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Noah had an intoxicating sex appeal. I didn’t think I’d ever tire of staring at him. In my eyes, he was the epitome of perfection. I was confident he could change anyone’s sexuality if he really wanted to. Lesbians would go straight, and straight men would turn gay at the sight of Noah. The LGBTQ community might criticize my biased beliefs if I voiced them, but I didn’t care. Polarizing opinions spark academic debates, which were good in my books. I was all for social critique.
“Is that apple cinnamon?” he asked.
“Yeah, I’m sort of obsessed with scented candles.”
“Smells amazing.”
Not as amazing as your scent.
Noah sat on the edge of my bed and met my eyes. It was hard to read his expression. He was always so stoic—like that was his baseline. The only thing I could focus on was the buffalo stampede occurring in my stomach.
“I wanted to talk to you earlier,” he said. “But I didn’t want to disrupt your time with Jess. Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine.”
No, I wasn’t. I was dying inside and craving his touch. Three weeks of Noah deprivation felt like months of crawling the Sahara Desert with a dangerous shortage of water. I was down to my last few drops. How was I going to survive knowing that he didn’t want me anymore? It was torture because I wanted to reach out and touch him so badly, but I knew I couldn’t. He was nothing more than a mirage now—like he was there, but not really; not in the way I wanted him to be. Whatever hopes and dreams I had of him quickly turned into an illusion, and the realization was depressing as hell.
“You don’t look fine.” Noah frowned. “You look like you’ve been crying.”
“I haven’t.”
I hated how he could read me so well.
“I feel like crap,” he admitted. “I want you to know that.”
“And that’s supposed to help me feel better?” I glowered at him, smelling faint traces of cigarette smoke. “You need to quit before you get addicted.”
“Well, it’s either get addicted to smoking or get addicted to—” He halted.
“Addicted to…?”
“Nothing.”
I sighed, lying down. He always made me feel so vulnerable; I hated it, but I knew I was wrong to push him away. Maybe it was time I pulled him closer and made him realize how right it was to feel this way about each other.
His eyes never left my face as he said, “I don’t enjoy making you cry.”
“That’s cocky of you to assume I’ve been crying over you.”
“I’m not trying to be cocky. I just know that I hurt you.”
“Really, now?” I said sarcastically.
“Yes. I understand how you feel, Aria.”
“Do you? I mean, do youactuallyunderstand me? Or are you just saying that to make yourself feel better?”
“You think this isn’t hard for me?” He grimaced. “You honestly believe I’m not torn about what’s happened to us? My conscience weighs heavier than yours, and you don’t know how unbearable this burden is to carry.”
I was so mad. The only way I could justify my rage was because I was hurting deep down. My automatic response was to withdraw and push him away, but deep down, I just wanted to be held and comforted. I missed him so much. Ignoring him for so long hadn’t been easy, but my anger fueled me during moments of weakness. Letting all that go made me feel as if I didn’t have any armor on anymore. My eyes welled with tears as I stared at the ceiling again.
I wish I was a robot,I desperately thought.
“Please don’t cry.”
“I’m not.”
Noah lay next to me and softened his tone as he said, “Hey, look at me.” He coaxed my chin in his direction, noticing a tear roll down my cheek.
