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 Posted: Tue Jan 27, 2015 3:10 pm
Noah had made himself think about it, in between work and duties, between and after the extra shifts he was taking, alone in his room in the dark, quiet hours when he finished his work and got ready to sleep alone. When he was away from either of them, away from magnetic attraction or smiles he liked, when he could think more clearly about what had happened, about what he felt, when he could try to prod at the sore-tooth ache of why. He'd decided on instinct, on gut feeling, but he needed to have reasons. To be sure. To know that his feelings wouldn't jerk him around again, to be certain, to be certain that he wouldn't change his mind and hurt them again. He'd done that enough, even without what he was going to do now.
He liked Peyton, felt real affection for her, a gentle and comfortable attraction. They'd settled into a routine of tending to one another without much trouble, and he hadn't felt too weird about saying I love you back, not after the initial startled moment where he'd wondered, is this what that is, is it enough, a thought too fast and fleeting to pay much attention to, and once said, it was easy to say again. Not a lie, he didn't think. He cared about her, he liked her, he wanted her to be happy. He knew, too, that he didn't think about her much when she wasn't there, and that had never seemed strange to him. He'd assumed it was the same for her, that he passed in and out of her mind easily; he felt, sometimes, like a pet or a beloved toy, The Boyfriend, and that hadn't really bothered him, either. She had been offered to him like a possession, in a way, and it only made sense that that would go two ways.
It had fit into the narrative he knew, the story of boy and girl meeting, liking one another, dating, declaring love. The thing with Al had never been so neat or identifiable, had been confusing, upsetting, messy, unclassifiable, and he'd shoved it into the role of friend and only that because he didn't know where else to put it, and he had already started a different story before the letter. He liked Pey. He didn't want to hurt her, and breaking up because the person he'd been interested in before had suddenly shown interest definitely fell under hurting her, and he'd been happy, most of the time, in a quiet and comfortable kind of way.
The jealousy had been a shock. He hadn't known he was capable of that kind of deep, dark, resentful hurt, and the sheer irrationality of it had shocked him even more. He had no claim, he wanted Al to be happy too, he really did, and if that meant moving on and finding someone to be with that wasn't him, that made sense, he got that, he did. But it had hurt, and hurt all out of proportion to anything he knew, and he'd tried to accept it and be okay with it and go on with the quiet comfortable relationship he'd consciously chosen and it had still hurt. And a thought had crept in, slow and soft and there before he could shut it out: how was that fair to him? How was that fair to her?
He hadn't had to even think about what he wanted to give Al for Christmas, even if he'd been careful to leave it when there was no chance that they'd run into each other. He hadn't really known what to get for Pey, had given it a lot of thought, and in the end, he'd guessed.
It wasn't fair to her, that was the answer, it wasn't fair to any of them, and when he'd said that she didn't have to worry about it he had thought he was telling the truth, but now ... now it wasn't so true. Now it was something that she would be upset about, and worried about, and wouldn't be wrong to be upset and worried about, and that, that was why he'd hidden the second letter. Because he didn't want to talk about it. Because he'd sensed that he might lie about it. Except that maybe hiding it had been a lie in itself, and maybe feeling that jealousy and want was already cheating in his own heart even if he hadn't done anything, and he didn't think that what he felt was going to go away, because he'd tried to ignore it in hopes that it would stop, and it hadn't stopped. It hadn't helped.
After a few days of short responses her texts had tapered off. That had only laid an extra rock of guilt on the heavy stony pile he was already carrying.
It didn't take long to pick up the stuff he'd had left in her room and put it in his backpack, and when he'd finished that job he looked around and realized how different the room didn't look, and felt a little sick. He hadn't taken anything he'd given her, of course. He wasn't going to take back gifts. Those were hers, if she still wanted them.
He sat down on a chair, stiffly, awkward in a way he hadn't felt for some time, and put his key and his ring on the table in front of him, and then took out his phone and opened up a new game of solitaire so he wouldn't have to look at what was in front of him and wouldn't have to think in panicky circles about what he was going to do, and waited for her to come back.
