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I run a hand through my hair, it’s long, unruly. Everything since that night has been harder. I wish I could go back, undo everything. I wish I could make it better.
But I can’t.
“What do you need, Mik?” I ask, it’s a question I’m not sure I’ve ever asked anyone. “What do you need for me to fix this?”
She stands her ground, arms crossed over her body. She’s drowning in that oversized hoodie and it reminds me of the way she used to lounge in my clothes, letting the loose material bring her comfort.
I wish she would let me comfort her again.
“Space,” she says. “Give me space.”
A rush of air blows through my lips. “I’ve given you space, Mik. I’ve given you tons of space.” A whole fucking year of it.
She eyes me, “I’m sorry I can’t just wake up and move on.” She throws her hands up in the air dramatically.
“That’s not what I’m asking.” I scrub a hand over my jaw. “Just let me in.”
She laughs, a deep sarcastic sound. “That’s rich. Talk to the man who murdered my sister about her death.” She shakes her head, placing both hands on her hips. “Just leave, Noah.”
For once, I do. I don’t argue, I just walk to the door.
“Don’t leave,” I turn back to tell her. “I have men outside, watching. For your protection.” I add.
“So I’m a hostage?” she snarls.
“No, baby, you’re mine.”
THERE’S A MOMENT WHEN I wake up that I forget everything that’s happened. It doesn’t last long, maybe a few seconds. But in those seconds, I’m happy and my sister is alive.
And then I remember that I’m not happy and Auden is not alive.
Any other morning, I would find a way to numb the pain. But I wake up swaddled in silk sheets under a soft and fluffy comforter and I know I’m not in my dorm room anymore.
There’s a bright light shining through the window, telling me it must be morning. It’s quiet, I don’t hear Noah moving around, so I’m quick to get up and take care of myself before he wakes up. I want as few reasons to leave this room as possible. I head out into the hallway, to the bathroom. When I’m done, I look both ways before heading down to the kitchen.
My stomach is groaning. I refused dinner last night when Noah came knocking on my door. I didn’t want to be near him, didn’t want to feel his fingers on my skin. His touch is warm and sends sparks of fire through my body and I’m not ready to acknowledge what that means yet.
I raid the pantry until I find a tin of muffins, probably something his parent’s chef made. I pick apart the blueberry muffins, feeding myself bite-sized pieces.
The front door opens, and I freeze, letting the last bite of muffin sit on my tongue. Noah’s eyes find me as soon as he enters the house with Beckett trailing behind him. The smile that was lingering on his face when he walked in is immediately gone, instead replaced by a scowl. His eyes scan my body, seeing I’m still in the oversized hoodie from yesterday except my leggings are gone. I left them up in the room when I wandered out.
“What are you doing?” His face is cold, angry.
I look down at the crumbs from the muffins scattered on a paper towel and then back up to him. “I was—”
“Why aren’t you wearing pants?” he asks. Beckett is behind him, a shit eating grin rising on his face.
The words I’m sorry float to the top of my mind, but I stop myself. What a silly thing to say to this man. I’m not doing anything wrong, hell, I’m the one being held captive. “Fuck you, Noah.” I say instead. “I didn’t ask to be here.”
I want to be back in my dorm room, but I’m not happy there either, just farther away from him.
I’m not happy anywhere, really. I’m a ball of despair rolled into a neat package anywhere I go. For a long time, I didn’t smile after Auden died. I lived in misery, pure unhappiness, just going through the motions. It wasn’t until months after her death when I was alone in my dorm room, watching some sitcom on cable that I cracked a smile, a light laugh leaving my lips. It felt good for a quick second until the traitorous feeling settled over me just as fast. Why should I be happy when Auden will never feel joy again?
A scowl rises on his face as he continues to stare at me from the entrance way. “I’ll see you later, Beck,” he finally says.
Beckett chuckles and spins around. “Bye Mik,” he calls over his shoulder.
“I thought you were sleeping.” I mutter, crumpling the dirty napkin in my hand and walking it over to the trash can. I avoid his gaze; I don’t want to look at him.
