days. What am I doing here? Accepting a friendship proposal, making it to the beach to see my supposed friend who isn't even here. Been ill-treated for what exactly?
I don't need answers. I don't need a new friend, I don't need anybody. I'm fine alone with Anna and my mum. Those are the only people I'll ever be familiar with.
My heart is racing simultaneously fast, and my eyelids feel amicably heavy. They must not blink. I'd hate myself if they did right here in public. I need to leave, I can't deal with people who carry around obnoxious behavior that evokes out of me a depressing feeling I've managed to tuck in perfectly way before their arrival.
"I kissed you just once, once, and I was drunk, and what do you do with that? Taunt me? Disturb me with it?" I find myself saying at the top of my voice
"Did you like it that much? You can't seem to stop talking about it."
"You drove me all the way here to do this? Let me guess, Noah didn't ask you to bring me here, did he? God, how slow could I ever be? You are a horrible person for not knowing the boundaries. You have no idea what people have going on their heads, you just decide to pick a prey and frustrate them, adding to their problems. I don't need all of these, I genuinely don't." By the time I'm done talking, a hot liquid is already gliding down my chin, but thankfully, it's not tears. It's sweet. How am I sweating profusely at the beach?
I snatch my eyes from Liam's, turning abruptly. I zip my purse open with quivering hands. People are watching. I caused a scene. I drew attention. New York doesn't agree with me; it keeps making me go out of character.
I take a few hasty steps with my hands still rummaging through my purse. I can't find my pod. I hate this.
The tears that cluster around my eyes feel so hot, like they'd burn my cheeks if they spilled. My heart rate slows down to an alarming degree. I just need to leave here, but the chances of how I'd make my way out are getting exceedingly low, as my vision blurs and the last thing I see is my face collapsing onto the sandy ground.
In my head, before my eyes shut, I associate this moment with WINDSAILOR by Obongjayar, one of Aunty Lina's favorite songs.
'Man, I love this place, but it's breaking my heart. I'm afraid…'