"Saige? Are you okay?" Nolan asks through the door.
"I'm fine," I say before splashing water on my face. Once I've scrubbed my skin clean of makeup, I leave, silently passing him without making eye contact. Then I go to my room, turn off the light, and lie down on the bed.
"Do you want to watch a movie with me?" Nolan asks from the doorway.
"Not really."
He steps inside, cautiously approaching the opposite side of the bed before lying down, his head propped against his elbow.
"You aren't going to bed this early, are you?"
"I feel like I'm losing my mind."
"Well, that's understandable. You went through a massive trauma, Saige."
"Yeah, but I don't feel like myself anymore—that's not necessarily a bad thing, but this doesn't feel good, either."
I think I felt like a past version of myself this morning. And I can't be her…because all she does is get hurt.
He moves closer, until I can feel his breath against my skin, and presses his forehead to mine. I close my eyes and lean into it, suddenly aware of my hands and crossing my arms in front of my chest.
"I wasn't always like this," I tell him.
"It's okay," he says. "I wasn't always like this, either. But I don't think there's anything wrong with you."
The garage door opens and closes, and I hear Elias and Dax's muffled voices in the living room.
"Why are they back already?"
"They left early."
"Saige? Nolan? Are you guys here?" Dax calls.
"Hide!"
"What?"
But he gets under the blankets with me, letting me pull it over both of our heads just before Dax cracks the door open.
"Saige?"
When he closes it, we both laugh silently.
"Maybe they left," Dax says.
"No, Saige's phone is here. They must be upstairs," Elias replies.
That fucking asshole—that's what he was doing with my phone the other day. I'm turning that shit off immediately.
Nolan's hand covers one of my own, pulling it away from my body and lacing our fingers together.
It catches me off guard…reallyoff guard. I wonder if he hates it—if maybe his skin is crawling, but my own emotions were overwhelming him, and he felt like he had to do something.
"I don't want to make you uncomfortable," I whisper.
"I'm not uncomfortable," he whispers back, that low, gravelly tone of his even more palpable at this decibel. "Are you?"
I shake my head. "I haven't been taking care of myself. I've just been really unhappy…and hurt. I drink too much. I'm angry all the time; before I moved to Aurora Cove, I never felt like that. I was different."
