Michael & Noelle

"Just Follow Me"

The entire ride home was silent except for the few directions I would have to give him. I didn't know what to say, and it didn't seem like Michael had anything to say, so there was that.

"Do you live far from here?" I ask once we'd arrive at my house and he shakes his head.

"I live just on the hills," he says, pointing towards a little gated community in the distance and I nod.

"Okay, thanks again," I tell him, opening up my door to leave.

"Noelle," he calls right before I close the door. I poke my head into the car.

"I'd like to take your number if you don't mind, so I can check up on you."

"Oh, okay. Sure."

I put my digits into his phone, saving it as Noelle before handing it back to him.

"Thanks," he says, "are you alright?"

"I- I'm okay," he didn't look convinced but he didn't push it. I close the door before wrapping the hoodie tighter around me and disappearing into the house.

"Elle?"

In the darkness of my room, I hardly recognize my aunt standing in the doorway.

"Hey, did I wake you?"

"Oh no, I just about to head to bed."

"But it's late?"

"I know," she chuckles quietly, padding until she could sit on my bed, "I didn't hear your call pull in."

"Yeah," I sigh, "my tire popped."

"What? Why didn't you call me? How'd you get home?"

"Uh - a f-friend of mine . . .I didn't want to wake you."

"Nonsense," she scoffs, "Noelle whenever you're in trouble I need you to promise that you'll call me. I don't know what I would do if something happened to you a-and I wasn't there to help or stop it."

"Okay," I whisper, thankful that she didn't turn on any lights, because the tears were making a reappearance.

"Life is unpredictable, and with the work that you do, I know you'll often come home late. So believe me when I say that I won't think twice if you call me because you're in danger, or because your tire runs flat. I love you, Noelle . . . . I . . . I consider you to be my daughter, so it's my job to protect you . . . even as you're a bit older now."

"Thank you, Aunt Cleo," my voice was shaky, and I anxiously pulled at the skin in my palms, "I love you too."

"Your mother would be so happy to see you right now, a grown woman, doing her thing, making her money, staying out of trouble. You're amazing, Elle, and I need you to remember that, even on your bad days. Even when you're away from home, just remember that this, here, will always be your home."

"Cleo," I breathe, taking her hand in mine, "where's this coming from?"

She takes a deep breath before shaking her head, her pink bonnet stiff despite her movements.

"Everyone needs reassurance now and then, Noelle, I'm just making sure that you have yours." She plants a kiss on my forehead, rubbing my shoulders.

"Sleep tight."

"You too," she shuts the door gently behind her, and the moment she does I burst into tears.

What happened tonight was . . . traumatizing. Every time I closed my eyes I saw his face. It was filled with bad intentions. I was so vulnerable, what if Michael hadn't shown up? Would I be dead? Stuffed in the woods like a roadkill animal? Would I be tied up at the back of his truck?

The worst part is, there was no one to blame. I . . . I was the one that put myself in that situation, I was on the street, at two am, hitchhiking because I hadn't check my tire.

It was . . . it was my fault.

#

The next morning, I woke up to continuous beeps in my driveway. I felt like I was hungover.

"Noelle? Noelle, honey, did you get your car fixed and towed?"

Aunt Cleo knocked on my door. Knowing damn well I hadn't done anything to fix the car situation, I jumped out of bed almost knocking into the floor, and peeped into my window.

Sure enough, there was my car, back in my driveway looking pretty much brand new. I had a dent in the back that had mysteriously gone away, and an entirely new paint job and shine.

Aunt Cleo waited outside my door, and when she saw me she gave me a confused look.

"Uh – it must be my friend," I tell her before racing down the stairs.

"Damn, your friend must have money then," she replies behind me and I let out a nervous laugh.

The tow truck made me sign, and when I asked who told them my address they confirmed that it was Michael.

He had completely fixed my car.

"Wow," Cleo folded her arms as she stood in front of my car with me, "are you sure they didn't just buy you a new one?"

