Chapter Twenty-Eight
NOAH
E verything hurts when I stir awake. My limbs, my head, my fucking heart. Last night was everything Amira and I could have been and more, but it was also goodbye.
We both knew it, although neither of us was willing to bring it up.
Amira’s eyes turned distant as my cock softened inside her. She was silent as I awkwardly reached for the box of tissues before sliding out. We avoided looking at one another as we cleaned up. We said nothing as we crawled back into bed.
I listened as her breaths turned slow and heavy, watched as her eyelids began to flicker with her dreams. I kissed her forehead while she slept, then rolled over as I waited for my own sleep to take me.
It came in brief moments, always ending in the same painful thought of me heading down the stairs with my suitcase packed.
I know what today will bring. And I hate it.
Before Amira wakes, I slink out from under her arm. Even now, in her sleep she moves towards me. I want to tell myself it’s only because I take up so much space in the bed, but there’s still a dying flicker of hope it’s something more. That all this is a giant pothole in the road that still leads to us .
After pulling on a pair of sweats and an old T-shirt, I tiptoe from the room. Amira sighs in her sleep at the sound of the bedroom door opening but doesn’t wake when I pull it shut behind me.
Kitch jumps down from her tree, circling my feet like a piranha waiting for meat. I fill her water and serve her tinned breakfast. She purrs in thanks, and as I turn back to the kitchen I find Ella spread on the couch, half her limbs hanging to the floor. A faded black bucket is on its side by her arm, and an upside-down bowl sits beside a half-drunk glass of water on the coffee table. No wonder they were home late.
I tip on my heels, unsure whether I should fix the blanket bunched at her waist, try to move her to the bed, or just leave her be. Stepping closer, I startle when she groans and rolls towards the back of the couch. Her throat sounds gravelly, and she pulls her knees into her stomach with a shaky inhale. She sounds like she might vomit if I try to move her, so I count that choice out.
The blanket is tangled in her legs, and despite my cautious attempts, I can’t free it. Leaving her as is will have to do.
Of course, the coffee machine sounds a thousand times louder than usual as it grumbles away grinding coffee. And when the microwave beeps to inform me the milk is warm I cringe, hoping it didn’t wake Ella.
When all the noise I’m making in the kitchen is over, the apartment is silent again. The faintest sounds of Ella breathing blur into the subtle scratches as Kitch stretches out on top of the cat tree. Leaving the two travel mugs of steaming coffee on the bench, I head back to the bedroom to wake Amira.
It feels harsh, breaking her seemingly peaceful sleep, but the gnawing pit of dread won’t go away. I need to get this over and done with. Pull the metaphorical Band-Aid off so I can pack up my things and be gone before dinner.
Not that I’ll eat. The hollowness in my stomach will only get worse once this has all been said and done, and eating when I’m this emotionally worked up and anxious has never gone down well. The coffee probably won’t help, but I need the wake-up call just as much as Amira probably will.
I don’t have to wake her, though. When I enter the room she’s sitting back against her pillows, scrolling on her phone. Hearing the door open, she drops it back onto the bedside table and begins to play with the edges of the blanket in her lap.
“We should …”
“I made coffee,” I say, knowing what she is going to say and not needing to hear it. We do need to talk even if neither of us wants the end of the conversation. “I thought we could head down to the gardens. Go for a walk?”
Amira gulps and looks up at me. “I think that’s a good idea. I’ll be out in five minutes.”
With a nod, I back out. Her wanting me out of the room to get dressed is not a good sign. Not that any of the signs lately have been positive. I pace the hallway as I wait, twiddling my thumbs nervously until Amira emerges.
She’s swapped her tiny shorts for long black yoga pants that hug her hips and thighs. Her bright purple T-shirt is oversized across her shoulders but cuts off around her waist. As she reaches for her coffee cup it hikes up a fraction to reveal the thinnest strip of her golden skin. If nothing else comes from the time we spent together, I’m glad she was able to fall in love with herself again. She left a little piece of her father’s scrutiny behind, and I hope she’s proud of herself for it.
Although we both know the reason for our mid-morning walk, neither of us says a word as we trudge down the steps and out into the summer sun. We drink our coffees, peaceful just being in each other’s company until we’re deep into the gardens opposite the apartment building. The hustle and bustle of the main strip is barely audible this far down the path, the air filled with the warbling of magpies and buzzing of bees instead.
I couldn’t say who chose to sit first. We move in tandem as we veer off the path toward a faded green picnic table under a large gum tree. Amira sits on one side, and every fibre in my body aches to sit beside her, but she nods across the table. I step over the bench, lowering myself down in front of her and reaching over to hold her hand in mine. Her fingers wrap around her grey cup, even though I’m sure it’s empty by now.
