Chapter 13

Evelyn

I inhale deeply and take a drag on the cigarette, the burning yet surprisingly soothing nicotine filling my lungs and easing the emotional pain. Personally, I don't like smoking, I've never understood the appeal. But I don't mind it on others, especially Noah, because it's part of him, it's part of his unique smell.

I pull my legs closer to my chest and twirl the cigarette between my fingers, careful not to drop any ash on our sheets. Ever since we moved here, I refused to let him smoke in the bedroom. I would yell at him if he even just hurried across the room to the balcony with one on. But now I miss him being the source of it. I miss him spreading it around the house, leaving his mark.

Resting my chin on my knees, I take one last deep drag on the cigarette before stubbing it out in the ashtray in front of me. I watch closely as the gray smoke rises from the tip of the cigarette and the tiny embers fizzle out. Then I turn to my nightstand, reach for the glass of whiskey next to the nearly empty bottle, and take a sip. I've been trying to imitate his smell, mixing cigarettes, whiskey, his cologne, but no matter how much I use, it doesn't work; his own unique touch is missing.

Tears well up in the corners of my eyes and I fall back onto the pillows, burying my face in the soft collar of his button-up shirt. The one he wore the day before he left. It doesn't smell much like him anymore, not after I've been wearing it since the day he left for New York, but just the thought of him having worn it me brings me a sense of peace while I'm spiraling further.

I should get up. I should do something, anything. But where do I start? My mind is a maze of panic and confusion, with every thought leading to a dead end down a dark tunnel. The only things helping me calm the raging storm are the familiar taste of whiskey and cigarettes.

The walls of our room close in on me, suffocating in their familiarity. I roll onto my side, grab one of his pillows and wrap my arms and legs around the fluffy cushion. His side of the bed remains untouched, a haunting reminder of his absence. The sheets desperately need to be washed as well, but the thought of washing away the remains of him makes me sick. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath and the faint remnants of his scent fill my lungs. My heart flutters, pumping a familiar warmth through my body .

Rubbing my thighs together, the seam of the pillow rubs against my cunt and I let out a soft whine. His intoxicating smell wraps around me like a soft warm blanket and my mind fills with images of him. My breathing quickens, and before I realize what I'm doing, I roll my hips, grinding into the pillow, relishing in the friction of the seam against my clit. My lips part in a quiet moan as I hump the pillow, chasing his scent, chasing the thrill, chasing him.

One of my hands slips between my legs, gripping the pillow and providing more resistance. Loud moans escape my lips as I find the perfect angle pushing against my clit. My other hand slips under my shirt, cupping one of my tits, squeezing the soft bump and pinching my swollen nipple.

My mouth falls open in another loud moan. I flatten three of my fingers to create a firm base for friction and continue my chase. Rocking my hips back and forth into the pillow, I grind into my fingers. I alternate between squeezing my tit and rolling my nipple between my fingers. A series of erratic whines slips from my throat as I hump the pillow in a feverish, uneven and desperate rhythm. Images of Noah flash before my inner eye, of him watching me as I pleasure myself just for him, of him losing his cool and lunging at me, unable to resist his primal instincts and taking me .

After another roll of my hips, a weak orgasm surges through me. My muscles tighten, my whole body trembles, and I clench my thighs around the pillow. The relief of the sensation calms the violent storm in my mind. The thunder dies down to a soft trickle of rain. My muscles loosen and I sink into the sheets, ready to let sleep take over, at least for a little while.

But just as I'm about to drift off, my phone beeps with the familiar notification sound from our surveillance system. I push myself into a sitting position and reach for my phone. The moment the screen flickers to life, I see the time. It's two a.m., it's probably just an animal sneaking around the house, maybe trying its luck with the doves. I still open the app, just in case something really tries to break into the aviary.

The screen jumps to the camera that sent the alert. Seeing what—no, who—it is, my heartbeat quickens and I hurl my phone to the side, leap out of bed, and charge downstairs, tripping over my own feet from the panic boiling inside of me. I slam into the front door, before I reach for the handle and yank it open.

And there he is.

Kyle.

I look him up and down through tear-fogged eyes. His face is battered, a black eye, a broken nose. His arm is resting in a slip. Without saying a word, I push past him, jump down the porch and run down our driveway to where his car is parked, but he is nowhere to be seen. I spin back around and find Kyle who has followed me down the driveaway. His face betrays him; deep lines of guilt, pain and remorse crease his forehead, his eyes dull, having lost all their spark.

