— Chapter 22 —

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Noah's plush lips, starving and desperate, collided with my own. Swept up in the heat of the moment, I gave in to every beautiful desire I'd been fighting so hard to hold back.

The raw energy pulsing through my veins could've made me cry out in joy—every atom in my body was rejoicing in response to the intimacy that I hadn't felt in years.

For the first few moments, Noah and I grew accustomed to the feeling of each other.

His lips were smooth like velvet and sweet like honey.

They fit into my own like the missing piece to an intricate puzzle, weakening me to my core. Noah savored every moment as I let him take the lead, letting my mouth open so that his tongue could meet with mine.

Noah kicked into overdrive.

And if I thought it was amazing before, his next actions overwhelmed me entirely with euphoria.

He upped the intensity, kissing me with so much fervor that my head was forced backward. Thankfully, Noah caught me with his palm before I could hit the mirror, then slowly moved his hand aside so that he could rest it against the glass and cage my head in.

He kissed me like I were air and he couldn't breathe.

The metal piercing he had was incredible. I thought it might have been strange to grow accustomed to at first, but it felt better than I ever could have imagined. It was cold, sending electricity tingling through my flushed cheeks. Noah was a great kisser. He knew exactly how to use his tongue.

When the two of us had to part for air, we did it in quick instances—refusing to be torn away from each other for any longer than we had to.

And, for once, I managed to forget all about the loneliness weighing on my chest... even if it was only for those few moments.

Well fuck.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

I usually leaned towards being the dominant one in things like this, but I didn't mind letting Noah take charge. I figured he probably had more experience with kissing than I did.

Noah held my chin gently with his free hand, the other still resting firmly on the mirror. I slipped my own hands just beneath the hem of his shirt—resting my fingers firmly on his hipbones.

My skin must've felt cold because Noah shuddered his hold body onto me at the contact. I let out a soft moan as every part of his torso pressed onto mine, feeling his muscles tensing beneath his clothing.

We couldn't have been any closer together.

My senses were so entirely consumed with him that I couldn't form legible sentences in my own thoughts. It just felt so good to be touched.

Perhaps the most interesting part of all was just how safe I felt in his grasp. Secure. Like nothing in the world could hurt me at that moment. His strong embrace was so protective of me, and yet his hands and lips treated me with nothing but the utmost care.

Noah's mouth slowly trailed away from mine, letting me catch my breath. Panting quietly, I felt every spark on my skin as his velvety lips traced over my jawline and trailed down my craned neck.

Cupping one side of it with his hand, his hot breath fanned my neck as he sucked tenderly in some places and nipped gently in others... undoubtedly leaving marks for me to find tomorrow.

God...

When his teeth grazed lightly over my collarbone, I couldn't help but let out a soft moan, absorbed with the ecstasy of it all. Noah noticed—reacting affectionately to it by planting a kiss at my Adam's apple.

My heart skipped a beat at the gesture—I was putty in his hands.

How did we get here?

Trailing back up over the spots he'd already marked, his mouth finally came back to mine. Kissing me a few more times, he nipped at my lower lip, tugging lightly on it before bringing room between our faces. His lips hovered only just above my own.

I licked my lower lip instinctively to savor the last tastes of him on my tongue. His neck flushed red as he watched me with a lust-blown gaze.

Noah's forehead rested against mine. Dark locks of hair mixed with my pale browns, his eyes tracing over my lips with emotions I could never hope to fully comprehend.

"I won't be able to stop if we go any further," he admitted with a glimmer in his eyes, letting out a soft exhale.

I bit my tender lip, at a loss for words. "That's okay."

I hated the chill that washed over me when we put space between our bodies. Every part of my skin missed his touch already.

I can't believe I just did that.

Surely it was just a one-off.

That's right. All of it was just a one-off. The heat of his body, the safety of his embrace, the sweet taste of his lips.

It meant nothing.

I needed it to mean nothing. And part of me felt that he did too.