“I’m sorry about last night,” I start, even though I don’t know what I’m apologising for. It just feels like something that needs to be said.
“I’m not. It was … everything. It was perfect.”
“We were perfect,” I add with a sigh. “I’m sorry we can’t be perfect.”
Amira shakes her head. Letting go of her empty drink she turns her hand over to twist her fingers into mine. “We could be,” she muses.
“How?” I close my eyes, turning my head until the sun turns my blackened vision red. I let it burn through my eyelids, trying to dry the tears before they come.
“You know how.” Her fingers squeeze my hand, and she tugs my arm. “Noah, look at me.”
I do. Of course I do. I always do.
“We’ve both been talking to Cassidy.”
She nods. “She’s right. It might be the only time she’s given me good advice. And you said it last night. If I’m going to be able to learn this is real, I need to know none of it is fake.”
“None of it was ever fake, Cupcake. Surely you know that.”
“I know you think that. And I believe you. I don’t believe myself.” One sole tear begins tracking its way down her face with her words. I watch the path it takes, over her cheek, past her lips, down her chin.
I stand over the table to wipe it with my thumb. Cupping her face, I hover as close as I can with the table in between us. “I believe in you.”
“It’s not enough.”
My heart begins to crumble, just like I knew it would. Bit by bit, pieces of me fall to the ground. It takes more than a few of them to realise they are tears. All the ones I’ve tried to hold in for the past forty-eight hours, spilling from me until there’s no stopping them. All this time I hoped, I should have known nothing ever came that easily for me. I should have been prepared for the blow but as it hits me, I realise I never stood a chance.
“I love you, Amira. Isn’t that enough?”
Leaning into my hand, Amira closes her eyes to breathe. One long inhale followed by a shaky exhale that lands on my wrist. “It should be, that’s the problem. This—all my issues—have never been because of you. It’s all because of me. Because of my father and how determined I was to prove him wrong when he was right all along. I don’t need to settle down and marry a man, but after all my complaining and fighting his ideals, it turns out that’s what I want after all.”
She leans back, spinning her leg over the bench seat. The final pieces of my heart shatter as she stands to walk away. I want to scream, to chase after her, to refuse to let her go. But instead of heading back to the path like I thought, she circles the table and sits beside me. Her legs still face away from the table, like she’s ready to get up and leave as soon as she can, but she’s here, for a moment longer at least.
“I don’t want this to be goodbye, Noah.” Her head drops to my shoulder, and I turn my neck to rest my cheek near her forehead.
“It feels an awful lot like it is.”
“How many people do you know, how many happy couples, spent time settling into their relationship before meeting the families and moving in together?”
I shrug my shoulder against her, and she sits up to face me. Twisting her body, she hooks one leg onto the chair and pulls my hand into her lap.
“Seriously? Everyone, right? No one starts a relationship on a lie and works backwards. Changing how I thought I was going to spend the rest of my life was always going to be tough, but it happened so suddenly. I need it to slow down.”
“The rest of your life?” I shouldn’t get hung up on those words. She probably said them in the heat of the moment. But I can’t help myself from fixating on them. Being away from Amira will hurt more than a wine barrel falling off the racks and onto my toe. Knowing a small part of her is thinking we’re end game might make it a little easier.
Amira shifts, facing away from the table again. “Maybe,” she says as she tips her head to the sky.
My fingers twitch, aching to curl themselves in her hair as it dangles back against the table. The muscles in my legs cramp, begging to turn toward her. My arms strain against their place resting on the table, ready to haul her onto my lap. To hold her there and never let her go.
“Maybe it’s selfish,” she muses as she drops her head. “But if we weren’t living together, maybe I could settle into us properly. I could get used to the idea slowly, instead of all at once. I want everything we are to be real, none of it propelled forward because of the lies we told my family. Can we do that?”
“Cupcake, we can do whatever you need.” Finally, I turn my body to grab her hands in my own. I rub gentle circles on her wrist with my thumb. “But I can’t just pretend none of this ever happened.”
“I don’t want to either. I don’t want you to live with me as my boyfriend or attend family events as my boyfriend. I just want you to be my boyfriend.”
My heart flips inside my chest, understanding, finally, what she needs. What she wants. “Does your boyfriend get to kiss you on the park bench, under the sun that’s slowly burning his neck?”
Amira smiles then, looking up at me for the first time since she moved to this side of the table. Drying tears line her cheeks, while her eyes still glisten with unspilled tears.
“I’d like that.”