Hey, what time are you coming by today? I have a surprise for you 😉 –Noah
Hey, it’s getting kind of late, are you okay? –Noah
Maya, I’m getting really worried, call me –Noah
Please call me so I know you’re okay –Noah
There were about forty more messages and double the amount of missed calls, all sent to voicemail and then deleted without listening. It wasn’t because I didn’t know what to say to him––the complete opposite, actually. I had too much to say. Too many reasons. I could tell him about Mikhail. I could tell him that my parents thought I was a mental case and I was starting to believe them. I could tell him that I was extremely disconnected from reality and my days were all blurred together, making it really hard to maintain a conversation. I could tell him that only months ago I was seriously considering death. I could tell him that the sister he lost . . . the sister he loved more than anything’s heart was living in my chest, pumping two thousand gallons of blood a day, and the guilt was eating away at me with every painful beat.
Or I could lie. I could say that I didn’t know what was wrong. That nothing was wrong. That the chemicals in my brain just decided to be scrambled and unbalanced, refusing to provide me with the necessary levels of serotonin and dopamine to get through the day. That the imaginary tiny pills I placed under my tongue every morning just to survive were suddenly out of stock. That I lost my phone, or accidentally dropped it in a ditch, or was out of town, or was super, duper busy––anything. I could come up with any lie that I knew he would believe, and then we could continue with our uncomplicated and fake routine.
Which was easier? When Noah asked me what was wrong and I lied and said I don’t know, or when Noah asked me what was wrong and I told him the ugly truth? Neither of them were easy, so instead I chose option three. The option I always chose when things got hard. Instead of dealing with it, I simply stuffed him away in a box of problems I avoided in the hopes that they would somehow just fix themselves. I cut Noah out of my life so that he could never ask and I could never answer.
I missed him, though. I tried not to. I tried to forget about Noah Davidson and that dimpled, lopsided smile that brightened his face every time he looked at me. I tried to forget about that dorky little gap between his two front teeth, and his constant charismatic attitude, and how he would call me chick and I would call him dude, and that feeling I felt where I wanted to tell him about everything, and anything, and nothing at all. But then, like a punch to the gut, I’d realize that one day I actually would forget and suddenly all I wanted was to remember those simple, yet lovely things forever. As much as I hated to admit it, the last few measly months––eighty-six and a half days to be precise––were the closest thing to happiness I had felt in a very long time. He’d become my best friend quickly, bit by bit, and so effortlessly that I didn’t even realize it until after he was gone.
“Maya, what are you doing?” Sheila demanded, interrupting my reverie.
“I’m putting away the recovery from the fitting room,” I replied, pointing at the clothing rack I was pushing onto the sales floor.
“Did you do a round of maintenance?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
For fucks sake.
“Yes,” I repeated, not able to hide my annoyance any longer.
“Okay, you can finish doing this rack, but when you’re done just focus on cleaning the store. Make sure when you’re cleaning the bathrooms you’re actually wiping the toilet seats.”
As soon as she walked away I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing so I wouldn’t scream.
I had somehow managed to avoid working retail for twenty-three years, up until a year and a half ago when I applied to work at Tysons. I assumed at the time I would just be organizing clothes and merchandise, which didn’t sound too bad, only to realize once I got hired that wasn’t exactly the case. Working retail was honestly code for labor. Dirty work. I was constantly dealing with ignorant customers, drug addicts who only came in to hide in our bathroom to snort some coke, and gangs of thieves who came in to openly rob the store because they knew we weren’t allowed to confront them about it.
But despite all that, it was my assistant manager who was the reason I wanted to quit after every shift. I wasn’t sure what I could have possibly done to piss her off––I seemed to just have that effect on people––but she was dead set on making each of my shifts miserable. And, coincidently, I was always scheduled on maintenance when we were working together.
“Maya?”
I jumped in surprise at his voice behind me.
“Noah? What are you doing here?”
“You wear glasses?” he asked instead of answering my question.
I adjusted them slightly on my nose. “Yeah . . . surprise! I’m blind.”
He smirked at my weak attempt at being funny. “They suit you.”