Noah wasn't moving on from Angela. No. He just needed the escape from whatever his issues were with her. So the moment we'd just shared? I knew it wasn't anything important to him.

Me, on the other hand? I needed to feel something other than mind-numbing loneliness for once. I needed a distraction from the simplicity of my little world—and perhaps it meant that briefly, just briefly, the path of my existence was to cross with Noah's.

It might've felt nice... comforting, even. But it was just another fleeting moment to decorate the heap of trash that was my life.

That's all it was.

Noah stuck the last band-aid on my forehead with a gentle press, drawing me out of my thoughts. My focus trailed from his brilliant eyes to the swirls of his dark, wavy hair, and finally to the flush of rosy red on his lips.

He passed me a small smile. "How about a drink?"

Noah and I talked for what felt like hours after we'd returned to the polished bar and I'd served him his drink. Aside from the two of us, the bar was totally deserted. The one-on-one time was nice, in a way.

Surprisingly enough... conversation came naturally between us. Surprising, because I would always think three times over exactly what I would say to people, while with Noah, I hadn't done that at all. Not even once.

"I like your tattoos," I'd brought up at one point, twirling a black pen between my fingers. "The snake is impressive."

He flashed his pearly whites in response. "You think so?"

I nodded. "Does it mean anything?"

"Black mamba," he told me. "My old man used to have one on his chest. To be honest... I just kinda liked the look of it. I got one to match a few years back."

"Are you planning to get more?"

He chuckled. "I'm always getting more. My tattooist sees me so often that I pretty much know the names of his second cousins."

"That often?" I asked, letting the curiosity show on my face.

"Mhm," he said. "You don't have any tattoos, do you?"

"God no," I shook my head. "I mean, I wouldn't mind one, but needles... needles freak me out."

He held his whiskey glass loosely to his lips and chuckled with a low hum. "Squeamish, Taylor?"

"Only at the idea of a metal rod sticking into my veins where it doesn't belong." Briefly gesturing to his sleeve, I added, "But other than that, I'm good."

The lights of the bar danced prettily in his caramel eyes as I listened to the sound of his laugh. It was unlike any laugh I'd ever heard—deep, but smoother than chocolate. Noah's irises shone between his half-closed lids, my gaze drawn to the boxy smile on his cheeks. He had such a nice laugh.

He'd eventually left to go home before closing, leaving me to finish the rest of the cleaning and lock the place up.

By the time I'd finally stepped outside to go home, I couldn't help but notice the empty silence in the outside air.

Joe's Bar sat at the side of a long, narrow strip of road, leading directly to the city gleaming proudly in the distance. It was hardly a busy street—all the other businesses on the block had closed for the night hours ago.

Noah and his truck were nowhere to be seen in the parking lot.

Rubbing my hands together and breathing into them for warmth, I began the slow walk home. It couldn't have been past twelve-thirty in the morning, but I was already feeling the aching in my tired-out legs.

The city was sleeping in the distance. Aside from the shimmery lights of skyscrapers and the occasional howling of cold wind, I found myself walking alone in the quiet with my hairs fanning in the breeze. The night hours were when I felt most alive.

I followed my feet back to my house, stifling a heavy yawn into the bend of my arm as I pushed open the rusty, metal gate.

My gaze came to rest on two strange figures resting on the porch.

Trudging up the steps with a squinted gaze, I fumbled with my keys in my pocket and furrowed my brows in confusion.

The figures were black duffle bags—full, from the looks of it. My duffle bags. Stacked carelessly over the top of each other, with my shoes tossed lazily nearby.

No—surely he didn't.

I could almost feel the full force of the realization slam into my body like a truck.

Yanking out my keys, I nearly stumbled into the door. The lock would unseal with a turn of the metal key, but I couldn't push the door open. My heart hammered in my chest.

No.

No, no, no, he can't just—!

"Fuck!" I choked out as I shoved my body weight into the wooden door.

Locked or not, it wouldn't budge. My father must've jammed it shut with something while I'd been gone, and that fact alone made terror settle deep in my bones. He'd kicked me out.

