Chapter 30 #2
I turned back and walked to the trash, rummaging through it. I couldn’t find it. Panic surged through me as I started pulling things out frantically. Cold sweat gathered at the back of my neck. One bag. Then another. A couple of soda cans. Nothing.
You can call Anthony. Don’t be an idiot.
Then I saw it. Relief surged through my body, a powerful wave breaking through the fear. I placed it back into my wallet with trembling fingers and slid it into my pocket.
There. Done.
A breeze swept through the courtyard, rustling the leaves, their brittle edges scraping against the gravel.
I stood in their silence.
What the fuck was I turning into?
The TV was on. Voices droned in and out of consciousness, a background hum I couldn’t fully register.
This time, the low had hit hard.
I’d had people over, but I couldn’t face them. I couldn’t even try. I’d crawled into bed, turned on the TV, and stared at the screen for what felt like hours. Maybe days.
I didn’t take the sleeping pills. I wasn’t sure I could’ve stopped at just one. So sleep never really came. Just a steady stream of infomercials, reality TV, and back-to-back ads looping endlessly. I’d smoke, take a bump, crack open a beer, and repeat. Over and over.
Sometimes, it felt like my dad was in the room with me—like he was still watching over me.
But then I’d remember he was dead, and another wave of numbness would crash over me.
My pillow felt damp, but I couldn’t feel the tears.
This wasn’t sadness. It was something else—something far beyond it.
A hollow kind of darkness that clawed its way up from my chest and tightened, like it wanted to choke the air out of me, stop life from moving through me.
I didn’t want to do this anymore.
The words looped through my brain: I give up. I give up. I give up.
Too bad thinking it didn’t change anything.
Then, suddenly, there was a tiny light that filtered through—just barely. My name being called. A gentle hand on my cheek.
I turned into the touch and met his baby-blue eyes.
Every dream I’d had lately had turned to nightmares, but this one felt different. Because even though he still looked like a fucking angel, he wasn’t smiling. He looked worried.
About me.
Me.
That felt…nice.
At least I could die knowing someone cared.
My eyes fluttered shut, and I drifted again. Where, I couldn’t say.
But this time, it felt a little better.
When I woke up again, the room was dark, though light peeked through the blinds. It didn’t smell like stale beer and burnt ashes. The sheets were cool and crisp. Clean.
I sat up slowly, taking in the change around me.
What happened?
The memories came back in fragments, creeping in one after another.
Atty had walked me to the bathtub, scrubbed my arms with the lightest touch imaginable, then wrapped a towel around me.
I remembered eating something. Then being tucked into bed.
But he hadn’t left. I’d pulled his arms around me, and he’d stayed—keeping me safe through the night.
I actually slept. No nightmares. Just blissfully blank sleep.
I stood by the bed. The nightstand was clean too. Only a half-drunk glass of water sat on top. From outside the room came a low hum—maybe a vacuum, or the washer—and the occasional clank. Was he still out there?
The bathroom had been scrubbed clean. Towels hung neatly, the countertop wiped down. Just the orange bottles lined up over it.
I curled my hand around one of them—the sleeping pills. The ones that kept invading my every thought. I put them back down and reached for the other bottle and took one. Just one.
After a quick shower, I found myself staring at the mirror.
She’d probably praise me now.
My cheekbones jutted out. My eyes looked hollow. My collarbone was more prominent than I’d ever seen it. This time, I truly couldn’t remember the last time I ate a full meal. I rummaged through the drawers until I found a razor.
When I finally worked up the courage to step outside, there he was—Atty, in the kitchen. Our eyes met, and he froze, taking in the sight of me.
He had cleaned the apartment too. The floors, the couch. There was no trace of what had happened there.
“How domestic of you,” I said, breaking the silence.
His smile lit up the room instantly.
I slid onto one of the stools as he placed a plate in front of me. A grilled cheese. I blinked away the sting behind my eyes.
“Do you want anything to drink?”
I nodded and watched him walk to the fridge. He pulled something out, and I had to do a double take—it hadn’t looked like that the last time I’d opened it. Did he do that too?
Embarrassment bloomed in my chest. That he’d seen the place like this. That he’d seen me like that.
“You know, I have a lady who does these things,” I said, just as the dryer beeped in the distance.
He gave the apartment a pointed once-over before meeting my gaze. “Yeah? Do you think she maybe quit?”
A laugh broke from my chest, the humor warming me more than the food I was finally allowing myself to eat.