"I . . . I – don't you have to get ready for work?"

She narrows her eyes at me, folding her arms over her Versace robe.

"Let me find out that you got a man, little girl," she jokes and I roll my eyes.

"Tell your boss I'd like a Versace robe as well."

"Hey! Don't think you're too old to get whopped," Aunt Cleo laughed all the way into the house and I couldn't help but smile at her retreated figure.

Looking back at the car, I saw my reflection and immediately felt depressed. My eyes were puffy, not all that red, and my face look swollen. I wondered if Aunt Cleo noticed.

Once back in my room, I grabbed my phone and found that Michael had called and texted me. It was an unknown number, but I knew it was him.

Michael: I don't usually send texts but you didn't answer. Maybe you're asleep . . . or maybe you've seen the car in your driveway. Whatever it is, just know that I took care of it; the bill and all, so you don't have to worry. I'd like you to be safe, so you should be alright from now. Have a good day, ~ Mr. Kane.

I see why he preferred calls, he typed like he was writing a letter. Hell, he should've just sent me an email.

Regardless, his message put a smile on my face so early in the morning. I couldn't repay him, at least not the price of all the repairs because I'd have to empty my savings; I hardly ever saved. Maybe when Cleo forced me to.

But maybe I could treat him to lunch, and there's no way I'll take no for an answer.

#

My face was still puffy, even after I steamed and rolled it. I wore a bit more makeup today in hopes that it'll hide it.

I threw on one of my two-piece sets. A cami crop top and maxi high slit skirt with some glass slipper heels. My hair, my wig, was pulled into a ponytail.

When I arrived at Sincerely, Hannah was nowhere to be seen, and I was glad. The last thing I needed was her seeing me asking out her boss for the second time, and probably getting rejected.

"Hi," I approach the security guard, a polite smile on my face, "how can I get to Mr. Kane?"

"Good day, do you have an appointment with him?"

"Uh – no – I'm a friend of his and –"

"You can't just walk up and see Mr. Kane," he says, his tone bland, "you're not asking to see an employee, you're asking to see the boss, a very important man –"

"Howard, it's alright," Michael appears out of nowhere his hands patting at his jeans.

I noticed he wasn't in his formal wear, instead, he wore jeans and a T-shirt . . . and Nike slides.

I was definitely overdressed.

He rests his hands on the upper part of my arm, leading me outside.

"I just wanted to say thanks – in person – for completely taking care of my care. You didn't have to do that."

"You're welcome," he nods, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"And . . . I'm going to take you out to lunch for it."

"Noelle –,"

"It isn't a date, Michael," I tilt my head at him, "it's just payment."

"If you wanted to pay me back you'd have to take me to lunch at least four times, every day for three years."

"Oh, okay – wow," my eyes widen.

"It's okay, Noelle," he chuckles, "I'm actually busy -,"

"If you don't let me take you out to lunch, I'll stand in your store all day."

"It's a free country."

"I'll destroy your products."

"I'll have you arrested, and sue you."

"Come on, Michael," I let out an exasperated sigh, "is the thought of having lunch with me that horrendous? Just give me an hour, it'll help soothe my conscience."

Michael seemed conflicted. His eyes darkened, and his lips moved from side to side.

"Alright, fine. An hour."

"Great," I clap and he shakes his head at me, "I'll drive."

"No, we'll both drive. Just in case I'd like to escape," Michael dusts off his hands, "give me a moment, I need to wash off my hands."

As Michael disappears into Sincerely, and I did a little dance in the parking lot before calming myself.

He returns a few minutes later with another T-shirt.

"Where're we going?

"Um, where do you normally eat?"

"At home."

"Oh – okay well . . . I could eat a sub right now, wanna go to Subway?"

He shrugs, "I'm being forced so I don't think it matters."

"Oh my goodness," I roll my eyes at him, "just follow me."