Chapter 19

Iwait up all night for Noah. I wish I could say it's out of worry, but that wouldn't be quite true. It's more so the nagging guilt gnawing relentlessly at me. The kind of guilt that is sickening. It'll make your stomach tumble and your chest ache and your throat tighten. It's absolutely miserable. Of course, I can't blame anyone but myself. It was my own decision to give into temptation in the middle of the night and goad Noah into another night together. I know it was cruel. I know it was beyond unfair. I see the way he looks at me. I know this is more than pure desire to him and I shouldn't have manipulated his feelings.

But God, he sure knows how to make the most of a night.

I'm not heartless. I didn't go out of my way to mess with him and it makes me feel horrible to know that I caused enough damage to have him out wandering at all hours of the night.

Would I do it again?

Probably not.

Maybe.

Okay, it's pretty likely.

All I can say is that he started it. It's my job to finish it—"finish it" being subjective, of course. It could mean telling him I want nothing to do with him. Or it could mean tying him down with shoestrings and making him my pet. Both are equally valid.

That said, it's a mix of relief and discomfort when he finally comes wandering home around dawn. He looks a mess, his hair tousled and his eyes weighed down by dark circles. I can see he has bruises around his wrist in the shape of my hands. That part makes me feel the worst. I have the horrible thought that I have become exactly what I despise—an animal only after pleasure, no matter how many people I hurt in the process of seeking it. I'm no better than Jace. I'm in disbelief that I let it get this far. I can't say a word to Noah. I just hold his pained stare until he walks away, retreating into the bedroom and climbing into bed. I don't think he ever actually went to sleep, though, because occasionally I peek in and find him staring aimlessly out of the window. He's hiding from me, right here in plain sight.

When the time comes to head to the airport, Noah is already up and packed. He sits and watches me hurry to gather my things, and without so much as a word uttered, we leave the hotel side-by-side. It seems more like a duty to him than a desire to stay by my side, like he morally can't leave me alone, but at the same time, he can't wait to get the hell away from me.

I can't say I blame him.

I think about apologizing, but what would I even say? Hey, sorry for tempting you into sleeping with me after I told you I want nothing to do with you? Absolutely not. That's a good way to make things worse. I decide that my only real option is to put as much distance between us as possible, for his sake and my own. I clearly can't be trusted around him, and it seems like my presence is only making this harder for him. So being sat next to each other on a plane isn't exactly ideal.

We get to the airport and through security, then we find our gate and pick a couple of seats to waste the two hours in until our flight takes off. I bide my time, and when Noah goes to the bathroom, I hurry to the information desk.

"Excuse me?"

He looks up at me and smiles. "How can I help you, ma'am?"

"I was wondering if it would be possible to switch seats on my flight. If not, that's fine, but I just can't stand the window seat, y'know?" I fake a pleasant laugh. "I'm afraid of heights and being able to see all the way down to the ground makes me nervous."

It's scary how easy lying is becoming.

The man murmurs understandingly. "Oh, of course. Let me see what I can do for you." He types momentarily then eyes me again. "Do you know your flight number?"

I tell him.

"Good news!" he informs me. "We have an aisle seat five rows up available. Is that alright?"

Five rows up? That would still be pretty close to Noah, but I suppose it's better than being right next to him.

"That's perfect," I express. "Thank you so much. I really appreciate your help."

The man returns the sentiment with a classic customer service smile and prints out my new boarding pass, which I'm quick to tuck away in my purse. I don't want Noah to see it, not until there's no avoiding it anymore. He'll think it's personal—that I'm trying to get away from him. He won't realize that I'm doing it for him, to make it easier. He'll be crushed, even more than he already is.

I return to my seat just as Noah is walking up. He gives me an odd look. I hate that we've reached the point in our non-relationship that he's so easily suspicious.

"Where were you?" he asks cautiously, sitting slowly. He doesn't take his eyes off of me even for a second, but it's not like how it was before. Now, his stare is cold and unforgiving. I find myself strangely missing the sunny warmth he looked at me with before.

I gesture to the help desk, feigning innocence.

Lies, lies, lies.

"I was just making sure we're still taking off on time."