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Posted: Tue Jan 27, 2015 4:08 pm
To say she she didn't expect him to be in her room when she came back from the infirmary would be an understatement. It had been weeks now. Weeks of not seeing each other. Weeks of short, terse text conversations. Weeks of little to no contact what-so-ever. It had also meant very little sleep, long hours of worry, of wondering just what the hell was going on. America had told her to corner him, to demand answers, but Peyton had balked at every opportunity. A few times she'd actually made the trip over to the Life labs, determined, but had left without even walking in the building. It was pathetic. It was infuriating. She was expecting Astrid when she limped into the room, and honestly, she could have been for all the attention Peyton paid to the rest of the room once her attention fell on the young man sitting at her little breakfast table. Immediately the knot in her stomach tightened, and that was without seeing the lack of personal effects through out the rest of the suite, or the two extremely personal items sitting on the table in front of him. At this point the bruises were gone. The scraps on her knees were barely a memory. There were no outwardly obvious signs of the scuffle she'd had a few days previously. Except the limp, and right that moment she'd have given anything to not be injured, because it made her feel vulnerable, and this whole thing already had her feeling raw enough. Tanned features rested on his face for a second or two, surprise melting into unease, and then shutting down completely into something cold. The harshest look she'd ever given him. Tired, and hurt, and irritated. Then she saw the ring, the key she'd given him, and it felt like a fist was closing around her chest, choking off her air. Of course This possibility had occurred to her. A constant, niggling worry at the back of her mind since his behavior had first started to change. Scowling, she pointedly turned away, heading for the dresser by the bed.
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Posted: Tue Jan 27, 2015 11:43 pm
Pey looked so tired, and Noah hadn't thought, in between working himself into the ground and sleeping badly himself, that she might be losing sleep over him, or -- or having nightmares, and he hadn't been there to help, and it occurred to him along with that thought that it was easy for him to pull as much work as he could to avoid dealing with what he felt but maybe she couldn't, and he'd let that happen, these past couple of weeks, and his resolve wavered briefly and he wanted to go and apologize and hug her and somehow make it right. But he couldn't do that. Laz growled, his irritation over the whole thing flaring into something approaching anger. MAKE IT FAST. YOU'VE LET THIS BLEED FOR LONG ENOUGH.Noah swallowed, and waited for Peyton to yell at him. Instead, she looked at him, and at what was on the table, and said nothing, and gave him a cold, unhappy, angry glare, and turned away. He sat quietly a moment longer, swallowing down hurt. He'd expected shouting, or crying, or something. He hadn't expected to be ignored. But then again, she hadn't expected to be ignored either. Guilt twisted leaden and sick in his stomach, anger at himself, anger at her which he pushed down as hard as he could because this was his fault, all of it, and he took a slow, shaky breath, and in a quiet, tired voice he said, "Okay. I, I deserved that." He pushed the chair back and stood up slowly, bending to pick up his bag and making no move to take back what he'd left on the table. "For what, for what it's worth. I'm sorry."
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 5:38 am
Wordlessly she opened a draw and started digging through it, pausing only briefly when his voice drifted towards her, and she had to bite down on the surge of anger that boiled up at his admittance. Anger had always been her favorite shield. It was warm, safe. Comfortable in a way nothing else ever would be. She wanted to lash out, tear at every insecurity that plagued him. Wielding words like venomous barbs that would dig beneath the skin and fester. Anything, just to cause a little pain, to return this favor, because she'd always been a vendicti be b***h in the past. Before Deus. Before she'd trusted anyone enough to let them get close enough to cause any damage. This had bitter taste, familiar taste, and she realized then why the pain was playing the emotional second fiddle to the heat of anger. He'd shut down and s**t her out, and that dug and things rooted deep. Chair leg scrapped the floor, and she heard him grabbing the bag that had been sitting on the floor, but it was the apology that spun her around and had her crossing the floor to intercept him. A bundle of clothing was shoved at him, the hoodie he'd given her for Christmas. It was pointless to keep it now. "For what?" She snapped, voice clipped and careful. "What exactly are you sorry for?" If Noah thought the Sun was just going to allow him to slink away with his tail between his legs, he was sorely mistaken. "Please enlighten me." She deserved to know.
