The Art of Gravity

TOBIAS MITCHELL

My head was killing me.

I groaned out in pain, my hand reaching out to grab ahold of a wrist.

My body felt warm, unusually so, and I opened my eyes to find my arms wrapped around a small figure.

The light from the windows only added to the pain and confusion I was feeling right then.

How drunk was I?

I removed my arms from the person beside me, and slowly sat up, clutching the right side of my head.

I looked around the room, the cool gray of the walls concluding that I wasn't in my own house.

I turned around to the stranger on the bed who was still asleep, and I could feel my chest stop, my stomach twisting with nerves.

Noah rolled over in his sleep, and I blinked to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

What the actual fuck?

I tried to think back to last night, but I couldn't remember shit.

I just stood there, gawking at him, so that meant something was definitely wrong with me.

Tobias Mitchell did not gawk.

Tobias Mitchell also didn't talk about himself in third person.

I let out a troubled sigh, my eyes staring hard at the curled figure on the sheets of a bed that was not my own.

What do I do?

The pounding of my head was intensifying, so I opened the door that led out into a hallway, and walked down the stairs to a slightly familiar place.

Walking through Noah's living room again brought back memories of the day before, and the last thing I needed was to think of that, or anything really.

Reaching the kitchen, I searched for a glass, finding one and filling that to the brim with water. I was in the middle of looking for Tylenol when I heard his voice.

"Fourth cabinet from the right," he said.

I turned around, my eyes scanning over him, while his own refused to meet mine.

I didn't say anything, a normal occurrence, and found the Tylenol, popping two in my mouth, and washing the dry substance down with the water.

Now, the two of us stood awkwardly in the kitchen, though that wasn't much of a surprise.

I always made things awkward.

I found it funny how Noah would stare at me for hours on end from a distance, but when I was right in front of him, he'd look at anything but me.

"Why did I wake up in your bed?" I asked, as that seemed a good place to start as any.

I watched as a blush began to creep up Noah's pale neck, his eyes darting from me and back to his feet.

I knew how uncomfortable I made him. I knew he couldn't handle my eyes on him. But his eyes had been glued to me for years, so I figured if I could handle it, he could learn to also.

"Y-You... I mean, I-I... You were... um... passed out on the lawn and I... Well I brought you inside..."

My eye twitched at his stuttering, but I nodded my head.

He spoke so fluently that day I drove us to school, but I ask him something with more than three words, and he starts spazzing.

I run a hand through my overgrown hair, and set the now empty glass of water down on the counter, a bit loudly as Noah jumped a little at the sound.

"You should stay away from me," I tell him, looking out the kitchen window, before flicking my eyes towards his.

They were wide open, along with his mouth, and I would've laughed had we not been in this particular situation.

"What do you mean?" He asked, frowning.

My jaw hardened and I swallowed, "I see the way you watch me. I can feel your eyes on me, don't think I can't. I know you get some kick out of it or something."

He shakes his head, like he's trying to convince me and himself that what I'm saying isn't true.

My throat was hurting from talking so much, but I knew I had to explain to him why he couldn't be near me anymore.

"Listen. We're not friends. We were never friends, and we can never be friends. One day, you'll see something you don't want to." I say, trying to get my point across. He's too sensitive, too vulnerable. There's no way I'd let him into my life, not the way it was now.

He still has that look on his face, like he doesn't understand, doesn't want to understand what I'm telling him.

I felt too dramatic, like I wasn't in my own skin or something walking close to him. I seemed to have lost control of my body, my hand reaching out to cup the soft skin of Noah's cheek, tilting his head up so that his eyes were looking directly into mine. I could see fear in those blue orbs, but also a hint of something else, something I wanted to explore but knew I could not act on. Something very dangerous.

I lean down, whispering those seven words, making Noah shiver as my breath cascaded down his ear.

And then, I left, leaving him alone with his eyes still closed, as if I was still standing there.