Page 22 of Tears and Other Fears

“I’m allowed to change my mind and reevaluate,” I replied. “Don’t forget, you called him just a couple of days ago.”

“So what, are you going to fuck him too? Just play with my heart and do whatever you please?” Young asked as tears filled his dark eyes.

I let out a shaky exhale. “Yes. You’re not going to figure out how to handle me until it hurts. If you can handle knowing that I’m running to another man’s arms while you figure shit out, then you’re going to be able to handle anything I throw at you. And you need to decide if I’m worth the pain you’re about to experience.”

“So what if I went around fucking everything with a pulse?”

“Would it make you feel better?” I asked.

His eyes widened. “What do you mean?”

“Does fucking make you feel better, Young? Does it take that broken heart in your chest and mend a bit? Does it distract you from the grief in your spirit or the loud, obsessive voices in your head? Does it make you feel a little less tired, a little more human? A little more alive? If it does, then I say go for it. It was never about sex for me, Young. It’s been about surviving.”

He stared at me for a long while. The driver coughed uncomfortably at the intensity of our conversation. I expected Young to lash out or ask questions. People didn’t understand the selfish way I operated. My brain was erratic and obsessive. It jumped from one need to the next, all while juggling a constant myriad of thoughts and ideas.

My mind was an exhausting poem with no end. Just rambling with symbolism in a harsh staccato style that bled from one universal truth to the next.

Young pulled out his phone and started typing up a text. After a few moments, it vibrated in his hand, and he looked down at it before speaking. “Noah is going to pick you up from the penthouse.”

And then we said nothing else. We just sat in the declaration of hurt, letting it ruminate between us as we rode.

Chapter 13

Noah was waitingoutside the penthouse when we arrived. It was almost like he had been waiting there for hours, pacing the sidewalk outside Young’s building like each step could carve grooves in the concrete to prove that he was there. The moment our car pulled up, his face brightened with a sense of hope that made me sick to my stomach. I hated that I found myself questioning if this was the right thing to do. I never doubted myself.

I needed to let Noah know how much he had hurt me.

We never got a goodbye. For almost a year, Noah was the only person in my life that I could talk to. He knew more about me than I probably knew about myself, which was saying a lot considering how acquainted I was with the demons in my chest. I wanted to honor who he was while letting him know that what he did was unacceptable. I also wanted to give Young the space he wanted.

So I didn’t greet Noah with a hug, though an invisible urge was begging me to. I wondered if the cells in our bodies had memories and habits; it was like my skin had grown accustomed to touching Noah. Before, I was running on anger and resentment, but now that Young wanted space, the only thing flooding through my body was the craving to cling to Young.

I’d said my truth to Young. But that didn’t mean the truth didn’t hurt. It took a strong person to know that they would not be enough for another, and an even stronger person to stick to their convictions. I would never be the right thing for Young; it just wasn't in my makeup.

I quickly gathered my things and left with Noah, knowing that Young didn’t want to draw out our goodbye with more hurtful words. What more could I say? The doubt in my brain whispered that this separation was permanent, but I quickly reminded my demons that the only permanence in this world was death.

Noah was staying a couple of blocks away, so we walked to his hotel. I watched him open and close his mouth like a goldfish, waiting for the opportunity to say something. I kept my body language closed off though, not wanting to hash this out in the street. If he were any damn good at being a therapist, he’d say I was making progress for not wanting public displays of chaos.

He was staying in a nice hotel, although I wondered how he was paying for it. I knew he had a good amount of money saved up from his practice, but it wasn’t feasible for him to stay here for an extended period. It was weird that he hadn’t gone back to California.

“Why are you still here?” I asked once we were standing outside the hotel. “I mean, how are you still here? It can’t be cheap, and I know you don’t have a license to practice here. Are my parents paying you to keep tabs on me?”

Noah looked ashen, and those bright blue eyes flashed with something naughty and distrustful as his tatted arm flexed. “They aren’t paying me to watch you. I sold my condo in California. I would like to tell you that my obsession with you is the reason I’m here, but that’s not the only thing. It wasn’t until I got out of California that I realized a change of scenery was good for me. Back there, everything reminded me of my daughter. Here, it feels like I can finally move forward.”

Even though Noah hadn’t said jack shit about my inability to moveforward, I drew parallels between our grief. “I don’t want to move on,” I spat.

“I said nothing about moving on, Octavia,” he said softly like he was coddling a baby. “I said moving forward. There’s a difference.”

Of course there was a difference. I couldn’t imagine a world where I lived in peace with the fact that William was dead. Time was an inevitable variable that stole my coping mechanisms with every tick of the clock. This was what I missed most about Noah. Even though Young had lost William too, the sort of grief that Noah felt was more aligned with mine. It was a toxic, self-destructive sort of sadness. It’s why I missed my broody therapist so much, even though I wouldn’t admit it. Not to him, not to Young, and not even to myself.

And maybe it had to take an impulsive decision to get me here, but I was thankful to be looking up at Noah. We would never be what we were, but I needed him still, even if it hurt me to need him. “What can I do to fix this, Octavia? What made you want to see me?”

I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again just as a cloud blocked the rays of sun shining over us. His beautiful face was cast in shadows when I replied, “I need you to be my voice.”

“Okay. What do you mean?”

“No one believes me. And the people that do believe me are so rich and powerful that it doesn’t matter what I say. I’m just a girl with a dead twin and a record of hospitalizations. Samuel is openly admitting to giving William bad drugs, and he’s never going to have to pay for it.”

“Okay. Then let me be your voice. Let’s go to the police. Together.”

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