Page 52 of Forever and Ever

And what is this warm feeling?

I’ve spent almost a year around Noah, and up until now, I’ve felt nothing but calm and collected. But a few weeks of living in his house and he’s turning everything inside me upside down.

“What’s this?” Noah reaches for the clear crystal hanging from a string around my neck. His fingertips graze the exposed skin on my chest just slightly, and a gesture that wouldn’t have affected me a few months ago now sends a trail of fire along my skin.

“Q-Quartz,” I stammer, trying to gain my composure. I’m never flustered so I’m not sure what’s happening.

It must be the close quarters getting to me. That’s it.

“It’s pretty.” Noah examines the stone.

“It’s supposed to be for growth and healing.”

He hums, spinning the crystal between his fingers. But he doesn’t ask me what I might be trying to heal, he just thinks it over.

“Have you always been into stuff like this?”

“I guess.” I shrug. “My mom rubbing off on me.”

Noah drops the crystal and my hand wraps around it. My mom gave me this necklace before my first surgery, and over the years I’ve always subconsciously worn it when I start not feeling well.

“She was always collecting stones and crystals and leaving them around the house or making jewelry with them,” I say, and it hurts a little to remember with the distance between us lately. “Like the black tourmaline in the windowsill by the front door for a safe home. And her agate bracelet she’d wear anytime she was weighing some heavy decision. Then there’s the jewelry she made for my sister and I, like this necklace.”

“That’s cool.” Noah stares at my necklace. “Do you think it works?”

I spin the crystal in my palm once more. “Maybe. I’d like to think it does.”

Just because I’ve had my fair share of health struggles growing up, doesn’t mean I don’t have any faith left. After all, the universe isn’t there to fix your problems. You have to do that on your own, clinging to what you need to in order to make it happen. For me, it’s this necklace.

“What about you?” I ask. "What do you believe in?”

Noah mentioned how religious his family is, and from the way he made it sound, they’re pretty strict in their beliefs. But I’ve never heard Noah talk about it himself, and I’m honestly not sure if he believes in anything.

Noah stretches his arm along the back of the couch and turns to face me, bringing us much closer to each other. His free hand reaches out and traces the infinity knot I have tattooed on my shoulder.

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,” he admits.

“Because of your family?”

“Not exactly.” He shakes his head. His eyes lift to mine and there’s a familiar darkness in the pits of them. “I didn’t go to rehab because of an OD.”

Noah’s statement is the first time he’s brought up his rehab stay with me voluntarily, and now that he is, I have a bad feeling about it.

“Okay.” I nod.

His eyes move back to my shoulder where he traces his finger from the tattoo along the vines on my collarbone and then back again.

“I mean, I guess technically, I did OD, but that’s not really the point.” His hand stops on my shoulder, and he squeezes it.

This is usually the moment where I’d push Noah’s hand away and we’d share some playful banter about how it’s never going to happen. But two things stop me. First, I sense something a lot like a storm brewing inside him. Second, I’m starting to doubt the way I feel under his touch because it feels good.

Too good.

“I wasn’t supposed to wake up.” Noah swallows hard, and I feel my insides tighten. “I didn’twantto wake up. So, yes, although I did overdose, it wasn’t exactly accidental.”

“You…” I can’t even get the words out because it hurts too much to think it, much less say it. Cotton fills my throat, and I feel my heart racing in my chest as I realize what he’s confessing.

Noah tried to kill himself.

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