“Please. I was an idiot.”
“Yeah, you were. But guess what, Noah? The time for talking was three months ago. This, now,” I pointed between him and me, “is just two strangers who used to know each other. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to see you, and I don’t want you to look for me. It was nice knowing you, but as far as I’m concerned, you’re just my neighbor. I pray that after we finish school this year, I won’t have to see you ever again.”
“Sophie, please.”Goddammit, heart. God-fucking-dammit.
I hated seeing the sorrow and pain in his eyes. I hated hearing those words and seeing how sorry he truly was. But he fucked us up. It wasn’t me.
I had no idea why. I just knew that one day he woke up and decided to stop being my friend, and now that I was slowly getting used to life without him in it, he decided to come back to me.
I wasn’t raised to be a doormat, no matter how much I loved the other person. I loved him with every single pore in my body, but sometimes… Sometimes love wasn’t enough, and we just grew up to be completely different people.
“Don’t worry, Noah. I’m not angry at you anymore. I will always love you, but this version of you is not the one I want to have in my life. I just… I’m done playing this game. I’m choosing me.”
I wasn’t going to let him hurt me again. I already had enough problems without Noah Kincaid being another one.
“Bye, Noah.”
I turned around, leaving him there, while a thousand emotions transpired on his face. Bianca looked like she wanted to high five me, but it would have to wait until we got inside. It would have to wait until I broke apart again, and I didn’t want Noah to see it happen.
“Come on, B,” I urged her. “I really need to get away from here.”
She hugged me and started walking, through the main entrance and all the way to the place beneath the stairs in the North Wing, where I finally allowed my tears to come.
“I hate him,” I sobbed. “I hate him so fucking much.”
“I know, babe.” She hugged me, dragging her hand down my hair. “I hate him too.”
4
NOAH
Some stories were better leftuntold, and ours was one of them.
I could still remember the first day I met Sophie. I didn’t remember the clothes I wore or what my mom made for breakfast, but I remembered her. I could never explain the feeling when my heart started beating faster at the sight of a petite girl, standing in the middle of the backyard of the kindergarten, washed in the afternoon sun, her golden hair glowing even brighter, rendering me speechless.
She looked as lost as I felt, and something… something told me to go and talk to her. Something pushed me in her direction. As I approached her, the most brilliant smile spread across her face, her eyes twinkling, two pigtails on her head bouncing when she moved her head from side to side. Nothing ever felt as good as her hand in mine. Nothing ever came close.
When she asked her mom to enroll her in figure skating classes held at the local sports center, I asked mine if I could start playing hockey, so that I would feel closer to her. After that first day, when my feet clad in skates I didn’t know how to use hit the ice, I knew one thing—I found my one love thanks to her.
She was always there, on the sidelines, cheering for me, yelling and jumping, always, always with a smile on her face.
And now I’d lost her.
I’d lost the best thing I ever had, because I didn’t want to admit to myself what was clear to everybody else around me. I was in love with Sophie Anderson, probably have been from that first moment I saw her. I was a jealous prick who couldn’t stand seeing another guy talking to her, touching her, and making her laugh.
I couldn’t stand to see his hands on her. Before those first words even left my mouth, I knew I was going to regret it for as long as I lived.
Three months, five days, and I didn’t even know how many hours, but the image of her tear-stained face was etched into my mind as clear as day, and it was all my fault. I couldn’t blame other people for what I said. I couldn’t blame that guy for trying to win her over, because if I were him, if I were just a little bit braver, I would’ve done the same thing.
The moment she exited her house that night, wearing black, high-rise, skintight pants, her favorite Doc Martens boots, and a crop top sweater that revealed her stomach every time she stretched her arms above her head, I knew I was going to get into trouble. Instead of going to that motherfucking carnival, I should’ve taken her behind our houses, to our spot beneath that willow tree, keeping her with me. I should’ve taken her hand in mine and looked into her eyes until she finally realized what I felt for her.
I didn’t want to destroy our friendship, and somehow by letting the jealousy eat me alive, I did just that—I destroyed us. Seeing her from a distance, watching her laugh and smile, watching her talk to other people when she wasn’t mine anymore, it all ate me alive.
Wasn’t it fucked up that we spent our entire lives already having everything we ever needed, yet we never saw it until we lost those things?
My words from that night kept bouncing back and forth in my mind, eating me alive, while I cursed myself for saying those things to her. I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I should’ve told her how much I loved her, how much I wanted her to be mine.
I should’ve told her that every time my lips landed on her cheek, I wished that I had enough courage and enough strength to just move them a couple of inches to the side, so that they would land right on top of hers.
