Chapter 5

Imust be cursed. It's the only explanation for this day straight from Hell. My mother would say it's my penance for not going to church every Sunday, but this is beyond even God himself. This is the work of the devil. Only he would be so cruel as to not only strand me in North Carolina, but also strand me in North Carolina with Noah Laurier. I think I'd rather be stranded with an ax murderer. At least then they might kill me and put me out of my misery.

"Same rules apply," Noah tells me once the plane has landed and we're stationary on the runway, waiting for a gate to become available. "We don't know each other. We don't say a word to each other. We're strangers."

I scoff.

"Right, 'cause that went so well the first time."

Noah shoots me a glare that he probably believes is intimidating, but it"s about as threatening as a kitten nibbling at my finger. An annoyance, certainly, but so weak that I barely even register it. Unfortunately, his boyish good looks haven"t changed much in the last few years. It would be a far more satisfying twist of fate if he"d already started balding or if his nose had grown to comical proportions, serving as a physical manifestation of his inner ugliness.

"I mean it, Lucy," he continues. "This is bad enough without us arguing. Can we please just be amicable, at least until we get off the plane?"

I sigh. I don't want to let him think he has a decent idea, but he did say "please," and I'm just impressed he's learned basic manners. "Fine. We'll be amicable."

"Thank you."

Noah huffs heavily, but I get the feeling it's not directed at me based on the way he checks his phone and shakes his head at it. He's reacting strongly to this; there must be a bigger reason as to why this stop-off has upset him. Don't ask, Lucy. He's just a stranger—not my problem.

I open my book with every intent to keep reading in silence until this punishment ends. Naturally, this plan becomes more and more daunting with every passing moment because just having him next to me is so utterly annoying. Every minuscule move he makes my body registers, it's like I'm tuned into the singular radio frequency that is Noah.

What adult man keeps his hair that long and disheveled? And I doubt he even looked at himself in the mirror before leaving his house. Men like him think they look perfect all the time with minimal effort needed. They think ladies are just waiting to throw themselves at them. He also must have literally bathed himself in his cologne this morning. Its strong, musky scent is giving me a migraine.

I pretend to be reading as I discreetly watch him pick up a magazine from the seat pocket. He starts flipping through the pages at a speed that I know he's not capable of reading at, and I swear, he's turning the pages as loudly as possible just to get on my nerves.

Going back to my book, I stare at the words on the page, but they're all blurring together. It's pointless. I can't focus long enough to get more than a sentence in before he does something else to irk me.

My last straw is him opening a bag of sickeningly strong-smelling vinegar chips and smacking down on them.

"Will you please shut the hell up?" I snap.

He turns and looks at me, his hand halfway to his mouth with another repulsive chip. He blinks, then his lips curl up in a smirk. He slowly opens his mouth and chews, loud. I glower at him.

"Did you forget to take your antipsychotics today, Lucy?"

"You know what you're doing!" I growl.

"I didn't say a word! I didn't even look at you!"

I narrow my eyes and cross my arms, giving him the best trait I inherited from my mother—my stare-down. "You were...chewing! A-and...flipping!"

He gapes at me, shaking his head. "Yeah, you've lost it. You've lost your damn mind, Lucy. You are actually insane."

"Oh, don't act so innocent," I snarl back at him. "You know good and well that you were doing it on purpose to annoy me."

"I promise you that I wasn't," he says slowly, like he's afraid I'll attack.

Maybe I will.

It depends on how much longer I'm stuck next to him. He's got about five more seconds. If I'm still forced to look at his stupid face after that, I'll claw it right off.

"Whatever." I wave him off. "Just stop being so loud. I can't focus."

He raises a curious eyebrow and I just know I'm going to want to slap him after whatever nonsense is about to come out of his mouth next.

"I think, Lucy, that maybe you're just bored of the book, seeing how you've read it about a million times. That'll happen, y'know."

My jaw clenches until it hurts, and my teeth grind together. I'm trying diligently to not scream right in his face because that is not acceptable in society. But if society wasn't around, he would be dead meat.

"I'm not bored of it," I argue. "And stop saying my name like you know me. You don't." He chuckles; it's a dumb, irking chuckle that makes me want to slap that cocky smile right off of his face. I feel like I'm twenty again, being made to feel small and irrelevant in front of an entire lecture hall. He's the only person who has ever made me feel like that. Or he was.

Until I found out about Jace and Amy.

"I'm serious," I seethe.

"Oh, I know," he replies easily. "That's what's funny about it."

"And, what, pray tell, is so funny about what I said?"

"Oh, just that you're probably the easiest person in the whole world to know. You might as well have a cheat sheet to your psyche tattooed on your forehead."

I don't know why I'm so offended by that, but I am. It's like he's the one slapping me across the face. I reel back and stare at him, sick to my stomach at the insinuation.

"That's not true," I bark. "You don't know a thing about me, and you have no right to talk to me like you do. Just because I'm a woman?—"

He cuts me off with a groan and throws his head back in annoyance. "Not this again!" He runs a hand through his hair and looks down at me with sheer exasperation. "I don't have anything against women. I have something against you and need I remind you, that is only because you seem to have something against me. If you just so happen to be a woman, then so be it. But I am notout to get you just because you don't have a Y chromosome."

My eyes narrow. "If I were a man?—"

"I promise I would hate you just as much, sweetheart."

I bite down heavily on my tongue, so much so that I start to taste blood. The bitter, iron taste grounds me, but not enough to make me keep my mouth shut.

"If I were a man," I start again, with more ferocity this time, "you wouldn't laugh at the fact that I don't like you. I wouldn't be considered emotional, and I certainly wouldn't be asked if it's ‘my time of the month' just because I'm upset. Do you know how frustrating it is? You didn't single anyone else out in class, it sucked Noah. I already found it hard to connect with people, and you made that worse."

Rage bubbles in my chest, like boiling water seeping over the sides of a pot. My heart is racing, and I am afraid. But I stand my ground and stare at Noah.

He seems to be at a loss for words; his mouth opens and closes a few times before he finally opts to keep it closed. He turns, stiff as a board, and goes back to idly flipping through his stupid magazine.

I watch him. I don't dare look away. I want him to feel my eyes on him, and I want him to explode under the pressure, just like I did.

He doesn't even spare me a glance. He just turns page after page, until finally, his mouth opens.

As easily as reciting the ABCs, he says, "I still think Emily Dickinson is better."

And, somehow, it feels like a win.