"For the fucking of a lifetime?"
"For that, too. But mostly for distracting me. I was on the verge of a nervous breakdown."
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. "I know you feel like you aren't good enough, but I promise you. You're talented. You've got a gift. It may not come easy to you, but true art never does."
"Writing music should feel like you're slicing open your veins," I mused, repeating what he'd told me. "Pretty strong words for someone who considers himself a sell out."
He shrugged, looking uncomfortable. "There's a difference between writing cliched lyrics for an album and composing a song that has personal meaning."
I sat up in his arms, meeting his gaze. "That song you played before. The one you said you wrote for Lily. Is that what it was like when you were composing it? Did you feel like you were bleeding onto the music sheets?"
His eyes were solemn. "Yes. Lily draws for me. I make music for her."
I let out a deep breath. "I wish I had that much passion. That much creativity."
He stroked a strand of hair away from my face. "You do. I don't know why you always put yourself down."
I went quiet for a moment.
"I can hear you thinking," Noah said. "You can talk to me. I'll listen."
He repeated the words I'd said to him weeks before. Noah had shared his past with me, but I hadn't shared mine with him. He knew a bit, but not all the details.
"When my mother fell into a depression, it seemed like the only time she was happy was when we played music together. When we wrote music together. But it never came easily to me. I always struggled with it."
"All artists struggle with their art. It's part of our temperament."
"It's easy to say that but…"
"Why do you doubt yourself so much?"
"I made my mom promise not to hurt herself," I said in a rush, trying to get it out before I could second guess myself. "She promised over and over. Then once morning I went into her bedroom to wake her up for the day. She looked like she was sleeping but there was an empty pill bottle on the nightstand. I knew immediately what she'd done."
Noah's face went soft with understanding. He drew me close and pressed his cheek to the top of my head. "I'm so sorry."
Despite my best efforts to fight them back, tears streaked my cheeks. I pressed my palms to my eyes, trying to stop them from falling.
"My dad was away on business. I had to take care of everything. I called 911. I waited with her until they arrived. I had to go with the ambulance when they took her to the hospital, even though I knew…" I choked back more tears. "I knew there wasn't anything they could do. She was already gone." I pulled the sheets to my chest, curling in on myself. "She promised me. She promised she wouldn't hurt herself. She told me if it ever got that bad, she would come to me and we'd get her help."
"Are you angry with her?" Noah asked quietly.
"I want to be. I wish I could be." I let out a shuddering breath. "If only I could have convinced her to get help sooner. If only I had done something more."
Noah cuddled me to his chest. "What more could you have done?"
I knew he was only trying to reassure me, but the words just brought on a wave of guilt, of self-doubt.
We were both silent for long moments before Noah burst out.
"Fuck, I'm an asshole." His voice was pained. "That shitty comment I made at the party…"
"It's okay." I pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You didn't know. Anyway. I'm over it."
"Are you?" he asked.
"No," I said, my voice still shaking from the tears. "I'm not. But I will be." I turned to Noah, facing him. His dark eyes were open, expressive, reflecting the pain I could feel inside myself. "I think I'm ready to read it now."
Noah titled his head, confused. "Read what?"
