“Didn’t I tell you earlier it’s not a good idea for you to be out walking the beach alone at night?” Noah accuses, and I’m surprised by his change in tone.
It bugs me. More the concern than the judging, for some incomprehensible reason.
“Well, I think Jonah has been neutralized.” I quip.
For now, I continue inwardly, a breath shy of thanking Noah for his help tonight, my completely unwarranted ego preventing me from swallowing down my pride and following through.
“I think I’m safe from psycho ex-boyfriends for the time being,” I add with more conviction than I believe in, hoping my casual affectation comes off as more convincing than I actually feel. Especially considering I don’t actually have any other ex-boyfriends. In fact, I’m not sure that Jonah himself was ever truly my ‘boyfriend’ at all.
“Liza...” The drawn-out sound of my name in Noah’s deep, gravelly timbre almost distracts me from his skeptical tone.
Almost.
But I can’t deny that, despite not bothering to elaborate, Noah’s point isn’t lost on me.
Surely, Jonah isn’t all there is to worry about when it comes to the world at large. Even in our relatively safe, seaside neighborhood.
But I can’t seem to admit to myself that reality gets worse than tonight. Intelligently, I know better, but, right now, just the thought is more than I can bear.
“You’ve had a rough night,” Noah insists. “Let me just order you a car.” He's being diplomatic, I know, but I also hear the words he’s holding back.
He doesn’t think I can handle myself. And after what just went down in the dunes, why would he?
For some inexplicable reason, I find that idea more shameful than anything else, even after everything that’s gone down this evening.
“No thanks. I’m good,” I persist, refusing to be babied, even by him. I’m fucking eighteen, for God’s sake, barely months younger than Noah himself.
I don’t await a reply, because I’ve no doubt it would just include more of the same. And I’m not sure I could even really begrudge him that after everything.
But too much has occurred to make even the most basic sense of, let alone debate, so I simply turn my back on my undeniable savior—as humiliating as it is for me to admit that that’s what Noah was tonight—and I start walking the twenty or so minute trek up-beach, toward Arizona Street, knowing that home is the only place I might find some respite in this moment.
I keep my gaze focused on the low-set horizon, the rippled reflection of the nearly-full moon casting its light onto the empty beach in soft light and dim shade.
Despite telling myself to keep my eyes peeled—to remain careful and vigilant—my recent trauma overtakes rational thought, and I only scarcely register the lone jogger on the boardwalk thirty or so yards to my right, and two stories above me.
Similarly, it’s at least a few minutes before I realize I’m not alone on the beach, either.
A wary glance over my shoulder reveals just as I suspected, and, uninvited as he may be, I’m relieved to confirm that my company is a comfort and not yet another threat.
Noah.
4
He has maintained a safe, respectful distance of no more—and no fewer—than ten feet behind me, the whole way past the grassy dunes. And he shows no sign of slowing. Or accelerating, for that matter.
It would appear he’s decided t
o follow me, like some kind of protective shadow or something. At least, that’s where his agenda seems to lie, if recent events are to be taken at face value, anyway.
If it were literally anyone else, I have no doubt I would be frightened enough into a confrontation.
Another one.
But something in me sincerely believes that Noah’s intentions, annoying—and borderline insulting—as they may be, come from a genuine place of good. And with the night I’ve had—we've had—I can’t bring myself to give him more shit over it.
It’s equally comforting and off-putting. Comforting for obvious reasons, and off-putting not because I fear him—after all, he’s had ample time to take advantage of the quiet, desolate beach, if that were his intention. But because, for some inexplicable reason, Noah appears to have taken it upon himself to become my self-appointed goddamned chaperone or something, and the thought agitates me more and more with each footprint I leave in my wake, with each of Noah's ensuing steps, as they heedlessly bury mine beneath his own.
I manage to hold onto my temper until we’re passing the beach of the Aqualina club, when I finally turn to challenge him.