Staying away from Noah and his little acts of care, which he put in when he thought no one noticed, had been my undoing. I was never supposed to fall for him for more reasons than Ican count. He did warn me the very first day I asked him to take my virginity that he didn’tdolove.
But I must’ve been in way over my head if I thought I could keep my sex life physical and not catch feelings for the man who seems to hide the monsters of his past from the world. I should’ve known better.
By the seventh day, my body seeks relief and respite and turns numb. Numb to my never-ending tears, sore body, and thoughts that attack my mind with memories when I least expect them to. It becomes numb to the world that keeps revolving as if my world didn’t obliterate into smithereens with no prior warning.
Everything goes…silent.
Except for the voice in my head that begs me to seek solace in methods that would harm me.
My only saving grace between all of this has been the book he encouraged me to publish. I’m not publishing because he said so. I’m publishing because I need a purpose if I want to continue living. I have something to share with the world, and if it can’t be my love, then I’d it rather be my words than nothing at all.
I create a new account under a pen name andstart teasing about the book, sharing excerpts I know would tug at their heartstrings. And I know that because so much of my book is inspired by my life and everything I’ve gone through.
Just when I’m done posting another teaser, my doorbell rings. My brows draw together. I don’t remember ordering something.
With a sigh that scratches against my chest, I peel off the blanket from my stinking body and pad down to the door. My eyes forget to blink when I see the two people who love me at my door.
“Oh, sweetheart,” June Moore, a short woman with her gray bob cut, gasps at the sight of her only daughter, her eyes instantly filling with tears.
She steps inside, followed by Aurelia, and wraps her arms around me, not caring about how bad I smell. My body freezes, not expecting that, but then, with the warmth only a mother’s hug can exude, it melts, and I truly let go for the first time since I left his house.
I burrow myself in her neck, clinging to her like a lifeline. I wail for the love I thought I had, for the love I lost, and for the man whodid it all. I cry in her arms with my chest hurting and tears flowing because even after everything he did, I still don’t hate him.
I don’t think I ever will.
And that cements what I already know—there’snomoving on from Noah Miller. Not as long as I breathe.
I sob in my mother’s arms, sick to my stomach with the fact that I have one when he doesn’t have anyone to comfort.
I sob for the loss of what we could’ve had. I sob for what he doesn’t.
I sob, and sob, and sob.
* * *
The next day, I get out of bed.
Crying and mourning the loss of my love with my mother and friend was something I desperately needed to get up the next morning.
It was only after they left—I pushed them out more like—I realized that I can’t continue like this. I need to learn to live without him.
Ihavelived without him. I’m sure I can do it again.
Sure, if you say so.
I rebuke my brain for its unhelpful remark.
The first thing I did was take a shower, scrub the house clean, and stock the pantry and fridge. Focusing on anything other than Noah and letting my body give in to exhaustion offered me some much-needed respite.
So the last thing I expect when I slump down on the couch with my phone is seeing photos of Noah and me splattered all over the web.
I sit up on a gasp, strands of hair falling from my bun. My trembling hands scroll through article after article, comment after comment, all claiming that Noah and I have been in a salacious relationship behind Ezra’s back.
The comments that hurt me the most, though, are the ones stating that I’m not anyone’s type, let alone Noah’s. Claiming that he was testing the goods because he must have been bored, as if they know the first thing about us.
They have no idea how close that hits, as the last thing Noah said before kicking me out of his house haunts my mind.
But it’s not the comments about me that worry me; it’s what they could mean for both Ezra and Noah as players and as friends. The thought of their friendship coming to an end because of me—even if Noah and I are over—eats me up inside.