Page 110 of Creatures Like Us

I smile wryly. “I hated myself even before loving you, so it’s not really news, is it? But?…” I grip his hand tighter. “I hate myself even more when I’m not with you.”

“Me too.”

“Does that mean you don’t hate yourself anymore?”

“Maybe,” he says with a tired smile. “I don’t know.”

We gaze into each other’s eyes for a good long while, and I catch myself smiling.

“I’m sorry,” Noah says. “For trying to make you stay.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s?…” He grimaces when he tries to shift positions. “It’s not. It was selfish of me.”

“I understand why you did it. Doesn’t mean it was the right thing to do, but I?…”

“No.” He squeezes my hand, and he looks into my eyes, determined. “It was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

“Is that why you came to the party? To say sorry?”

“Yes. But only because I wanted to tell you. Not because I wanted you back.”

“But you do want me back, don’t you?”Please tell me you want me back.

His face grows pale, and that pained expression returns. “I don’t want anything more,” he says, struggling to get the words out, “than to?…?to be with you?…”

I shoot to my feet. “Do you want me to get a nurse?”

“No, I’m okay.”

I sit back down and grab his hand again. “Because you’re with me?”

“Because I’m with you,” he mumbles, eyes sliding close.

“And you won’t ever not be with me. And I won’t ever not be with you.”

He nods weakly, but I need to hear it from his mouth before he drifts off to sleep.

“Noah,” I coax. “Isn’t that true?”

“It’s true,” he mumbles. “Always.” And he squeezes my hand, the grip weaker than before.

“I’m yours,” I say, too quiet for him to hear now that he’s slipping into sleep, but it’s mostly for myself anyway, to cement these feelings within me. “Always.” My eyes fill with tears eventhough I’m smiling, and I watch the one I love slide into sleep—tired, bruised, and wounded, but alive.

Chapter 31

Noah

Iwakeuphurting.

It seems like the burning sensation in my abdomen won’t let me sleep for longer than a couple of hours. I try not to show my pain, but ever since a few days ago, when I regained consciousness, Asher seems to sense when I’m in distress. He wakes up with a start from where he sits half-slumped in the chair beside my bed.

“Want me to call a nurse?”

“No,” I mumble. “It’s just pain.”

Asher rubs his face, yawning. “It’s not ‘just’ pain. You’re hurting, and you don’t have to.”