"Where is he?" I barely manage to utter the few words through the tears rolling down my cheeks. Kyle tilts his head forward, avoiding my eyes as he remains silent. I lunge at him, slamming my hands into his chest, shoving him back. "Where is he?!" I raise my voice and yell at him, the word echoing through the cold night air.

"I don't know…" His voice is so quiet I can barely hear him over my own loud sobs.

My bottom lip quivers as I take one last look around the driveway, hoping this is just a sick joke, that he is hiding somewhere, that he is behind a tree to surprise me, but there is no one beside us. I raise my hand and wipe my face with the sleeves of the button-up. "Get inside. Now!" I urge and Kyle follows my request.

Once in our living room, I go to Noah's whiskey cabinet, fling open the door, grab one of the expensive bottles, unscrew the cap, and take a shot straight from the bottle. I close my eyes, feeling the alcohol sting in my throat, and take a deep breath before turning to face Kyle. He stands awkwardly in the middle of the living room, shifting his weight from one leg to the other as he watches me.

"Are you drunk?" He asks with genuine concern in his voice.

"It's none of your fucking business." I snap before I can stop myself, the words coming out louder than I intended. My outburst rings in my ears, setting the room around me in motion, or maybe it's just my head. "What happened?" I manage to ask, my voice a little shaky.

Kyle gestures to the sofa. "Sit down."

"I'm fine," I lie, stumbling over the words as I raise my free hand and rub my eyes, hoping to ease the dizziness.

"Evelyn, please."

Sighing in defeat, I follow his request and sit down on the edge of the sofa, my grip on the neck of the bottle remaining firm. Watching him through still slightly blurry, tear-filled eyes, I listen to the story. With each sentence that describes what has happened to him over the past few days, another piece of my heart breaks, sending a wave of grief through me, and I realize that Noah is likely going through the same thing right now.

"How did you get away?" I ask as soon as Kyle is done.

"Thanks to a drunk idiot who forgot to lock my cell one night, I was able to slip away."

"And Noah?"

"I have no idea. I tried to look for him, but he wasn't in the same place as me."

I set the bottle down on the coffee table and curl into myself, burying my face in the palms of my hands. When a strong hand lands on my shoulder and gives it a reassuring squeeze, I flinch. "Is he dead?" I ask, muffled by the hands pressed to my face.

"Possibly…"

My breath hitches in my throat while my body collapses. My chest burns, seething with pain as my heart feels like it will burst at any second. The image of his dead, lifeless face, his green eyes losing all their brightness, flashes before my mind's eye. Kyle squats down in front of me, wraps his arm around my shoulders and pulls me into a hug.

My pain morphs into anger and I snap. I pull myself up, put my hands on his shoulders and shove him away from me. "Don't you even dare trying to comfort me!" I yell at him through heavy sobs, tears rolling down my cheeks. "You're the one who took him away from me!" I push myself off the sofa and hurl one of the pillows at him. "If he is dead, it's your fault!" He doesn't dodge the pillow and just accepts the blow .

"Evelyn." He stands up again and takes a step toward me, but I fling another pillow at him.

" You took him from me. You are the one who will bring him back," I scream, my voice hoarse from the countless shed tears of the past few days.

"What if he's dead?"

"I don't care, you will bring him back to me, dead or alive ," I warn him. "But for your own sake, I hope he is still alive."

"What if not?"

"You are going to wish they had killed you too, because you are going to join him in hell sooner than you wished, and I am going to make your death as painful for you as it is for me to lose him."

Kyles sighs and then nods. "I will bring him back, I promise." He offers me a weak smile. As glad as I am that Kyle is alive and well, that his parents have him back, I don't want him; I don't need him. I only need Noah.

My body trembles as I can't hold in the emotions anymore and I let go. The tension rolls off my shoulders with each wave of tears. His hand lands on my shoulder and he pulls me closer, wrapping his arm around me and holding me close to his chest. This time I let him and wrap my arms around his middle, sinking my fingers into the thick fabric of his sweatshirt.

He smells so much like Noah, a hint of cigarettes mixed with the familiar cologne they both use. I tighten my arms around him, embracing the warmth that radiates off his body and the comforting scent that drapes over me like a cozy blanket. If I close my eyes, if I try hard enough, I can fool myself into believing that this is Noah holding me. That he is back home with me.