“Don’t touch me.” One simple touch enrages me as my whole body floods with need, but my voice is barely a whisper.
I can’t control the feelings that are resurfacing, and I don’t know how to cope with them. If she touches me again I’ll lose complete control and give in to the need stifling me. My fists clench and unclench at my sides. Years of hurt and anger battle with years of desire and love. The big bang is taking place in my body. My heart wants to wrap her in my arms, but my head would like to tell her to fuck right off, and I don’t know which one will win out.
Her hurt gaze roams over my face, looking deeply into my mine. She’s looking for something and I’m not sure if she’ll like what she finds.
“You have two choices, you either tell me right now what that wanker had to do with what happened to us, or you can turn around and leave. The choice is yours.” My mind yells at me to hurt her and push her away like she did to me, but my heart’s screaming at me that if I do I’ll never see her again, never know the truth. From what Layla said, Lizzie’s been through something I don’t yet understand. I know I’m being a bastard. But I’ve got to protect myself. I can’t be destroyed again. I’d never recover.
She looks thoughtful, like she’s considering her choice. Her whole body stiffens. She’s made up her mind and is steeling herself. My heart sinks with the thought of her walking out the door.
“We were only supposed to be one night, Noah. That’s what you offered.” Her voice is soft.
“Lizzie, don’t fuck with me.” I know full well what we were meant to be, but I needed more. Much more.
She sighs and runs a hand through her hair in irritation. In spite of myself, I smile a fraction. It’s like looking into a mirror.
“I hid a lot from you when we got together.” She throws a nervous glance at me. “It’s not something I’m proud of, but it’s not something easy to talk about either. Um… the further we moved on from that first night”—her face flushes—“the harder it was to bring it up.”
My temper begins to simmer again, and I feel like I’m riding a knife-edge. But then I remember I haven’t been entirely open with my past. A past she still doesn’t know about, either, and more than likely for the same reasons. I bury the fire deep in me as she continues.
“I’m not really sure how to say this, so I’m just going to spit it out, okay?”
I put my hands in my pockets as a defence mechanism and nod apprehensively at her, still unsure why I’m listening to her.
“Um, the first night we spent together I told you I wanted to escape. What I… um…” She fidgets for a beat as she struggles for the words. Her forehead creases, and she takes a deep breath. “Mac used to hit me.”
Motherfucker.
The air sucks out of my lungs and I struggle to breathe. How could I not have known? How did I not notice, see the signs? The lifeless grey eyes flash in my memory from when I first met her. The blue welts around her wrists that final day. She reassured me over and over I hadn’t caused them. The urge to roar like a fucking lion overtakes me. How could I have been so stupid? I’ve been creating my own personal hell, but she was living one.
My arms reach for her, but I’m unsure if she wants my touch. Lizzie picks up the movement but doesn’t step towards me. Uncertain what to do, I move them back to my sides. If I’d known, I would have been gentler, more caring, more… shit, anything.
If I’d known, I would’ve killed the fucker.
NOAH’S BREATHS LABOUR, his expression darkens, and his fiery hazel eyes are wild with anger. I’ve got so much to tell him, but I don’t know how, or where to start. I’m not even sure coming here is the best decision I’ve made. But I’m selfish and I need to see him, want to be close to him, feel his strength. I should have stepped into his arms when I had the chance. I don’t know if I’ll ever get the chance again.
Taking a swift look around the back room, I notice the same battered leather sofa through the gym’s doorless entrance. Noah’s steady gaze holds mine as I gesture towards it.
“I-is it okay if I sit down?” My voice wavers a little as the words stutter out.
I don’t know if he wants me here, and I wouldn’t blame him if he said, ‘No.’ His eyes soften a fraction as they survey mine, but the pain in them still glows like flickering embers.
How could I have ever let myself hurt him?
“Fuck. Yeah, sorry,” he answers quietly. His words are barely audible.
He’s still not recovered from what I’ve told him. I don’t know if he’ll ever recover from what’s still yet to be said. But I’m thankful he hasn’t asked me to leave.
As I sit on the sofa, Noah walks over but stops in the open doorway. His hands reach up above his head and grip the frame. The action lifts his T-shirt just enough to glimpse his deep, defined V, and with his low-slung jeans, the tempting trail of dark hair leading south. His stance is indifferent, but my reaction to him is what it’s always been. My breath catches in my throat, and I almost forget why I’m here.
It’s hard to look at him. He’s still gorgeous, but different, harder. The hair alteration is an obvious change, but not a bad one. If anything, it’s made his eyes more captivating. There’s a new scar under his right eye, which carves down onto his cheek. He’s added a new piercing, and additional tattoos adorn his body.
He’s more muscular than I remember, still lean but defined. When we were in the workshop I noticed the corded muscles in his arms working overtime with the continual flex of his fists. His bare chest gleamed with the sheen of sweat from the summer heat. A sight I’ve missed.
He’s still very much a man who would stop traffic, turn heads, and make knickers disintegrate with a glance.
My heart lurches at the thought. I didn’t expect him to remain faithful. Why would he? We had nothing left. I’d made sure of that. But the pain and jealously I feel is still a knife to my heart. I grimace as I try to battle the thoughts out of my head.
As he stands before me, an undertone of tension rolls off him, and I don’t need to touch him to know all his muscles are taut. He’s trying to suppress his anger. His jaw muscles clench intermittently and the veins in his temples throb. Part of me revels in the fact he can still feel protective towards me after everything I put him through.
A small spark of hope once dead glimmers in the darkness of my soul, and I take a deep, cleansing breath. This is starting to feel a little awkward. I have to say something. I tear my eyes away from his distracting body and stare at the wall beside him. I need to start somewhere. There’s more I need to tell him.
“Boo…” In my peripheral vision I notice Noah’s body stiffen at her name. “Layla didn’t play you.” I let out a sigh. “We didn’t play you. Did you really think I’d do that to you?” I move my eyes back to his rugged face.
His nostrils flare. “I have no fucking clue what you’re capable of anymore.”
“That’s unfair,” I counter, and twist my hands in my lap.
“I’ll tell you what’s unfair, being made a fucking fool of again.”
“I didn’t make a fool of you.”
“No? Try being in my shoes.” His hands drop from the frame and he steps a few paces towards me.
“How about you try walking a mile in mine? Then you can judge me for the things I’ve done.” My voice sounds defeated to my own ears. I drop my head into my hands and knead my temples, trying to eradicate the tension building behind them.
Noah lets out a strangled huff. “Convince me I’m wrong.”
There’s a challenge in his tone, and I push down the urge to yell at him. I hurt him and can’t take it back, but I can try and make it right, tell him the truth. My eyes drift to his and I hope he can understand.