Chapter 32: 32. A PRIVATE SHOW

“Are you back to punk?” Rose laughs as she points at Noah’s outfit.

He’s aware he looks like a short-haired Riley— maybe a slightly less aggressive style— with his red plaid skinny pants, and a rock T-shirt, accompanied by a worn-out leather jacket and some chains attached to his waist. He’s chosen the least striking clothes from Riley’s closet, still very much blatantly different from his usual outfits.

“Just for the night,” Noah jingles the chains, looking at the bathroom mirror. It looks like a costume.

He remembers her electric blue wig, long and smooth, moving with the rhythm of her hips. The neons training her smiling teeth blue, and the shadows covering almost the entirety of her face. She’s dancing, her hands joined with someone else’s. And if he just could focus his eyes, if he could look more closely…

He sits in the windowsill, earphones blasting music, as he looks at the passing cars below. The night is colder, and Noah sees some dark-looking clouds approaching on the horizon. The air seems to be crackling, as if waiting for the storm. At almost midnight, the illuminated street is almost empty, except for the ones looking for entertainment. There’s a couple doing zig zags on the sidewalk, the guy’s arm is embracing her shoulders. Her laugh is intoxicated by alcohol and inhibition, as the other whispers stories in her ear. 

A red flash warns him of Rune’s arrival. He parks the Corvette on a spot by the corner, and his shadowy frame comes into view not long after. 

Noah waves Rose goodbye. She’s staying at home for the night, judging from her pajamas and half-asleep smile she directs at him to acknowledge his departure. She’s worked a long shift, and she’ll likely fall asleep on the sofa, as it sometimes happens when she’s overworked. He takes the elevator. The white light blinks as the sliding doors open. 

He checks his pockets, making sure he has his phone, keys, wallet, and packet of cigs. The switchblade is tucked in his sock, inside Riley’s black Doc Martens. Noah hasn’t found any news about the farmhouse they broke into, much less about a body. Noah’s attack with his limited range and force might’ve fractured Sam’s skull, producing a concussion, so he’ll be at the hospital for, at least, two weeks. 

Rune is leaning in the wall next to the door. His booted ankles are crossed, and his hands are inside his pants’ pockets. He’s wearing a black turtleneck that hugs his body and dark grey tailored slacks, a fine silver chain complimenting his cross earring. He’s looking forward, and the warm light casts an aura on his profile. He looks impressive, like a work of art carved from the most luxurious marble. Like a statue of a god who’s judging his creation. Noah’s not religious, but he’d gladly pray at Rune’s feet. He swallows.

The door opening snatches Rune’s attention, and the boy lowers his gaze from Riley’s washed-up T-shirt to the tight pants, lingering just a second too long before his eyes travel to Noah’s boots. Noah brings his shoulders forward, covering his stomach with his arms. His cheeks are burning. Is his effort too noticeable? 

Noah points ahead. “Shall we?” He’s too conscious of the boy walking beside him. 

A blonde girl— Noah has to check twice, as he finds his vision overlapping with the memory of bouncing curls— with a burgundy velvet dress murmurs something to a dark-skinned girl with braids of a goddess and a tight white dress with lacy details. They’re seating in the windowsill on the restaurant, their faces are illuminated by the yellow neon of the club next to them. They both look at Rune with confident smiles. Rune looks at them with the same stony expression he watches everyone else, not responding to their greeting as he steps to the door. 

Noah waves at them, “Sorry. He’s not big on words.”

The blond girl mocks a pout. “Such a shame.”

Noah shrugs, following Rune’s quick steps. 

At night, the Nyx is a beacon for college students and work colleagues. It’s a place that offers entertainment and pleasure behind the anonymity of shadows and early morning hours. Some of the caution tape is hanging by the door, lightly dancing with the hot breeze that escapes the club. When he steps inside, he’s invaded with the sweet smell of smoke, and the vibrating music crushing his ears. He feels the dizziness of the stagnant ambiance, filled with dozens of sweaty human bodies, alcohol, and cheap cologne. 

Noah hands his ID to the bearded man— his tag spells Carlos— that told him about Leo. Carlos shows no sign of recognition to either, so Noah books a private room. He barely hears the instructions and rules, his head feels pleasantly distant as he nods. Then, Noah takes Rune’s wrist to drag him in the labyrinth of turns and rooms, and dance floors. Deeper into the pits of madness.

