18 | Denial
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I don't know why I trust him.
It's the thought that swirls in my head as I lie in bed, a slither of moonlight leaking its way through the curtains. The shadow dances, much like the bubble of things consuming my brain. I keep my eyes on it, eyelids heavy but unable to actually drift away to sleep.
Maybe I'm just relieved that the guy following me actually had nothing to do with my dad. But that's not really a comforting fact when my dad did call me, which just means he's trying to snake his way back into my life in a different way.
So what does that make this? Nolan's old friends tormenting me?
I should be fearful, probably. But I can't forget that tone, the ripple in Nolan's voice as he held my shaking hands and told me that he wouldn't let anyone hurt me. His eyes flashed with something serious, a true gravity I've never seen in him before.
It was like he cared, like the fact he hadn't known about this sooner was eating him alive.
Now that he did, he was willing to rip the earth apart to make sure I was safe. That fact weighs heavy on my chest, simmering as I shift in my sheets gently. He shouldn't care that much but the fact that he doesmade my heart stammer.
It wasn't just that. It's that I actually got a glimpse into a past he keeps so guarded, whether he wanted me to or not. He was clearly involved with sketchy people, a gang, maybe?
But that tick of emotion across his face, cemented in his olive skin, bared the fact that he's not like that anymore. It told me that he'd rather die than revert to the bruised, bloodied person he was. He blinked like he was physically forcing those memories away.
I sigh and the noise echoes into the air, a gentle groan of frustration.
I gave in to the fact that I don't hate him. Am I now admitting that I trust him? That I actually buy this new version of him?
I must be, seeing as I didn't freak out about any of this as much as I should've.
In an attempt tonot think about that vulnerable part of him that suddenly seems to appeal to me, I switch to something else. Something that shouldn't be as deep and confusing, but it is.
Him, in the kitchen. The planes of his chest and stomach, the ink etched into it, that head of brown hair threaded with curls. The way his forearm flexed when his hand gripped the side of the counter, the commanding pulse in his voice when he told me to eat.
Fuck. It's so bad, that part of me can't get over how good he looked. The smirk on his face that flipped something in my stomach. It's always been there but for some reason I'm only really seeing it now. I wish I wasn't.
And when he cares, touches my skin gently like he understands the things I keep hidden without even asking, it makes it worse. It makes him more attractive.
My mind pours back to that fleeting memory. The jealousy. The parts of me that itch when I think of him telling someone else the things he tells me. When his trusting touch circled Honey's skin instead of mine.
I swallow a lump in my throat, eyes a little wider.
What even is this?
I've just about come to terms with the fact I can stand his company, this cascade of accompanying thoughts are all too intense. They're wrong, inappropriate. They bite at Riley's constructed border.
They're breaching my boundaries too. I've opened some hidden emotional floodgate.
But, when my brain latches back onto the hazy look in those hazel eyes, the ring cuffed onto his lips, the veins faintly dripping down his arm... my body reacts in a way worse than just thinking.
Thoughts can be ignored, shoved to places your subconscious doesn't touch. But the real, physical response paints the truth you're too afraid to face.
Because I feel a gentle heat beneath my thighs, a twisting in my gut that travels lower than it should. It's subtle but it's there and I'm too scared to trail a finger down, confirm the soft slickness gathering where it shouldn't.
My heart is throbbing, breath too noticeable in the silence. I try to divert my thoughts away but it doesn't excuse the fact that the deepest parts of myself are giving away things I can't even comprehend.
I squeeze my thighs together, ignoring the dangerous fire between them.
It doesn't make sense, it can't.
My head spins as I pull the bed cover firmly over me, hoping this is some sort of strange dream I'll have forgotten by tomorrow.
If it isn't I don't know what that means, for me, for us.
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Christmas shopping is always a pain to think about, let alone actually attempt to do.
I'm caught between people I know too well where nothing ever seems to feelspecial enough and people who seem to have everything.
There's only so many beanies I can gift Cole before he inevitably thinks I hate his haircut.
I've found a few things online, small pieces that reminded me of certain people, but nothing major. Nothing that I'm excited to actually give away. I've always put too much thought into presents, some part of me desperate to dig into everyone's personality.
It doesn't help that my mom consistently insists that she 'doesn't need anything' and I'm all she needs for Christmas. Yeah, right. That only makes me want to up my effort.
