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Particularly Cruel

Noah

W arm sunlight against my cheek wakes me. I force my eyes open as I lace my fingers with Silas's, oblivious in my exhaustion that there's anything wrong with this picture.

Until I'm not.

My heart stops as I look toward the clock on the wall: 8:45 AM.

I'm supposed to leave in fifteen minutes.

"Shit! Shit—get off me. I have to go!"

"What?" Tate groans, stretching his arms overhead before propping himself onto his elbows. "Why are you yelling?"

" You were supposed to set an alarm. You were supposed to wake me up; Mia's going to kill me."

He grabs his phone from the side table. "Ah, fuck. Sorry—my phone died."

Sensing my panic, he runs a hand through his tousled hair before resting it on my shoulder and giving me a reassuring look. "Hey, it's okay. She's probably still asleep; she's barely gotten out of bed the last couple of weeks as it is."

He's right—he's probably right. If she were awake, she'd be looking for me. And most days, she has been too depressed to get out of bed .

"Will you check?" I ask.

"Yeah," he says. "Yeah, I'll go check."

I lie back against Silas just before the bedroom door flings open hard enough that it bounces off the wall and hits Mia's body as she steps into the room.

"What…the fuck?!" she shouts. "What the fuck is this? What is wrong with you?"

Too shocked to answer, I can only stare back at her.

I don't know. I don't know what's wrong with me.

"Mia…get out," Tate says.

"You're disgusting. Here," she directs at me before throwing my phone at my face. My nose crunches when it hits, and I cover it with my hands as blood pours over my mouth and down my chin. "Your alarm went off."

"Oh, shit. Are you okay?" Silas asks as Mia storms off. "Let me see it."

"No!" I shrug him off, tears stinging my eyes. "Don't touch me!"

As the only one fully dressed, I jump out of bed and race after her.

"Mia, stop! I'm sorry!" I shout, chasing her down the hall and into the living room.

"You're fucking sick . I mean…I knew you liked Tate; I suspected, but this is just pathetic."

"Mia, please don't be like this!" I cry. I grab her arm with one of my bloody hands, and she quickly shoves me off and into a bookshelf, knocking a few of them loose. I cover my head with my arms as they rain down on me .

I don't know if she meant to do it, but she looks satisfied with the result—enough so that she pulls her fist back and drives it into my left eye.

Tate steps between us before she can do it again, forcing her backward while I crumple onto the ground. "Mia, you're acting fucking ridiculous—stop."

Silas kneels beside me, helping me to my feet as she yells, "Get out! Get out of my house! And stay away from my brother. I never want to see you again! And you , Tate…." She shoves him hard with both hands against his chest. "Noah? Really?"

"Nothing happened, Mia," Tate tells her. "I never fucking touched her. I would never touch her. You really think I'd be fucking around with Noah? I didn't even know she was in there until you walked in; there's nothing going on between us."

And there it is. Particularly cruel .

My heart drops into my stomach. His words hurt more than my face, more than the things Mia said last night.

But they stop Mia in her tracks. She looks at me over his shoulder, waiting for me to corroborate the story, hoping I'll tell her, Yes, Mia. It's just me, so obsessed with your brother that I crawled into his bed without his consent and slept with him all night. He didn't want it.

I shake my head. Tears roll down my face as I rush out the front door and down the hall to my apartment unit. It's dark and empty when I step inside; the blinds are drawn and most of our furniture has been thrown out as it would have clashed with Paul's more lavishly decorated home.

"You're late!" my mom shouts over her shoulder. "We need to—what the hell happened to your face? Why are you crying? "

"Mia hit me," I tell her.

She sighs. "Jesus. Well, go clean up and get some clothes on. We don't have time for this; he's waiting in the truck."

And that's it. That's all I get before she goes back to packing her makeup in her suitcase.

I go to my bedroom and grab the backpack I left out for myself with a change of clothes and a few essentials. Cautiously, I wash my bloodied face, hands, and neck in the sink before dressing.

It hurts. But my nose doesn't look broken. There's a minor cut just under my eye, and the entire side of my face is already swollen and bruising. It could be worse—it could look like my insides right now. I press on it with my fingertips, wincing in pain while I watch the skin turn from white back to deep purple.

But in a weird way, it makes me feel better; it soothes that other hurt, so I do it again, pressing harder this time.

As I examine the bruise's color shifts, the bathroom door opens. I take a step backward when I see Silas in the doorframe. "Leave me alone."

He steps toward me anyway, resting his hand on my right cheek. He places something cold on my injured left side, and I realize it's a bag of frozen peas. It takes my breath away for a second before I adjust to the feeling.

"I didn't do anything to you," he says. "Don't take it out on me."

As much as I want to shrug him off and run out of the room, I don't. Because the cold does help, and it's more than my mom did .

I sigh. "That feels nice."

"I brought you your phone," he says, setting it on the counter.

Text notifications from Tate line the lock screen. I turn it off before stuffing it in my pocket.

"Are you okay?"

