Page 42 of Man On

"Get out."

Noah scrambles back from snooping around my end table and falls on his ass, looking up at me with wide, confused eyes.

Did he think I left him in here so he could snoop around? I thought he'd clear out well before I was done scrubbing the shame off my body. He should be waiting in his own room for his turn to wash away the evidence of what we did, not hanging out waiting for me to come back. And certainly not violating my stuff the way he just violated me.

"I said get out."

"Lane—"

"Now!" I bellow.

Noah stares at me incredulously, but gets to his feet.

I don't think I've ever raised my voice quite so loud or forcefully. I'm a big guy. I rarely have to assert myself. Except with Noah, who is as dense as he is pretty.

Not that I think he's pretty. I just mean that everything interesting about him is superficial. A pretty face—when it isn't contorted into an evil smirk—and some passing charm will only get you so far in life. But it's not getting him anywhere with me. Not anymore. He went too far this time, and I?—

I'm not ready to come to terms with my part in whatever it is that’s happening between us. Blood rushes in my ears, voices of my past reminding me exactly what it is.

A sickness. Unnatural. Abomination.

"Are you okay?" Noah asks, taking a step towards me and raising his hand like he's about to comfort me.

"Don't touch me!" I spit, shrinking away from him with revulsion. As though the harsher I am, the more likely the whispers will go away.

I should know better. The memories are always stronger after I've done something wrong. After I've sinned.

Noah throws his hands out like he's placating a wild stallion.

"I'm sorry, okay, I?—"

"Get. The. Fuck. Out."

I so rarely curse, the words, paired with my deadly tone, get through to Noah. He steps gingerly away from me, not turning his back. Once he's through the threshold, I slam the door so hard, I'm surprised it doesn’t split the wood.

Instead of being relieved that I'm safely alone again, the moment I close the door, the walls close in on me. I wish, not for the first time, that there was a proper window in here. Although, it might be a good thing right now. I’d probably pitch myself off the third story just to get some air in my lungs.

It's not quite eight o’clock. The dining hall should still be open, but I don’t want to be around people. I need space. I need to move. I need to run.

After pacing around my room indecisively for what feels like an unhealthy length of time, I get dressed in some running gear and race out of the apartment before Noah realizes I've left my room.

It's not raining as heavily as it was earlier, but it's still drizzling. Random flashes of lightning illuminate the thick clouds, letting me know the storm isn’t over yet. The rain makes the sidewalks and running trails slippery, but at least I'm not in danger of running into anyone.

Wrong again.

I'm on my fifth lap around campus, pushing hard, when my legs can't hold out any longer. I collapse on a bench and lower my head between my knees as dizziness overtakes me. I'm not sure how long I've been like this when I hear voices. I pull myself up and stand, because I don't want to attract any attention, but I make it worse for myself, because my limbs won't cooperate. Three guys walking towards the athletic dorms see me and run over.

"Whoa man, are you okay—Lane?"

I blink up at the guys surrounding me. There’s Danny Hastings and Jamie Peters, from my soccer team, and another guy that looks familiar, but I'm not sure I've met him officially before. He's obviously an athlete, if his large build and team sweatsuit are anything to go by. I think I’ve seen him in the gym.

"Uh, yeah—no. I'm fine. Really. Just overdid it a bit."

Danny sits next to me, not too closely, and rests his elbows on his knees. "What kind of masochist are you to be out here running in the rain after a day of intense workouts and a scrimmage?" he jokes.

I shrug and give him a wry smile, because I don't have a good answer for him. He’s right, of course, my body is exhausted from the day. But I needed to get out of my head.

"When's the last time you ate?" the guy I don't know asks.

---