“I usually wear contacts, obviously, but I was too tired to put them in today. Sometimes I don’t wear either though, because I just don’t feel like seeing. It sounds weird but it’s actually kind of nice.”
He didn’t pretend to laugh this time and examined my face with concern. “You look exhausted, Maya.”
I was exhausted. Although Mikhail pretty much avoided me, I still couldn’t bring myself to surrender into unconsciousness. I needed to stay alert at all times . . . just in case.
“Hey, talk to me,” he said quietly, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?”
“Maya, what are you doing?”
This bitch is seriously spying on me.
“I was just directing this customer to where we keep our bedding supply,” I said, looking back at Sheila.
“I can answer any questions you have. She’s cleaning,” she told Noah, smiling.
Yeah, because you need a fucking Ph.D. to answer questions about thread count.
“Maya is more than capable to assist me,” Noah said, an edge to his voice.
Sheila glanced between us, sensing something there. “Well, don’t take too long. You still have to finish your rounds.”
“Actually,” I said, putting my cleaning spray back on the cart. “I’m going to take my break. It was scheduled thirty minutes ago.”
She narrowed her eyes at me but nodded and walked away.
“Someone’s got a stick up their ass,” he said, glaring at her retreating figure.
“Come on,” I told him and started toward the door. A harsh breeze immediately hit me the second I stepped outside. I quickly walked to the far corner, away from prying eyes, and stopped. “What are you doing here?”
“Are you seriously asking me that?”
I looked away, rocking back and forth slightly to keep warm. I saw him move from the corner of my eye and watched as he held up his jacket. After a few seconds of hesitation, I carefully slipped my arms through and let him button me up. He adjusted the collar to cover my exposed neck and pulled his hood up over my head to protect my face from the wind. His fingers grazed my cheeks slightly, erupting every nerve in my body into flames. Despite the brisk cold licking my skin, I suddenly felt warm. Too warm.
Thump, thump––
“Maya,” he whispered. “What happened last week? I was so worried about you. After going to three different Tysons across town, I finally tracked you down here.”
Lie or truth, lie or truth, lie or truth––
“You didn’t have to do that, Noah. I’m fine.”
“Enough with that fucking word, Maya. If you were really fine, then why didn’t you say that after the hundreds of messages I left you?”
My once opaque lies were suddenly becoming translucent.
“Look,” he started. “I know I probably came off pretty strong the last time we talked. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable; I just couldn’t help myself. I can’t seem to think logically when I’m with you, which sounds ridiculous since we haven’t known each other for very long,” he smiled sheepishly. “But I’m sorry. I know you need to take things slow and I respect that.”
Option four––he blamed himself for my actions. An option I never considered. An option I didn’t accept.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me.”
He looked confused for a second before realization sparked on his face. “Is this the part where you give me the whole speech about how you’re a messy sad person, and there’s a million other people I could be friends with? Because I still have it memorized.”
“I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” I assured him sarcastically.
“You’re not an inconvenience, I’m just . . . I’m worried about you. What’s going on?”
“Nothing’s going on.”
“That’s obviously not true,” he disagreed gently. “You can trust me, Maya, with whatever it is.”
“Trust you? We’ve known each other for five seconds and I’m just supposed to trust you now?”
“I trust you.”
And he did. I already knew he did. I could hear it in his voice when he spoke to me about his past with raw vulnerability. I could see it in his eyes when he looked at me, pupils open and ready, wholeheartedly inviting me into uncharted territory. It was a wholesome kind of honor to be trusted by someone like Noah. To be seen as a person worth his trust. But it was also a mistake.
I took a deep breath to soothe the sudden ache in my chest. “I’m sorry. I know I’m being mean, and secretive, and difficult . . . just do yourself a favor and leave.”
“You’re confusing my flattery for an insult. I like those things about you. I like everything about you.”
Thump, thump––
“Leave.”
He didn’t move.
“I’m serious, Noah, go.”
I waited silently for him to leave. To accept it and walk away, but he just continued to stand there.
