Vicious Romance

Chapter 24

I groan sleepily as the aroma of food fills my nostrils. I can't help but twitch at the familiar smell before fluttering my eyes open, adjusting to the bright lights.

I turn to the side, getting a peek at the time, and it reads 10:16. I look outside and see the dark skies being illuminated by the tall New York City buildings.

Beautiful.

It never gets old.

The second I try to sit up, my head begins pounding, and I let out another groan as the hangover from earlier, hits.

Upon my noise, a figure pops out of the kitchen, and I tense up, reaching for the gun under my pillow, only to realize that it's Noah.

My grip around the gun loosens, and I slowly get off from the bed, catching my head, before meeting Noah in the kitchen.

"Look who's up," he says cheerfully, handing me a packet of warm Cup Noodles. "It helps with the hangover," he comments.

My head wrapping itself around its thoughts, I walk to the couch with my Cup Noodles. But I don't bother asking any questions. Who would? It was Cup Noodles.

As I begin poking my soupy noodles, Noah joins me on the couch, with his own cup of noodles.

After several minutes of silence, and quiet eating, Noah speaks up.

"So how are you feeling?" he asks. "Are the noodles helping?" he questions, looking at me with worried eyes.

I look up at him, and then back at the noodles, awkwardly nodding, and forcing a laugh.

In all honesty, the noodles were helping. I don't understand how- but they were. My mind was beginning to clear up, and the thoughts from earlier's argument slowly entered my mind.

I was so reckless then.

Too reckless.

Another couple of seconds pass quietly, the two of us poking at our noodles awkwardly until I decide to abruptly break the ice.

"Noah, thank you for looking after me, really, but you can go... I can take care of myself," I reassure, trying to meet his eyes, but for some reason, I can't bring myself to look at his face.

Instead, I look down to his fingers, and they're fiddling along the edge of his noodles, lingering around with his fork, poking the noodles.

He lets out a peal of nervous laughter and clears his throat.

"I know the timing is impeccable, but can we talk...please?" he asks, desperation pouring from his voice.

A lump in my throat presents itself, and I force myself to swallow so I could choke out my response, already knowing the answer.

"About?" I ask in my best oblivious voice.

I feel my heart pounding against my chest, my brain wanting to explode out from its skull, and I dread the conversation we're about to have. Because I know what it's about, and I would give anything to avoid this. I already did.

Earlier today- when I was drunk.

But what was I going to do now?

"About us. I know you don't want to talk about it- I do, but don't deny that there isn't a spark between us. A spark that I want to explore as much as you do," he starts, pulling my chin up to look at his desperate eyes, then continuing. "And we were doing great before— and that kiss was great," he mentions, bringing his face close to mine so that it's hovering directly in front of me.

I feel my breathing go shallow.

"You want me... so why are you resisting me?" he whispers, now holding my face in his hands, his breathing slowing.