“This is good. You’re a good cook and cleaning lady, apparently. Maybe I should hire you.”
Maybe I could keep you forever.
He didn’t answer. Just sat on the stool next to mine, his pale eyes fixed on me. I couldn’t quite meet them.
“You don’t have to tell me about it if you don’t want to,” he said. “I’m still staying here with you today, okay?”
The sting was back.
His palm rested on the back of my neck, and it was everything. Warm, steady, and there.
I nodded, and before I could stop myself, leaned into him. His whole body radiated the same warmth. Still cautious, watching for any hesitation from him, I slipped an arm around his waist.
It feels so good to be close to him.
He smelled like sweat and cleaning supplies, but underneath all of it, there was him—and nothing in the world had ever smelled more like home.
Then his arm came over my shoulder, and my eyes squeezed shut, my nose close enough to graze his skin. Fuck, I wanted this. I wanted this to be mine so bad. I grabbed his wrist and pulled on it slightly, and he made a soft sound before wrapping me in a hug.
“Thanks, Atty.” The words were thick with emotion. I hoped he knew what I meant. How much I meant it.
“Anytime.” His deep voice rumbled between us.
Anytime.
Like I could have this. Like I could really keep him forever.
I finished the sandwich—just because he’d made it—but I didn’t move an inch. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t try to. Just kept tracing his thumb along my arm. Up and down. Up and down.
Later that same day, his eyes locked on mine. His fingers laced through my own, holding me like a lifeline.
It wasn’t an exaggeration.
Atty was the only reason I was still here. The reason there was even a flicker of longing in my chest. Because he was giving me that look again.
He was looking at me like I was someone worth having.
It slipped through every defense I’d built. All of them—toppled like they were nothing.
But he had no idea what he was asking for. No clue what he was getting himself into.
I’m not what you see.
I had to push him away.
“What?” he asked.
“Sometimes, when you look at me like that, it’s almost like I can hear what you’re thinking.” You can do this, Noah. Don’t be a dick. Be the bigger person. “I need you to stop thinking that, Atty.”
His face fell, and my resolve started to fracture.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to ruin you,” I said. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
I’m not worth it. Don’t do this. Please, just stay the fuck away from me.
“I could never hate you,” he said quietly, his thumb brushing over mine with unbearable gentleness.
“You could.”
“And you’re not going to ruin me either.”
I nodded, throat tight. “I could. You’re like a fucking angel, Atty. I can’t do this to you. Not to you.”
I couldn’t look at him. I wouldn’t be able to stop if I did.
“I’m not an angel,” he said.
“I need you to stop feeling what you’re feeling. We’re supposed to be friends,” I tried again, weaker this time.
His grasp tightened in mine. “We are friends. I can’t promise to stop feeling what I’m feeling, but I’m not going to ask for more if you don’t want me to. I want to be here for you—and if this is how you want it, then that’s fine by me.”
If I didn’t want him to? Was he fucking kidding?
I had never wanted anything more in my entire life. I wanted this more than I wanted to breathe.
“I’ll take what I can from you,” he said, and it shattered me.
Why? Why would you want me? What are you seeing? Please tell me what it is so I can change—so I can turn into whatever it is that you want from me. I’ll do anything, absolutely anything, if you’ll keep looking at me like that.
Don’t do it.
He doesn’t deserve this.
“It’s really okay, I promise,” he whispered.
I broke. One look into his eyes and I was done.
Just one taste. One second where I let myself believe this is real. Then I’ll pull back, tell him I don’t feel the same, watch him leave—and then I can finally do it.
Otherwise, I’ll be gone without ever knowing what love feels like.
I let go of his hand. In one breath, I climbed into his lap, knees braced on either side of him, staring down into his wide, startled eyes.
“What—”
I grabbed his hands and moved them to my back, pleading with him to do it, to take me.
“What are you doing?” He looked so adorably confused.
I choked out, humorless laugh. “I think it’s pretty fucking clear what I’m doing.”
“You just told me to stop feeling this way about you.”
I rested my forehead on his. “I told you I say things I don’t mean all the time.”
His expression didn’t change. “But what don’t you mean? This—or wanting me to stop liking you?”
His breath ghosted across my lips. So fucking close.
My heart had never raced like this. I had never felt like this—to be coming apart from nerves and butterflies and whatever the fuck else this was. Because it was about to happen.
This was actually going to happen.
I leaned in. He sucked in a breath.