"Oh." Noah's brow furrows, and I can see the guilt on his face. It makes me feel like absolute garbage. I just had to fuck over the one decent guy on the planet—the one single male who actually has a conscience. That would be my rotten luck. I could've thrown a stick on the street and hit ten moderately cute guys without a shit to give. They would have made good one-night stands. Noah, on the other hand?

"Do you need anything?" he asks me, digging around in his pocket and pulling out his wallet. "Water or snacks or anything? I'm gonna go grab a coffee."

He's so nice. I hate it.

"No—no, I'm good. Thanks, though."

He nods shortly, and I can tell he's avoiding eye contact. I want to say something, but I don't. I just watch as he walks into the nearest convenience store until he disappears from sight.

I can't believe a man has managed to make me feel guilty. I didn't think it would ever happen. If I were to tell myself from a week ago that I would be so torn up over Noah Laurier of all people, I would think I lost my damn mind.

I suppose this is my karma for judging a book by its cover. And its annoying foot-tapping habit while I'm trying to focus. And its stupid haircut, that makes his stupid glorious blonde curls fall into place. You get the point. The book is rough, but somehow, against all odds, it's grown on me. Noah has grown on me.

He's wearing a Superman T-shirt in the airport, for God's sake (and it's alarming that I find it sexy because I've never been into nerds before, but hey, I guess this trip is filled with firsts).

Noah comes back after a few minutes, balancing at least three bags that I can see and a coffee cup. He nearly trips on about seven different obstacles as he's approaching, but he finally reaches me and sits down with a heavy sigh.

I want to laugh, but I don't think that would be appropriate given the circumstances.

I watch him unpack the bags. He keeps a few snacks, drinks, and magazines for himself, then hands me a diet soda, cheddar chips, a chocolate chip cookie, and a small paperback book.

I hate him.

Well, no I don't.

But I really, really want to.

"You didn't have to get me anything, Noah," I tell him, guiltier than ever.

He lazily glances at me out of the corner of his eye. For a guy who just bought me an entire airport feast, he seems sort of irked.

"Your stomach's been growling for, like, forty-five minutes. It was annoying me."

I raise an amused eyebrow and gesture at the paperback. "And the book?"

Noah hmphs and crosses his legs, opening one of his magazines and nonchalantly flipping through it. "I'm sick of Little Women."

How can anyone be sick of Little Women?I barely hold back a scoff. Sick of Little Women. Yeah, right. He's got to be the worst liar in the entire world. If he ever tries poker, he's in major trouble.

I decide to not comment on his little remark and make myself busy with my new book instead. It's alright. Nothing special, but it's enough to keep me entertained at least. It's got a stereotypical girl with a stereotypical dog that dies a stereotypical death.

Boring.

Not that Noah needs to know that. As far as he's concerned, it's a masterpiece.

And luckily, he wouldn't know a real masterpiece if it hit him right across the face.

Minus a few uncomfortable occasions where we catch each other staring, Noah and I don't exchange another word until it comes time to board the flight. Knots twist in my stomach as we wait in line to scan our boarding passes. Then vomit threatens to spew out of me as we shuffle single-file onto the plane. Then an urge to break a window and run away almost overwhelms me as we approach Economy. I know my time is running out.

Row 21 seat C. There it is. My new seat.

My new seat away from Noah.

Walking behind him, he doesn't notice at first when I slide into the aisle seat.

But he certainly realizes when he reaches Row 24 and I'm not next to him anymore.

I know I should look away, but I can't. I watch him search for me, scanning every seat until he finally finds me. Our eyes meet, and I see his face crumble. His shoulders slump and his lips part, as if he wants to say something to me but he doesn't know what.

I think he might stand there and stare at me forever, but he gets shoved into his seat by a burly man trying to get past. I want to get up and pick a fight with the man for being a dick to Noah, but it's not my place. I know that. And I also know that as much as that shoulder to Noah's chest might have hurt, I hurt him tenfold.

It's for the best.That's what I have to tell myself. I'm doing the right thing by putting distance between us. I can't hurt him anymore.

But somehow, when I meet Noah's betrayed stare, I know that just isn't true.