I pause at the rack in front of me as I come to a row of hoodies, some of which might be a good idea to buy Kat. She lives in comfy clothes, she claims anything more than that is too much effort. I admire her honesty.
But, as I sift through them, hands grazing the muted colours and patterns, my eyes catch something else not too far away. My fingers still, eye-line focused.
Giggling with an equally model-like friend is Honey, hand flying over her face as she attempts to contain whatever it is she's laughing about. When she finally manages to straighten herself she glances over in my direction.
Shit. I don't look away in time, head swirling with the only thoughts that are associated with her. Nolan, their kiss, the photoshoot. They run like a film reel in front of my eyes as something stiffens in the air.
But Honey seems permanently absolved from social anxiety and throws me a wide, inviting smile. When her hand matches it, offering a friendly wave, I'm still staring like an idiot.
It takes me a minute to draw myself out my head and copy her actions, throwing my own small wave. I don't know why she wouldn't acknowledge me but it still feels odd somehow. In her eyes I'm basically the friend of a guy she's dating, what use is that to her?
I'm still pondering that question when she leaves her friend temporarily and starts walking in my direction. Why is she coming over here?
"Hey, it's nice to see you!" She chimes with that all-consuming optimism.
It is? I push a strand of blonde away from my forehead, taking in her shiny hair and gleaming green eyes. Silver piercings are dotted down each of her ears, shining under the harsh store lights.
"Hi," I reply, voice gentle, "It's nice to see you too."
She nods, still grinning, "I just thought I'd check in, you were so amazing the other day. Still can't believe that was your first time modelling."
Technically the first time was at Nolan's apartment.
I can feel my cheeks blooming a little pink. I'm not good with compliments in general, let alone from people I barely know. My body hums with that dismissive avoidance, that tendency to shoo away the words and keep my own warped view of my appearance.
I hesitate, eyes falling towards the floor, "Thank you."
She frowns playfully, hesitating like she's trying to predict my response to her next words.
"Would you ever be interested in...doing something like that again?" She poses, tilting her head. Her eyes graze over me in the way it did when she took my measurements, like I'm being assessed for something, put into a box.
The question catches me off guard. I'd sealed anything photo-related away among the car and dad drama that had overtaken my brain.
Now my sleeplessness has shifted to the dangerous topic of Nolan.
A memory of last night hits me, flush creeping up the back of my neck. The heat between my legs.
I can't think about that. Fuck. Especially not in front of Honey. I can feel the sudden embarrassment bleeding into my cheeks too noticeably.
"I'm not sure," I manage to say, trying to keep a polite smile on my face. I think the real answer is closer to 'no' but I'm trying to avoid my swarming thoughts.
"I know it seems a little scary but I just wanted to ask," She continues, reaching for the small black bag on her shoulder and shuffling around in it for her phone. It looks expensive in that fashionable, put-together way she always embodies.
I'd been trying to ignore it but that jealous ache is back.
It's worse sober, much worse. I can't keep my eyes away from her perfect hair and flirty personality, the way she dresses.
Of course Nolan would like a girl like that.
Why wouldn't he date someone so fun and attractive?
My heart is now clawing to find out what's up with them, if anything has happened at all. I shouldn't care. This isn't my fucking business.
Why am I comparing myself to her? Why am I wishing I had that perfect little bag that swings effortlessly off her shoulder?
I bet she doesn't have an insane father and a dwindling lack of self-confidence.
She probably doesn't overthink or avoid looking at photos of herself or wind herself into a spiral like I'm doing right now.
"I know this guy, he's got this magazine and they need a couple models," She hums, flicking through something on her screen, "It's a simple shoot, but he'd like you."
"Magazine?" I speak back, half surprised, half trying to drown out the noise in my head.
She nods, softening her gaze, "It's not a huge one but it's got a pretty good readership. Definitely worth money."
The money. That was the good thing about those last photos, the numbers in my bank account made me audibly exhale. It covered some costs, a few small debts, gave me a lot more leeway to buy Christmas presents. It took a thick layer of stress off everything.
I didn't tell mom about any of it. She wouldn't have let me spend the money on anything home-related. I can almost hear words, the things she would say. Spend it on yourself, on things you actuallywant. She doesn't understand that helping us stay afloat is what I want.
"It's in late January, so you'd have time to think, but I figure I'd give you his details anyway," Honey continues, twisting the phone around to face me.
It takes me a second to realise she's showing me a bunch of details, a phone number, an email address, a social media handle.
