Page 62 of Reclaiming Love

Chapter 34

Melissa walked in from the cold, clutching another cup of coffee in her hands. She’d been visiting the coffee shop each day since last week with no sign of Noah at all. It was clear to her that he was avoiding her.

He wasn’t even giving her the chance to explain.

Anxiety mauled her, and the only comfort she had was the warmth of the coffee she held in her hands. She put down her cup and turned around, slowly unbuttoning her coat.

She felt strange being at work before Nadine. Ever since Mr. Zimmerman had announced plans for Nadine to relocate to Europe, she’d been arriving at work well after nine o’clock, it was so uncharacteristically unlike her boss.

Unraveling the scarf from around her neck, Melissa’s thoughts were preoccupied with Noah. She needed to contact him again. It was easier to count the moments she didn’t think of him, for they hardly existed. Focusing on the bad stuff that had happened between the two of them helped her to forget the episode between her and Matt. Sometimes, unexpectedly, an image of her on Matt’s bed would flash into her head and she’d feel as though she was there again, powerless, frozen and weak. She’d shiver, and shake, and hate herself for what she’d let him do to her.

And when she wanted to punish herself more, she’d think back to New Year’s Eve and the party and the room in which she and Noah had spent those wonderful few hours—when she’d felt safe and as if she belonged.

It killed her to know she might not get that ever again. That he would probably move on and find that same bliss with someone else.

But as the days passed, and time lent more objectivity to her troubled mind, she knew she couldn’t let him go thinking the worst about her without at least getting a chance to explain her side of it.

She had to track him down. The idea that he thought she might have two-timed him—that she’d had something with Matt and had intended to start something with him—crucified her.

“Hey, Mel. How’s it going?” The sound of Matt’s voice jerked her out of her daydreaming. She spun around, her insides lurching. “What do you want?” The scarf lay stretched out between her hands.

“Nothing. Just came by to see how you were.” He stood in front of her, holding a batch of CDs in one hand. She’d not seen him since that day and as grateful as she’d been not to have run into him so far, she wasn’t prepared to deal with him— especially now, the way he stood, in her space, on her floor.

Her body tensed, but the last thing she wanted was for him to think he had dominion over her. “I couldn’t be better,” she told him, and held his gaze with a look of defiance even though deep down her insides had turned to liquid.

“Yeah?” He cocked his head and eyed her easily and with no qualms about the way he’d behaved.

“Are you here for Nadine?” She glanced at the CDs he held.

“No.”

So why don’t you just get the hell lost?

She walked away from him and put her scarf and coat away in the closet, taking her time. Sitting back down at her desk meant she’d only end up being closer to him. “You don’t have to be scared of me, Mel.”

Quit calling me Mel.

She unfolded her arms and slowly walked towards him, stopping when she reached her chair. She gripped the top of the backrest, choosing to remain standing. “I’m not scared of you.”

He leaned over her desk and placed his knuckles on the table. “You don’t have to say it. It’s written all over you.”

“Why don’t you leave?”

He straightened up and glanced at his CDs and then at her, and had the audacity to smile.

The creep.

The more he stayed, the more he repulsed her. How could she ever have gotten it so wrong? “I don’t know what I ever saw in you,” she bit back, harnessing strength from somewhere. “You’re sick. You might want to seek professional help.”

His neck muscles corded. “Thanks for the lasting memories.” He held up the CDs as a trophy before he sauntered away from her desk. There was something uneasy, something she hated more than usual about his last remark, about that too-confident smirk of his and the way he’d casually mentioned the CDs.

She gripped the chair tighter. Had he…could he…have filmed her that last time?

No.

No.

No.

Not possible.

He was calling her bluff. Wasn’t he?

And yet the idea that he had refused to fade. If he said something, the chances were he’d already done it.

She closed her eyes to center herself, to gather her thoughts and to put herself back together again. Her hands started to sweat and her chest tightened, but she pushed past the rising panic and stilled herself just enough to sense it: not indignation, not anger, but something else. Something that soared, and raged, and roared, until the pounding of her heart drummed louder and the racing of her pulse grew faster, and they rose, in symphony together, to a triumphant high, one deafening crescendo before exploding and breaking free.

The release of guilt now turned to hatred.

She knew where he lived, and she knew at once what it was she had to do.

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