Page 137 of Stop and Seek
Finally.
Blood smeared across the paint. His skin stung. He didn’t care.
Bending over, he yanked the phone from the floor. Scratched to shit, but it worked.
Noah
Please. Baby. Talk to me.
Nothing.
I want to help. Please, let me help you.
Still nothing.
Jesus, this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. This wasn’t what itfeltlike last night, or this morning. Theo had smiled at him,high and cute, a little deranged but still cute. He’d begged Noah to fuck him. Theo let himstay over.
Thatmeantsomething. Noah wasn’t crazy. Itmeant something.
Noah dropped onto the edge of the bed like gravity just... gave up on him. His elbows hit his knees, hands over his face. The sheets smelled like industrial detergent. Chemical-clean. Heartless.
But his shirt—
Coconut.
Theo.
Goddammit.
His throat closed up.
Theo had asked him to leave. Quietly. No big deal. Not as if itwreckedNoah on the spot or anything.
And of course Noah left. Because Theo asked. And when Theo asked for something, Noahdid it. No hesitation. No argument.
Because helovedhim.
Because he couldn’t breathe when Theo looked at him like he might actually be something worth loving back.
He curled in on himself, forehead pressed to his knees, fists clenched; if he held tight enough, he could keep all his feelings inside.
Noah didn’twantspace.He didn’t want air or time or whatever-the-fuck people always said you needed after a fight. He wanted to go back, drop onto his knees and ask for forgiveness until Theo came around.
He shot up. Couldn’t sitstill.
That flicker of fear on Theo’s face played on repeat, stabbing him over and over. Like Noah had messed everything up just byloving him too much. Just by beingthere.
Maybe hewastoo much. Too clingy. Too loud. But he wasn’t gonnaapologizefor it. He wasn’t gonna pretend this wasn’t exactly what he wanted. That Theo wasn’t the most perfect thing he’d ever seen. Messed up, yeah. But who the hell wasn’t?
Wandering into the bathroom, he flicked on the light. Harsh and white and buzzing like it hated him. He looked at himself in the mirror and winced.
No sleep did something to a person. Crazy hair. Puffy eyes. The veins on his neck looked close to popping. Blood still trailing from the knuckles on his right hand.
He looked like someone who just got left.
“I scare him,” he whispered, staring at the smear of red on the porcelain sink.
It made sense, in a fucked up kind of way. Theo didn’t get loved like that. He didn’t get treated gently. Or intensely. Or right. Not according to what Noah had heard. People used him. They took and left him hanging.