I grab my own phone from my pocket and begin to type it all down, not sure whether I'll actually ever use any of it.
I don't have the capacity to make decisions like this right now.
When our screens are side by side and I'm catching the last few digits a message pings though, that little electronic bubble hovering at the top of the screen.
Nolan: Are you feeling ok?
I don't even have time to process it before Honey snorts a humourless laugh beside me, eyes also glaring at my phone. She almost immediately winces, shutting her eyes and flickering her gaze away.
"Oh god, sorry," She rambles, brushing her hand against my shoulder, "I didn't mean... sorry."
I glance at her curiously, trying to read the expression on her face. It's a little sheepish, like she's regretting not holding back whatever that reaction was. Is she pissed because she saw Nolan's name? Is this something about them being together?
She reads my confusion and tries as much as she can to steady her rambling, attempting to look more serious.
"It's just... he's so obvious, and he thinks he isn't."
Obvious about what?I'm still frowning, head even more scrambled than it was a minute ago.
Honey palms her face to her hands, almost laughing, "God, I'm really screwing this up aren't I? I'll just say it to you straight, doll... Nolan likes you."
The air crackles, something tight in the air. My waterfall of thoughts freeze immediately, unsure whether I heard what she just said correctly. Nolan likes me? I can't tell if there's a layer of sarcasm I'm missing, whether she's just messing with me.
But when my eyes meet hers she seems serious, a softened look in her eyes like this is tough news she's relaying. The words repeat in my mind.Nolan likes you.
Nolan? Who gave me a dumb nickname and got me to perform for his stupid photos knowing I was uncomfortable? Who's old, possibly gang-affiliated, friend scared the shit out of me, followed me?
But as soon as those thoughts that should make sense jump forward, a different perspective floods through.
Nolan. Who was the kindest he's ever been yesterday, who just messaged to see if I was still okay, who called me beautiful, who tried to comfort me with his eyes in that unfamiliar room of camera lights, who helped me get home drunk.
Everything spins, her suggestion still seeming utterly impossible.
"He doesn't," I say back quickly. I ignore the good thoughts, the times he might've actually cared.
"He denied it too..." Honey replies, softer, "That's why I left him to figure it out himself, he'll admit eventually."
Left him?
"Oh so you're not... seeing each other?" I ask almost immediately, ignoring the other parts of her sentence.
She shakes her head faintly, like she's giving me grace to understand her words, "I couldn't, not with the way he looks at you. Platonic my ass."
They're not seeing each other because of me? Because of the way he looks at me? I see a glimpse of his eyes, those shiny flecks that danced over my face in the shadows of the car, that were filled with an unspoken promise outside the hospital.
"And I can tell that you care about him, too," Honey's voice is a little drowned out in my spiralling state, "Maybe you should both...explore that."
I flick my eyes back towards her, wondering what this new emotion I've just seemed to unlock looks like as an expression. A burning, catapulting mix of confusion, disbelief, realisation. Worse than that, care. There's a noticeable warmth stirring in my chest.
If she was right, then would that make my own feelings the same? Would that explain the glow left by his touch, the twisting in my gut at his words, the way he spends too much time in my head? Am I stupidly in denial?
"I don't want to overstep," Honey adds, smiling gently, "It was just an observation... and I think you're both nice people who deserve something good."
I shake my head gently, finding words, "No.. it's okay."
It's really not okay but she hasn't done anything wrong. What seems like a simple statement to her is years of warped history fusing into a new, confusing present. Nolan likes me. It can't be true because it would shatter everything.
"I really have to go, but," She perks up suddenly with a lighter tone. Her fingers fish into her bag and pull out something else, "He accidentally left this with me, could you give it back to him?"
A watch. It sits in her palm, a muted gold frame with a brown, leather strap and a navy face, gold lines making up the numbers. I've never seen it before. I guess this is the effort he brings out for a girl he likes.
Part of me wants to say no, wants to reject having to think about Honey around him, explain how I even got this back. But seeing as they won't cross paths it'd be rude not to say yes, unfortunately I'll see him soon enough.
"Yeah, of course," I say, taking the watch from her hands.
She says thank you, shooting me a few more smiles before finally retreating back to her friend, leaving me weirdly numb and alone with my thoughts.
Without her standing here, throwing facial expressions at me, anything she said just seems absurd. It's easier to bring all the reasons I don't like Nolan to the forefront of my mind. Plus, Nolan himself said it's just him trying to be a better person.
