Ten of Me ✓

Eighteen

Noah bit down on his lip, his eyes shifting from the porch steps to my face. His features were illuminated in the light so that he was almost glowing, and a week ago looking at him would have made me crumple inside. Now, all I felt was anger. "She's my girlfriend," he said smoothly, not even blinking as the easy falsehood slipped right out. "I've got to keep up my act, you know?"

"You sick liar," I spat out. Everything seemed blurry. Music was still blasting from inside the house and the front door stood wide open; people could have easily listened in on our conversation if they'd cared enough to hear what we had to say. "I know better. She isn't your girlfriend."

"How do you know?"

Noah's words were a challenge. He was getting angry now, too; his brown eyes, usually so soft and warm, were fiery. When I studied him, I saw that his jaw was locked in anger, making it look more pronounced than usual.

"I know people," I said.

He rolled his eyes and reached for my hand again, gripping it tight. I couldn't have pulled it away if I'd tried. "Fine, Hannah, she isn't. But I don't care about her either, now that I've seen you."

I tried in vain to yank mine hand away, exerting way too much effort as he continued to sit there stoically, watching me struggle. "You are a delusional, psychopathic jerk," I panted as I twisted my arm to try and get him to release me. I wasn't scared of him like I'd been scared of Kent; maybe my fury was making me brave. "You deserve to live and die alone."

His eyes twinkled. "Hannah, I will never live alone and I will certainly never die alone."

"There's always someone for you, isn't there?" I asked, spitting the words out between my teeth. "I'm sure there's just a line of girls standing outside your door waiting for you to break their hearts, one by one." I wanted to tell him that I was there once, pounding on his door at the very front of the line, where I'd stood through rain and storms and sadness, the hope that one day he would actually see me keeping me bound there, waiting for him as if I were wearing chains. There was a time when I would have given anything for him to tell me he loved me. But I was wiser now, and that time was long gone.

He either didn't pick up on my sarcasm or chose to ignore it. "I don't like to qualify myself as a heartbreaker," he explained, grabbing my other hand. "I just get bored easily. I don't think I'd get bored with you."

"Well I'm already bored with you. Bored and completely disgusted." I kicked out with my leg and one of the sharp heels on my shoes connected with his shin. He released me with surprise, his eyes wide. "Get out and stay out of my life, Noah."

He called out after me as I stomped up the porch steps and back into the house but didn't follow.

A part of me wanted to leave right then and go back home to sit in my bedroom, curled up in my sheets so that I could cry my eyes out. Mom would make me cookies and we'd sit up in my room together, where she'd let me vent as I spilled crumbs all over the mattress. Dad would never know I'd been out of the house, and maybe the family wouldn't even fight for a few days.

I turned around and started to go back outside, intending on getting into my car, when I caught sight of Hannah's face in a mirror in the foyer. Her eyes were dull and her hair was tangled, but somehow, she still looked like a queen: powerful and completely in control of her life.

I wanted to be that girl, with or without Noah.

Without hesitating, I turned around and went back into the kitchen, set on making the best of the night.

I grabbed a bottled water from the fridge, not planning on going anywhere near the cooler again, and uncapped it. The flimsy plastic crinkled as I gulped down the water; I hadn't realized how thirsty I was from all of my arguing and crying. Around me, people continued to dance to the blaring music and talk, their voices too loud.