“Are you bored?” I asked incredulously. “I mean, that’s why you quit your fancy engineering job, right? Because you were bored. And now your cute and artsy café isn’t fulfilling enough, so you’ve decided that your next entertaining challenge is going to be me?” His eyes hardened, but his feet stayed firmly planted, never wavering, fueling my newly accepted rage. “Leave.”
He didn’t. He stayed put, scrutinizing me intensely.
“Who hurt you?” he asked suddenly.
“Excuse me?”
“Who hurt you?” he repeated, taking a step closer. “Tell me who did this to you. Tell me what happened to make you so closed off, and cynical.”
“Nobody hurt me,” I lied. “God, Noah, I warned you. I warned you about me, but you still went ahead and made me be your fucking friend anyway.”
“Made you? I don’t remember holding a gun to your head for the last three months, Maya. Besides, if anyone’s at fault here, it’s you.”
“Me?”
“Yes, you,” he stressed icily. “If you didn’t want me to like you, you shouldn’t have made it so fucking easy.”
“This is easy? Having to track me down for days just to see if I’m okay, only to get bitched at as a thank you?” I laughed humorlessly at his ridicule. “Nobody wants this, Noah. I just need a minute, okay? All my friends know that this is what I do and they’re fine with it. Why can’t you be fine with it too?”
“Don’t lump me in with your friends, and not just because they’re doing a shitty job fulfilling that title,” he snapped. “I can be a better friend than them . . . but I don’t want to be your friend.”
Thump, thump––
“Stop,” I interrupted him.
“I want to be so much more than just your friend, Maya. I want to hold all your deepest secrets in my heart. I want to spend all my seconds of the day with you. I want––”
THUMP, THUMP––
“I said stop,” I repeated louder, to both of them. This conversation wasn’t going as planned. I didn’t want to hear this. I didn’t want to feel the thrilling warmth spreading through me at his words, and wrapping around me like silk. I needed to hold my ground––
“I want to be with you through everything. The good and the bad.”
“That’s just it, Noah, there is no good.”
“I know that’s not true because I’ve seen your good. Even the bad things are good.”
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“Maya, I can’t be here for you if you don’t talk to me.”
“This isn’t a modern day Cinderella story,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I don’t need some man to swoop in and magically solve all my problems for me.”
“I’m not some man. I’m a person who cares about you.” He ran his hands over his face in frustration. “Why do you do that? Why do you insinuate that needing someone makes you weak and pathetic? Everybody needs help sometimes.”
“You can’t help me!” I shouted, and the people walking in and out of Tysons looked in our direction. I didn’t care. All the emotions that had been festering inside me were starting to bubble over and I was so done pretending. “This is who I am! You’re so desperate to convince yourself otherwise, that you’re not even paying attention to what’s right in front of you.”
I squared my shoulders. “You really want to know what’s wrong? Everything is wrong. I have had things thrown at me from every direction for my entire life, and nothing ever works out in my favor and it’s exhausting. It is so incredibly exhausting to be me. To hear my thoughts, and to speak my words, and to feel my emotions, and to exist in this body, this vessel––” I glanced down at my long unfamiliar limbs clad in clothes I could barely remember picking out “––this thing that doesn’t feel like mine. That feels like a stranger.” My voice slipped into a whisper. “And sometimes, Noah . . . sometimes I really, truly, desperately, with everything I am and everything I have, don’t want to be me anymore. I don’t want to exist anymore.” I let out an unsteady breath. “I’d give anything to know what it’s like to wake up and feel rested. To wake up and not think again? I have to do this all again? To wake up and not have to walk on eggshells around my own mind. To wake up and feel like I’m not just surviving, but living.”
“Maya,” he started softly, but I kept talking.
“I’m not pushing you away because I want to, Noah. I guess I just don’t want to see the day when you finally look at me––and I mean really look at me––and realize how exhausted I make you too. I know you think you’ve got me all figured out, but I’m not the girl you get to know as more than a friend. I am the damaged and emotionally unstable girl that will drain you with all her endless problems until you can’t take it anymore and leave.” I looked away, the truth behind my words hitting hard. “You can’t try to fix me without getting broken in the process.”