I'm sure half the stuff he's done for me any of my guy friends would've done too.
I stay still for a second, fingers brushing the leather of the watch gently. I imagine it around his wrist, clinging to his skin. It still smells slightly of him, that familiar cedarwood scent. Warmth rushes through my veins again.
If there's anything, it's him being stupidly attractive that's messing with me. My relationship-deprived brain is crossing wires, confusing his looks for something more.
But there can't be anything, so there isn't.
I browse the stores a bit more, putting on headphones to stop thinking about the things driving me crazy. I find some art supplies for Kat, some books for Riley and slippers for Alex. I almost buy Cole another Beanie but stop myself. I have to find something more creative.
When I leave the mall the weather has really picked up, snow dancing around in the air. Piles of white have started thickening on the ground, clinging to every surface. Wind swirls around my face, cold gusts turning my cheeks pink.
I need to get home before it's too dangerous to drive, the salt on the ground not seeming to do much with the amount of snow falling from the sky. I should've checked the weather. It's never usually this heavy in Ivefield.
Before I start the engine my fingers pause on my phone, hesitant. I'm close enough to the south part of town that it's basically on my way. I could drop off the watch. That way I don't have to awkwardly give it to Nolan the next time he's hanging around Riley's driveway.
I was the one who told him we should be more normal. If this was any of my normal friends I wouldn't think twice about it.
Fuck him for screwing up my head this much.
I type the words quickly so I don't regret it, briefly explaining how I ended up with his stupid watch, then chuck the phone down and start driving. I'm being normal whether it kills me or not.
The snow gets heavier the longer I drive, swirling viciously outside the windows.
Wind hisses, mixing with the wet sounds of melted ice on the road.
Shit. I don't think I've ever seen it this bad.
By the time I'm pulling into Nolan's street my visibility is terrible, the world a white, blurry sheet in front of me.
I'm only paused a moment before a figure approaches, knocking on the window gently. I turn to see Nolan, eyes squinted and hair dotted with an array of snowflakes. They hit his face too, clinging to his cheeks and the sides of his jacket.
I only crack the door open slightly, immediately hit with a gust of cold air.
"You can't drive in this," Is the first thing he says, frowning.
I blink, "I'll be fine. Take your watch."
I offer it to him through the gap of the open door, fingers sharpening with the cold.
"Ava, are you insane?" He scoffs back, not even moving to take it.
I roll my eyes. He's back to his usual antics.
"I'm practical," I murmur, gesturing my hand out further, "My mom will need the car soon so I need to get home."
"Your mom won't be driving either, no one will," He states as if it's a certain fact, eyes glancing around at the snow-covered street to prove his point.
I look around too and a sigh falls from my lips. Maybe he's right. The weather is too dangerous to drive. I'm doing that thing where I desperately need something to be right so I ignore the truth.
"What are you even suggesting?" I huff, scrunching up my nose, "I can't just sit in my car until it stops snowing."
"No, you can't," He nods assertively, "Come inside, to my apartment."
I pause, eyes frozen. The last time I was in his apartment he drunkenly told me I was beautiful and started the whole chain of events that lead to this weirdness. I don't want to go in there, the place full of his photos, a memory card with a bird scrawled on it. A place full of him.
"No," I say, a bit colder than intended.
"It's going to last a few hours, you can't-"
"No, Winters," I insist, "I'd rather stay in the car."
"You are really bratty sometimes," He huffs under his breath, resting an arm on the roof so his body hovers over me, "I'm not asking you. Come inside."
I narrow my eyes at him, hand now freezing from dangling out the door. He just throws a challenging smile, like he's waiting for me to give in. My eyes graze his, some shining, firm quality. It's the part of him that can make me silent, compels me to listen to his words.
"Fuck you," I mumble, turning off the engine and pushing the door fully open, easing myself out into the whirlpool of snow.
Nolan just chuckles, finallytaking the watch from my fingertips as I turn to slam the door. I let him lead the way, beginning to walk towards that small alleyway just like I did when he first took those photos.
I'm not scared of him in the same ways as I was in the past, that dynamic has translated into something new.
He tells me what to do and I somehow end up listening because it doesn't feel like taunting anymore. It feels like he cares, and that scares me, so I protest back until he makes me quiet again.
I can't ignore him anymore, not really.
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