The room Noah choses is imprinted in his mind. But it feels unnatural when he doesn’t find Artemis in there. He looks to the left, the metal sign in the wall reads ‘May we get what we want, but not what we deserve.’ 

You are reading story There Is Nothing Wrong With The Children at novel35.com

Rune looks around, his eyes taking in every detail, even the shadow-covered corners. Noah leans in, elevating his voice to fight against the pounding music, “I figured we might get inspired by this place. It seems Noah is connected.” He is connected in more than a few ways. He’s been there before. Leo worked here. And the killer inside Noah’s body targeted this place. Too many coincidences forming a string.

But he can still have some fun while at it, right? He buys a bottle of cheap vodka at a luxury price. At least they bring ice with it, to lessen the burn of overpriced cologne. After taking a swig, he offers the bottle to Rune. He surprises Noah when he accepts it.

Noah lets the alcohol make its way into his brain, bringing light to his darkness, and lifting his body in a cloud as he starts to sway with the music. He closes his eyes, following the vibration in his core, in his bones. He may want to remember, but the rest, he can forget for a few hours. His brings his arms up. Whenever he knows a song, he sings the chorus. When he doesn’t, he lets the music speak for itself through his body. His hips rock sideways, sweat pearls fall from his damp hair.

When he opens his eyes again, he’s met with piercing black eyes staring at him. Noah would’ve liked to attribute his newfound courage to his alcohol-driven disinhibition, or maybe his unstable state of mind, but he found himself approaching a sitting Rune. His steps overlap with Artemis’ steps over three years ago. His movements imitate her delicate dance, exotic and fierce as he remembers, but trance-like when Noah translates the dance with his slightly bigger hands, and his masculine frame. 

How can a manmade rhythm bring out something so animalistic within Noah? He locks eyes with Rune, making sure they boy doesn’t look away. He challenges Rune to keep watching with a dreamy smile, product of an alcoholic version of Artemis’ expression. 

Noah dances for Rune, as Leo danced for his lover. He’s not an spectator, he’s the show. Noah interlocks his fingers with Rune’s, bringing the boy’s hands above his head, leaning his weight in, hovering his lips just millimeters away from Rune’s parted lips. Noah slowly lowers to sit in Rune’s lap, conscious of the warmth underneath him. 

As Rune explored Noah with his lips, Noah gives the tenderness back. Noah’s lips worship Rune’s skin. He’s not religious, but maybe he might believe for tonight. He kisses his jaw with passion, as if he’s running out of time, and his kisses grow in impatience as he approaches his rosy lips. Rune’s dark eyes are hungry with desire, and Noah knows his gaze reflects the same lust. 

“Consume me,” Noah says. They’re his own words, not a mirror of his memories of a dead girl. 

“Let me.” Rune responds. 

Noah lifts his head enough to nod. “Let’s go,” He sets Rune free from the compromised position. Noah can see the effect it has over Rune, he smiles sideways. They move through the crowd, Rune’s arm resting over Noah’s shoulder and chest. A warning to others. They encounter the two girls from the entrance in the corridor, their eyes travel to Rune’s possessive gesture, and they send mischievous smiles to Noah.

“So, those are the words he’s big on.” The dark-skinned girl exclaims with raised eyebrows.

None of them respond this time, as Noah is too preoccupied to get out of there as soon as possible. He barely casts a glance at them when he opens a direct path to the door. They cross paths with a tall boy in a faded undercut, his curly hair falling on his forehead. Noah recognizes his hands, although he’s seen them interlocked with woman’s hands. 

Noah’s mind is too foggy to care. 

He can’t focus on anything besides the powerful existence by his side. 

So he brings his attention back to the exit.

It’s raining outside.

You can find story with these keywords: There Is Nothing Wrong With The Children, Read There Is Nothing Wrong With The Children, There Is Nothing Wrong With The Children novel, There Is Nothing Wrong With The Children book, There Is Nothing Wrong With The Children story, There Is Nothing Wrong With The Children full, There Is Nothing Wrong With The Children Latest Chapter