“You don’t need fixing,” he disagreed immediately. “This isn’t forever, Maya. It’ll get better.”
I scoffed. “It will get better, Noah? Really?”
“Yes, it will get better,” he repeated, a fierce fire burning behind his stare. “Maybe only for a second, or an hour, or a day, but things will get better.”
“Sometimes things don’t get better––at least not for everyone. Sometimes things only get worse.”
“Do you think I don’t know how that feels?” he demanded. “Do you think I don’t know what it’s like to have your whole world fall apart around you and there’s nothing you can do to stop it? I’ve been through shit––you know that––and most of the time I didn’t think I was going to make it out, but here I am. Still standing, and trying to tell you that you can make it through too.”
“We are not the same, Noah. You blossomed from the rubble and wreckage of your past and evolved into a thriving, and happy, and amazing human, but I didn’t. I didn’t find meaning in my pain. I didn’t learn a beautiful and heartfelt lesson. The only thing it taught me is how to push people away.”
“You’ll get through it––”
“No, you got through it,” I interrupted harshly. “I will never stop going through it.”
“So . . . what? That means we can’t even . . .” He ran his fingers through his tousled hair. “You don’t need to wait until you’re all shiny and polished to have someone in your life, Maya. You don’t need to wait until your life’s not hard anymore to try and be happy.”
“It’s not that simple, Noah. You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it to me. Help me understand. Fuck––just tell me what’s going on.”
I could feel myself slipping into his words. Every part of me wanted to cave in and believe him.
“What’s really the problem here?”
I glanced up at him, and once again got caught in his stare and couldn’t look away. I could feel him tugging the truth right out of me.
“I’m scared.”
“Of what?”
“You.” He recoiled like I slapped him. “I’m scared of how attached I’ll get. Of how attached I already am. Of how much I already crave your presence. I’m terrified that I’m going to put what little I have into whatever this is between us, and then end up getting left with nothing. I don’t want to know you, Noah, and you’re making it really fucking hard.”
Slowly, he brought his hands up to each side of my face, hovering inches away for a moment, never quite connecting with my skin . . . like he was afraid to touch me . . . before dropping them back to his sides.
“Maya,” he whispered firmly. “I would never hurt you.”
I didn’t reply. What did he see in my eyes? Why didn’t he touch me? Why was he terrified of me too?
“I get it, okay? Where you are right now––I’ve been there. I’ve felt that. But you’re never going to reach a point in life where bad things don’t happen to you. You’re never going to reach a point where life’s not hard anymore. You’re just going to waste all your time trying.”
There was nothing but pure sincerity in his eyes, burning intensely into mine. I begged myself to believe him. To open up my heart and let him in. Not my heart, though. It always came back to her. Out of all my terrible secrets, she was the ultimate reason. It wasn’t my tight grasp clutching me back from going to Noah, it was Ana’s. She was acting as my moral compass and my constant reminder of why I could never be his friend or more than his friend. How could I truly give him my whole self while lying about this huge part of my life?
“You still want me to leave?” he asked finally.
I swallowed back the no in my throat. “Yes.”
“And you’re okay with that? Never seeing me? Never having coffee with me?”
I looked away, the word yes on my tongue but I couldn’t spit the lie out. It didn’t matter, because he nodded in understanding and took a step back.
“I’m going to go, but only because you want me to. This is your choice, but . . . it doesn’t have to be.” His words were coming out breathless and desperate. “Life is short, Maya. Life is short and it sucks ninety-nine percent of the time, but that other one percent can be so bright and wonderful that it’ll make the rest of it durable.” His nervous fingers were back in his hair. “You have this idea of me––that I’m this guy who went through a lot and is now a happy, positive, sunshine being, but . . . has it ever occurred to you that maybe I’m only like that when I’m with you? Have you ever considered the possibility that you make me happy?”
Thump, thump––
He sighed and smiled lightly. “Thank you for giving me the moments that you did. I’m not going to pressure you, but if you ever find yourself willing to try to make another choice . . . choose me. Try with me. I’ll be your stranger, or your acquaintance, or your friend . . . I’ll be your anything, Maya. I’ll wait, no matter how much you don’t want me to. And if this isn’t something you end up wanting . . .” He looked at me sadly. “I hope you can heal from the things that are silently tearing you apart. I hope you can find happiness.”