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 7:16 am
She shoved the hoodie into his chest, the one he'd given her because she liked it and she kept keeping it, and he took hold of it automatically. The bitten-out words made him flinch, and habit and instinct urged him to look away, back down, let himself be yelled at. Instead, he kept his eyes on her face and said, as steadily as he could manage, "I'm sorry for avoiding you, and for, for not telling you why. I'm sorry for leaving you alone and not, not talking to you, or answering your texts right. I'm sorry for." He swallowed hard and blinked away a sting in his eyes. "I'm sorry for trying to pretend there wasn't anything wrong when there was, and for screwing this up. I'm sorry most of all for hurting you." He looked down at her, serious and somber and for once not the submissive puppy that he often seemed to be.
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 7:49 am
She had liked it, because it was his, and the collar had smelled like his soap. It was a way to be close to him when they were both busy. Now it was just a reminder. Like so many other things. If this was happening, she would not be the girl that broke down and begged, that kept every scrap and clung on, hoping. Latter, when he was gone, when the anger had recede and she was alone with her thoughts, and her hurt, maybe tgw tears would come. With Astrid, or Ameruca, held in supportive arms. Cold silence followed his answer, and there was nothing satisfying in it. Sorry disn't make it better. It definitely didn't take away the sting, or the weeks of not knowing, sleep deprivation, anxiety. It seemed to make it worst, because she believed him. "You told me you loved me." She spat it at him, furious. It wasn't as if he'd stopped saying it. The words had crossed his lips right up to the moment he'd started avoiding her.
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 8:04 am
"I did. I thought I did." The words were heavy, full of guilt and pain. "I don't, I don't even know if I was wrong or not. Not about that." She was angry at him, and that was fair. He wouldn't deny that he was at fault, he wouldn't fight, but even though his guts felt like they were filled with some icy liquid and his hands shook with tiny tremors, he wouldn't back down, either.
Sorry didn't make it better. Nothing made it better. The best he could do, now, was get it over with, accept her anger, accept that they might never be friends again and that if she didn't want anything to do with him that would probably just be fair.
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 8:23 am
He thought he'd loved her. Oh, alright then.
For a long moment she was quiet, as if she were mulling that over, chewing at it, before she stepped back, and turned away from him again. Going for the cupboard with the glasses, pulling one down and closing it again. All working looking at him. "Go away Noah. Run away." The last was said with a measure of bitter disgust that was fueled by more than just his rejection.
At least Astrid hadn't been here. It wasn't much of a silver lining, but she'd take it. No telling when the smaller blonde would show up again, though.
She filled her glass from the tap, finally turning to take what ever petty satisfaction she could from watching Noah retreat from.
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 8:36 am
He opened his mouth to say I'm sorry again, then didn't. It wouldn't help. "All right," he said heavily, and turned, and left, not dragging his feet and not hurrying. She hadn't asked. Either she'd guessed why he was leaving her and she didn't want to hear it confirmed, or she just didn't want to know, and he felt a silent, guilty relief at not having had to say it out loud, after all.
He closed the door behind him and stood in the hall for a few moments, looking down at the hoodie she'd shoved back at him. It still smelled like her soap, and he didn't quite know what he wanted to do with it. He liked her, maybe loved her, but ... just not enough. He looked back at the door, one more time, and then walked away down the hall, because if she wanted to be upset without him there, going away and not eavesdropping was the least he could do.
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Posted: Wed Jan 28, 2015 4:36 pm
She didn't know, hadn't thought to ask that particular question. It didn't matter, news would spread, and when she did find out the anger that had faded would return in full. For now, Peyton just wanted to be alone. When the door clicked shut the glass was set back at the counter. She went for the band on her left hand, twirling the band, then sliding it off as she headed for the table. Her's was placed beside his, and they, along with the key, were just left there. She didn't know what to do with them, or about them. After a few minutes she pulled out her phone, sent a single text, then returned to her glass of water as she waited for a response.
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