Page 66 of Becoming Us

He exhaled slowly, chest rising and falling as he made up his mind. Then he gave a small, hesitant nod.

“What’s on your mind?” I asked. His eyes dropped away. “Why are you upset?”

“I appreciate this, Noah. I do. But you don’t want to talk about this,” he said, too fast.

“I’m not planning on talking. I just want to listen—maybe help you feel better.”

“It’s nothing.”

“Atty,” I said gently, and his eyes flicked back to mine. “I’m the king of saying ‘nothing’ when everything’s falling apart. If you’re afraid of hurting me, don’t be. I’m here as your friend. Remember?”

He was quiet. I let the silence settle, gave him space to decide if he wanted to let me in. A part of me wondered if I’d overstepped, if I’d already damaged things too much for him to trust me—especially with something this vulnerable.

He let out a rough sigh. “It was seeing Mathew.”

I held my breath and nodded, silently encouraging him to go on.

“You know we…” He shrugged. “You know. I just feel worse every time I see him. And then I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“Why?”

Another huff, this one edged with frustration. “Because I didn’t want to. And I still did. And now I feel like I used him.” His mouth twisted into a frown.

I opened my mouth to respond, then closed it again. I waited.

“And I know it’s stupid. Colin sleeps with someone new every other weekend. But I can’t shake this feeling. And I hate that I still feel this way.”

“What way?”

“Like he knows something about me I didn’t want him to.”

Oh. That I understood.

“Like he has a piece of you, and you want it back?” I asked softly.

His eyes flicked up, slowly finding mine. Then he nodded. “Is it weird? I know sex can just be sex for some people, but I don’t think it is for me. It feels like something’s crawling under my skin, and I can’t wash it off.”

I reached out, lightly brushing my fingertips across his brow, trying to ease the tension in his face. “You’re allowed to feel however you feel about it. It’s not weird. That feeling sucks—I get it.”

He stared at me, both apprehension and relief written across his face. “Really?”

I nodded, hesitated, then followed my own advice. If this was his safe space, it could be mine too. “After my dad died, I wanted to self-destruct. One of my weapons of choice was sex,” I admitted. “Sometimes I was so drunk I couldn’t even remember what had happened the day before—or who the person next to me was.”

I took another slow breath, letting the smell of him settle me. “There was one guy in particular. I let him use me more than once. A lot more than once, actually. And every time it happened, I felt like I lost a little bit of myself.”

I reached for my medallion, running it through my fingers. “I get the skin-crawling thing. I used to wish I could scrub it all away too.”

I braced myself for pity—I was used to it. But when I looked up, all I saw in his expression was quiet sympathy.

“Did it ever go away?”

A small smile tugged at my lips. “Yeah. Time helps. It fades. It’s not completely gone, but it doesn’t sit on me the way it used to. It’s not as loud as what you’re feeling right now.”

He reached for my hand, his grip firm.

I let my necklace fall from my fingers as I slid my hand behind his neck, brushing the soft hair at his nape. “You know what really helped?”

He shifted closer, tucking our hands against his chest like he was anchoring himself there.