Chapter 17 #2
“Your tattoo, Noah… what is it?” I let my fingers ghost over the design, careful, apprehensive, like I’m tracing a secret I was never meant to find.
But I did.
He shivers where my touch barely grazes his skin.
“Tears,” he whispers, voice catching on something too heavy to name. “My tears,” he repeats softly, as I run my fingertips down the length of his leg, chasing the ink like I’m following a map made of sorrow.
“And the rain,” he gasps, sucking in a breath when my fingers skim his skin like a match striking against wet paper.
“But why? Why so many tears, angel? And why the rain?”
He hisses when I fold my fingers around his ankle, as if my touch scorches through his skin and bone—like the ink remembers everything he’s trying to forget.
“My t-t-tears… the r-rain…” he stammers, his voice fragile and raw. “The rain hides my tears.”
His fingers curl tightly into the sheets, white-knuckled, like he’s holding on for dear life. “Take me out of the rain, Alex,” he pleads, barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to hide anymore.”
My eyes remain fixed on the tattoo—still chasing the storm winding down his leg.
I follow its lines the way I follow his silences, certain there’s something I should understand, something just out of reach, something to figure out.
Maybe if I stare long enough, the ink might loosen its grip, give up what it’s holding, but instead it only knots my thoughts, the way his presence does, leaving me with the uneasy sense that I’m missing something essential.
“Who are you hiding from?” I ask, though part of me is afraid to know.
“Him.” He breathes. The word is a ghost.
He sighs as he relaxes into the memory. “She put me in the rain so he couldn’t see my tears.” He exhales softly. “He couldn’t hurt me there, Alex. I was protected. And now… I’m lost.”
I sit up straighter, my chest tightening. “I don’t understand,” I mutter, troubled and confused.
“I know,” he says numbly, almost mournful. “But could you look for me?”
The way he says it—defeated, like he’s begging from somewhere far away—hurls me deeper into confusion.
“Jesus, Noah. Where?”
Nothing in this conversation is making sense. Every word feels like it belongs to a different language, a different world, a different person, and I’m stranded in the middle of it, desperate to translate pain I can’t begin to decode.
He exhales shakily, the sound laced with defeat. A sigh that feels like the weight of years. Like something in him is slowly giving up.
“In the rain,” he says softly.
And fucking hell—I’m two seconds from ripping my own hair out.
“The rain,” I repeat, more to myself than to him, trying to piece together whatever the hell this means—if it means anything at all. Or if I’ve already lost him to whatever storm he’s drowning in.
“Noah.” I breathe, voice trembling. “You’ve got to give me more. I’ve never been lost in the rain. I wouldn’t know where to begin.”
Jesus Christ. I thought solving a puzzle was complicated, but stepping into his thoughts is insane. The rain—how does someone get lost in the rain?
His fingers tighten around mine, grounding and ghostlike all at once.
“I’ll know when you’re close,” he whispers, a sad kind of certainty in his voice. “I’ve been waiting for you my entire life.”
“You what?” I blink, stunned, his words echoing like they’ve been spoken before—in a dream, maybe? But—
Phone call from America.
The words crash through the silence like a siren. An electric jolt surges through me, as if jumper cables were clamped to my brain. I spring off the bed, heart hammering, and somehow manage to land on my feet.
Phone call from America.
It repeats again, robotic and eerie.
“Robbie, ignore call,” Noah instructs the virtual voice.
He rises onto his elbows, looking all sorts of cute; hair mussed, lips swollen, and completely unfazed.
But it’s like a fucking bomb just went off inside my head and blew up my brain. My heart slams against my ribs like it’s trying to escape. Sweat beads across my forehead. My hands won’t stop trembling.
What the hell am I doing here?
What the hell am I doing with him?
“Who the fuck is America?!” I shout, louder than I mean to—like he owes me something, which he doesn’t. But god, I need him to answer me.
“Erica,” he says, so calm it only fuels the wildfire already ripping through me. “My sister.”
His voice barely registers.
I rake my fingers down my face, trying to pull myself back into my skin, trying to wrestle my rage into something quieter, more manageable.
But it’s too late.
I’m coming apart.
Jesus. I need to get home. I need to call Elijah. I need—
“You need to relax,” Noah says, slicing through the panic ripping through my skull.