He started to turn, but stopped and glanced back at me. “I may not know exactly what you’re going through right now, but I do know you, Maya. I see you––the real you––and I can assure you that what I feel is the complete opposite of exhausted.”
And then he walked away.
I willed and pleaded with all my might for my body to go. For my legs to run and chase after him. For my lips to yell his name and tell him to come back because he made me happy too. But I did nothing. I just stood there, my pathetic feat glued to the concrete, and watched as my breath of fresh air vanished.
I hope you’re happy, Ana.
I floated through the remainder of my shift, barely aware of anything going on around me. The only perk to being scheduled on maintenance for the day was that no one told me to do anything else. I spent the rest of the night doing round after round, spraying and wiping and spraying and wiping. The only thing flashing in front of my eyes was Noah’s expression before he walked away.
I was the last one in the parking lot after clocking out. I sat in the driver’s seat waiting for the car to heat up, huddled inside Noah’s jacket. If I wrapped my arms tight enough around myself and closed my eyes, I could almost trick myself into believing I was in his arms. His scent was still freshly rooted into every thread and fold of his jacket, encircling me entirely, getting me completely hooked. I wanted the particles of his fragrance to get submerged into my skin, so I could have a piece of him with me forever. So I could feel connected to him for eternity.
Something was crumpling in one of his pockets. I didn’t want to be nosy, but I couldn’t help myself. I pulled out a piece of paper he must have forgotten in there, and smoothed out the crinkles, examining it carefully.
Maya’s list
– 1<
– Sad
– Pretty
– My mystery girl
– Iced coffee
– Eagle eye
– Chronically cold hands?
– Scared of birds
– A little mean
– Mostly kind
– No phone calls
– Listens
– Pessimistic
– Winter
– Real
– Chocolate chip banana bread
– TWILIGHT
– Bookstore?
– Make a library card
– Insomnia?
– School and family off-limits?
– Pinky promise
And the list continued on both sides, filled with things . . . about me? Every time he said that he was adding it to the list, he was actually adding it to a list. Most of the stuff on here wasn’t anything I’d ever told him. I never noticed how closely he studied me, probably because I wasn’t used to such deep scrutiny. People didn’t pay attention to me, which was fine because I didn’t like attention. I spent my whole life making myself small and unnoticed to avoid problems. The closer people watched you, the harder it was to keep up the image I was so desperate for everyone to believe was true.
But I didn’t mind this. It was sweet. He was sweet. Noah was so, so sweet and I didn’t know how to accept it. I didn’t know how to let it infect me. What if it turned sour as soon as it touched my tongue? What if it turned to poison as soon as I swallowed? What if I was allergic? What if I got addicted and could never live without it? What if, what if, what if––?
And then there was Ana, of course. The one responsible for me meeting him in the first place. The one responsible for every shade of scarlet that flushed on my cheeks and every flutter that erupted in my chest whenever I was in his presence. Was I translating her beats wrong? Was she urging me forward or holding me back?
It wasn’t just Ana, though. It was also exactly what he said. I wanted to be better first. I wanted to be healed. I wanted to be shiny, and polished, and new before I could even think about stepping into the next phase of my life. The problem was that I never truly believed it was possible to get better, which was why only months ago I was so desperate to make the next phase of my life start in a coffin. But that wasn’t a phase of life . . . it was an ending.
I hadn’t been paying attention to where I was driving, but I wasn’t surprised to find myself at Espresso & Chill. It was closed, but I could see some light inside so I knew he was in there. I stood outside, still unsure of what I should do until my feet moved on their own accord, up to the door. My fist raised without any effort from me and knocked.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
I counted to ten before I heard the lock turn. The door opened slowly and Noah stepped through the shadows. His eyes widened slightly in surprise when he saw me, before softening so intensely his pupils melted into two green and blue glittery pools staring deeply into mine.
“I want more moments with you, I just––” I paused, pathetic longing leaking through my words and making my voice crack.