"Open the door!" I cried out, barraging the splintering wood repeatedly with the flat side of my fist. "Dad, please, come on, I just—"

A crack in my voice cut me off. Nobody answered regardless, leaving me to violently tug on the door handle. My weight only slightly inched the frame back, but nowhere near enough for me to get in. I didn't have the strength to open it any further.

I always knew I'd be moving out one way or the other... but I'd never realized the time would come so soon.

My voice trembled as I yelled out, "Please!"

Every light in the neighborhood had been turned off at this time of night, so I figured my clamorous panicking wasn't doing anybody any favors. I hated the idea of someone seeing me like this—hysterical, weak... scared. But it wasn't at the forefront of my mind in the state that I was in.

I hit the door with my knuckles, feeling a stinging pain soaring through my skin. Barraging the door with whatever strength I had in my arm, I hardly cared about the pain in my hand—nor the warm blood that began to stain my fingers.

"Fuck!" I yelled out again, striking the door for the last time as I gave in to the fact that nobody was going to answer.

I was shaking all over.

It felt as if I was burning—like my own clothes were singeing my skin. Sweat beaded at my temples. But the worst part was the heaviness in my chest, weighing down my lungs. I could hardly breathe... it felt as if I was suffocating.

Drowning.

Fighting back the moisture threatening to spill from my eyes, I couldn't help the trembling of my chin and the heat in my cheeks as I turned away from the door.

I have nowhere to go, I repeated to myself, I have nowhere to go.

Stumbling dizzily, I found myself collapsing down onto the porch steps, sitting down on my butt to avoid the weak numbness that had overtaken my legs. My hands were trembling.

I have nowhere to go.

The bus lines had finished for the night, and I didn't have the strength to walk all the way to the nearest motel—not that I'd be able to afford it, anyway. And it definitely wasn't like I knew anyone closely enough to get away with a night on their couch.

Rubbing my eyelids and taking sharp breaths, I eventually got a grip on the duffle bag beside me. Struggling frustratedly with the zipper, I eventually unraveled the fabric and found my belongings thrown haphazardly inside.

It definitely wasn't all of it, but enough of the necessities to get by. Fighting back a dry sob, I dug through the clothes and felt an overwhelming sickness in my stomach.

Every part of me wanted to let go and just burst into tears. To finally let out the pained howl that had been waiting in my lungs. But I couldn't. I couldn't let myself do it—not out in the open like this, where any prying neighbor could come out and enjoy the show.

I couldn't cry, because breaking down would force me to admit that I wasn't okay. And I had to be okay. Because I only had myself to depend on.

It had always been like this. I'd taught myself at a young age to be self-reliant and to never show weakness. To only cry in the dead of night behind closed doors. To let out my pained sobs silently into thick pillows—blocking out the world, and breaking down in isolation for fear of anyone knowing my pain.

I didn't need anyone's help.

At the end of the day, I was the only person I could rely on. And that had to be enough.

I'd never needed anyone's help.

I shut my eyes and pulled my knees to my chest, taking deep, shaky breaths. But in the midst of the thoughts surging through my mind, one person's words came to echo louder than everything else.

It's okay to ask for help sometimes.

The words Noah had spoken to me felt like a bullet to the chest.

Help.

Trembling, I passed a look to the duffle bags beside me. Trailing my focus over the outlines of the mesh fabric holding all my belongings together, I couldn't help but realize just how simple my existence was—almost everything of some value in my life sat before me in bags, hardly taking up any space. And I came to my senses.

Slowly getting to my feet, I took a hold of the black straps of the two duffle bags. Despite the weight, I managed to pick them up and took a moment to adjust.

And just like that—I began walking.

I didn't know where I was going, but I found myself thinking of Noah's words, the soft tone in which he spoke them, and the gentle smile that had been on his face. I couldn't help but think of Noah.

So I left.

I left, away from my father—and away from the house that never truly felt like home.