“I need to leave!” I shout, barely holding it together. “This never happened. Do you understand me?” I snarl, hands shaking.
“This. Never. Happened.”
My voice fractures on the last word because I’m choking on it.
I stomp across the room, leaving him behind, silent, stunned, drowning in the wake of everything we just did.
When I reach the door, I pause, gasping for air. One breath. Another. And another.
Don’t you dare pass out in this apartment, I tell myself.
I spin around and face him.
He’s standing in the middle of the room, shirtless and shaken, those big beautiful eyes locked on me as if I might disappear.
Which is definitely my plan.
I exhale slowly, the pressure in my chest unbearable. I can’t leave without an answer though.
“What did he do to you, Noah?”
“Who?” he asks, tension creeping into his wide, startled eyes.
“Gabriel!” I snap. “I saw the roses, damn it! Did he hurt you? Did he fucking hurt you?”
Tears start spilling down his cheeks again, quiet and steady, just like the ink winding down his leg.
“Noah!” I bark, and he flinches.
“N-no,” he stammers. “He didn’t hurt me, Alex. Not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Do not tell me what I’m thinking!” I shout, the words tearing from my throat like shrapnel. “If I were thinking, I wouldn’t be here right now!”
My hands fly to my ears, clawing, digging, trying to silence the ringing. It feels like it’s tearing through my head.
I can’t do this. I need to get out. I need to run.
“Last chance, Noah,” I growl. “Tell me what he did to you. What the fuck did Gabriel do?”
He presses both hands to his face, wiping at the tears with a kind of desperate fury, like he’s trying to erase himself.
And then he hesitates.
Freezes.
His trembling hands lower, but his lips don’t move. His silence is louder than anything he could say.
He looks at me like what he’s about to divulge might wreck me.
But I’m already wrecked.
What I just did is tearing me apart; there’s nothing left to ruin.
“H-he was kissing me… loving on me. And then… and then…”
“And then what?” I press, though my voice comes out low, breathless—me trying to reel myself in before I spiral again.
He lifts those pretty eyes, glassy and wide, and stares right through me.
“We were going to fuck,” he whispers. “I was going to lead him into the rain.” He bites his lip and looks away. “Because I needed to be saved.”
My heart shatters. But my blood pressure also spikes. I’ve had enough of this rain shit. He should write poetry or something. Maybe someone else can make sense of this damn story.
“I understand that,” I say, taking a step toward him. “And did you… Did you fuck him?”
His eyes snap back to mine, pupils swimming in emotion. His lip still caught between his teeth, like he’s afraid of what might slip out next.
“No,” he says, barely audible. “But I touched him… there.”
His eyes flick downward—to my ass—and linger just long enough to make sure I understand.
I do—crystal fucking clear.
When he looks back up, there’s guilt swimming in the blue.
“He liked it,” he continues. “Me playing with his ass. And I was okay with it because it gave me time… to relax, gather my thoughts. Plus, he was smiling, and I love it when he smiles.” He pauses for a moment, looks away, then quickly back.
Eerily, he asks… “Have you ever heard the sound of a moan through a smile, Alex? Desperation and delight wrapped into a breath—like sunshine sighing? It’s a beautiful sound—those moans singing against my lips.
” He blinks, fast. Lashes fluttering so rapidly that I lose count.
He inhales a sharp breath like he said something he didn’t expect to.
He hesitates, shakes his head, and I shake mine because what the actual fuck?
Then he continues. “He, um… lowered himself onto my finger, moaning deeper, darker, more desperate… shuttering as he breathed his name across my lips.”
My jaw tightens. It takes me a second to realize he’s stopped speaking. His words still funneling through my brain. “Whose name?” I ask, realizing he left it hanging.
He blinks slowly, like the memory still stings. “Elijah.” He deflates with a sigh. “He moaned for Elijah.”
Phone call from America.
At the sound of the voice again, I whip around and slam my foot into the door. Blinding white light explodes behind my eyes, shredding my vision. I stumble down the hallway, gripping my head, out of my fucking mind.
Passing the roses, my fist lashes out, smashing into the crystal vase. Flowers scatter through the air, water spraying in every direction as the vase crashes against the wall and shatters into pieces.
Phone call from America.