He didn’t respond. Instead, he reached his hand out slightly, letting me make the next move. Letting me choose to take it, if I wanted to. And I did want to, but still . . . I hesitated. I lived my whole life treading water. Always on the verge of drowning, with only enough legroom to keep my mouth barely above the surface. I could breathe, but only if I didn’t let my guard crumble. Only if I spent every second fighting with gravity trying to drag me down. Only if I used every ounce of strength wrestling with the weight of the world on my shoulders, and with all the people in my life who were trying to pull me under.
“What do you choose, Maya?” he asked.
I looked at his hand. A life jacket falling from the sky and into the water next to me at arm’s reach. I wasn’t saved, but maybe––just maybe––I didn’t have to choke on water anymore.
My hand moved, not on its own this time. I told it to.
My decision was made.
I grazed his palm with my fingertips and slowly trailed a path up his arm. I only paused for a second before letting them explore his neck and his face. I touched his cheek, his nose, brushed the hair out of his eyes. They fluttered shut and he leaned his head further into my grip like it was pleasurable for him. A low hum vibrated up his throat, parting his lips.
Thump, thump––
I pulled my hand away . . . and then lightly placed it in his.
I was choosing to float.
“I’m sorry I was mean.”
“You weren’t––”
“I was mean,” I interrupted. “And I’m sorry.”
He was silent for a minute before speaking. “A genuinely mean person doesn’t genuinely apologize for being mean. That’s how I know you are kind.”
My lips twitched into a smile. “Well, I’m still a little mean.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” His grin mimicked my own. “Can I . . . hug you? Strictly platonic, I swear.”
He was staring at me a little too intensely and gripping my hand a little too tightly to be platonic. I probably was too . . . but I couldn’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever.
“There has to be an off switch.”
“To what?”
“Your endless thinking,” he groaned.
“I thought you liked how I think.”
“Just because I like it, doesn’t mean it doesn’t drive me insane.”
“That won’t stop,” I warned him. Giving him one last out before I crossed over. One last opportunity to run away from something that had no chance of ending well because nothing ever ended well with me. “If I can guarantee you anything, it’s that I will never stop driving you insane.”
But just like every other time, he didn’t take it.
“Insanity with you is the only sane thing I’ve ever wanted,” he replied. “Hug me. Please.”
I let go of his hand and wrapped my arms tightly around his neck. Goosebumps erupted everywhere our bodies were connected––hands behind back, chest on chest, stomach against stomach. His warmth radiated through all the layers between us, melting the first coating of my flesh, and suddenly it hurt. It hurt how content I was in his embrace. He quickly folded his arms around me, pulling me tighter against him, nuzzling his head into the crook of my neck. His heart was beating in my ear and it was the most glorious tune I had ever heard.
Thump, thump––
I’m not letting him go, Ana.
I didn’t realize how long it had been since I hugged someone. I didn’t realize how much I needed a hug. I’d been deprived of physical affection for so long, and it was incredibly surreal to finally experience it without any repercussions threatening to follow. Somehow he sensed this because he pulled me even closer.
“Promise me something?”
“What is it?” I asked warily.
“When everything starts to feel like too much . . . or when you wake up one day and wish that you didn’t . . . don’t go silent. Don’t push me away. Just tell me. I promise I won’t ask questions and that I’ll always respect your privacy, but please don’t disappear on me. I can’t think properly or go about my day if I don’t know you’re okay.”
“I’m sorry,” I breathed. “I don’t consciously decide to do it; I can’t help it. I wasn’t trying to ignore you or make you worry, I just . . . sometimes things happen, and the only way for me to get through it is to detach myself. I just barely go through the motions day after day, hoping tomorrow will be better but knowing that it probably won’t be,” I sighed. “But I didn’t realize . . . I guess I’m just not used to people noticing.”
“I noticed. I will always notice. I can’t just not see you anymore. Promise me.”
“I . . . okay. I’ll try my best. Pinky promise.”
He pulled away slightly, tipping his head down so it was resting against mine, forehead to forehead. His bright, optic globes gazing at me fiercely. “Your best is more than enough for me, Maya.”
