Let Yourself Fall

five

Noelle

Damien has been in San Francisco since last Saturday, and he's been crazily busy, but he always manages to make time to talk to me. Whenever my phone rings and I see his name popping up on my display, my heart jumps.

I wake up to a good morning text, and I go to sleep with a good night call.

I've never really liked talking to someone on the phone, but with Damien, I've learned to love it. There have been countless times when we've stayed up until 4 in the morning, talking about anything and everything.

Usually, I hate texting and talking on the phone; I always feel so pressured. How do I keep the conversation going? What do I say? I hope I'm not embarrassing myself.

But with him?

It's completely different.

It's as easy as breathing.

I never second-guess anything. I say what I want, and I always feel like he accepts me just the way I am, which is something really rare to find.

"Noelle, we're leaving. Get your ass over here." My friend Michele calls out impatiently.

"Who let you in?" I groan to myself.

Oh, this is such a bad idea.

How do I get out of this?

I pull my blanket over my head. If I just stay here, maybe she'll leave withou–

"Noelle!" With one swift movement, she pulls away my shield, and I'm exposed to broad daylight.

"Michele, I really, really hate you!" I glare at her petite frame, and her green eyes stare right back at me while a little crease forms between her eyebrows.

She's already dressed in her usual black leather pants, a black crop top, and her absurdly high heels. Her eye makeup is as dramatic as always, with winged eyeliner and purple eyeshadow. And to complete her look: blood-red lips.

"You promised," she pouts.

I move to sit upright and push my brown locks out of my face.

Last week, we went to the movies, a one-hour drive to an open-air theater in the middle of nowhere. When it was time to drive home, she locked the car before I had a chance to get in and threatened to drive without me if I didn't say yes to the party in Soho.

Well, of course, I said yes.

"You're such a drama queen. You would have never said yes. I had to... convince you somehow." She flashes me her angelic smile, which works wonders with every guy, and bats her heavily mascaraed eyelashes.

"Please don't make me do this. I don't like clubbing." I whine and look anywhere but at my friend to avoid her piercing green eyes.

"Noelle, please, pretty, pretty please," she says in a singsong voice and joins me on my bed.

"I won't have fun, and it's..." She interrupts me by pressing her hand over my mouth.

"Will you stop? That's absolutely ridiculous." I roll my eyes and stick out my tongue, teasingly attempting to lick her hand.

"Ew." She squeaks and immediately removes her hand from my mouth, with a disgusted look on her face. "You're gross." She whines and wipes her hands on my blanket.

"Okay, listen—" She starts again. "It would mean a lot if you'd go with me. Just this once, and if you don't like it there, we'll leave. Pleease, do it for me. Please, please, please..."

Just this once? Can I do this for her?

"Please, please, I don't want to go alone. I'll do anything—"