I shake my head. "No. But maybe I needed this, though. I didn't want to leave, and now I won't want to come back."

"Don't say that."

"It's the truth."

"He didn't do it to hurt you."

But he did, didn't he? It doesn't really matter why. He didn't care enough not to do it.

"I need to get in the car. My mom is already pissed."

I lean down, grabbing my backpack, and then move around him into the empty main room, but he's at my side again when I step into the hallway.

I've thought about this moment all week—about how hard it would be to walk out of the place I've called home for the last ten years and close the door behind me. I've thought about how it would feel almost every day since I found out, and every time, I've ended up in tears.

Now, it happens unceremoniously; it barely registers. I even forget to pull up on the handle so the door latches. When it slowly creaks open again, I don't bother correcting my mistake.

Silas throws an arm around my shoulders and pulls me into him, kissing the top of my head. "It's going to be okay, Noah."

I laugh a little as we descend the staircase. "Silas, this is so not okay. If I'm being honest, it was never fucking okay."

"Noah…"

I hear shouting and turn toward the direction of the voices. My mom is standing in front of the building, fighting with Mia and Tate's mom.

"Fuck…" I tear open the door of my mom's old green Saturn and throw my bag in the back before slamming it shut. "That's just…awesome. I wonder what they're talking about. Nothing humiliating, I'm sure."

"Don't worry about my feelings or anything."

I lean back against the vehicle with my arms crossed in front of me.

"You were happy," Silas says. "You had fun."

"Well, I'm not having any fucking fun right now. And he —" I bite my lip. He said we were in love . No one made him do that. I can't get the words out, so instead, I say, "He tricked me."

Silas shakes his head. "He loves you."

I scoff. "You can stop now—whatever you're doing. I'm not playing anymore."

He closes the space between us, tilting my chin until I meet his eyes. "Well, I love you. What about that?"

Before I can reply, Paul jumps out of the moving truck, muttering profanities as he storms across the parking lot toward my mom. Silas wraps an arm around me, his posture shifting from comforting to protective as we both watch him over my shoulder.

"Hey!" he shouts when he gets to my mother. He grabs her by her arm and jerks her backward, stepping between the two women as she stumbles. Mia's mom turns and heads back up the staircase as Paul lectures my mom, his face twisted with anger. I can't make out what they're saying, but he's pointing to our car, inches away from her face.

"Hey, Noah?" I look back at Silas. "You remember what I said about him?" he asks, his jaw clenched tightly.

"Yes, but that didn't really look like—"

"The first time he hits her—the first time he touches you—you better fucking tell me."

"And you'll cut his hands off?" I ask, attempting a laugh.

Silas's expression remains tight, unamused. "Yes."

I think of how easily he'd slit the animal's throat last night—of how carelessly Tate threw its corpse onto our fire. Maybe he does mean it; maybe I should be worried.

"Okay," I whisper as Paul stomps back to the moving truck, and my mom heads for the vehicle, her gaze lowered.

"Text me your address when you can. I can come and get you tomorrow."

"With your boyfriend?"

"Yes."

Tears sting my eyes. "No, thanks."

"You'll feel better if you just talk to him."

"No," I say more forcefully. "I don't want to do that."

"We're a part of each other—always have been. You don't get to just leave and forget about that. It won't work."

"Let's go," my mom says as she rips open the car door. Her lip turns up as she takes in Silas's body wrapped around mine; it makes me wonder what Mia's mom said to her. "Now. We're already behind schedule because of you."

She climbs into the vehicle, and I turn to open the passenger side door. "Bye, Silas. "

He stops me with a hand on the back of my neck, his lips finding mine. He kisses me hard for anyone to see for the very first time.

And, likely, for the last time.

I break away when my mom lays on the horn. "Let's go! Now!"

"I love you, Noah," he says. "I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Yeah," I lie. "Okay."

I climb into the car, and he closes the door gently behind me and walks toward the building. I reach for my seatbelt, meeting my mom's eyes after I fasten it.

She looks me up and down with that same grimace as before.

"What?"

"What she said…it's true, isn't it?"

"I don't know what she said, so I'm not sure."

"She said you were in bed with both of them."

I don't answer.

"Well, you earned that black eye, didn't you? I thought you were more responsible than this."

"I'm eighteen. I'm an adult now—I don't feel like I owe you an explanation, but no, I don't think I earned my black eye."

"Being an adult only means you have to be more careful, Noah; surely you realize that." She pauses, shaking her head. "This is what you do when I'm working and you're supposed to be looking for a job? You're a whore?"

"No…"

"People who care about you don't treat you like that. You know that, right? "

I shrug. Apparently, I don't. Like I said, it was all very confusing. I knew it had to be wrong to some extent, but it didn't feel bad.

But it does now. She's probably right.

"God, you're lucky I'm getting you out of here now." She shakes her head as she puts the vehicle in reverse. After backing out, we sit there for a moment, waiting for Paul to get the moving truck turned around. "You have a chance to be someone different—to actually be someone. I suggest you take it very seriously."

Here we go again. More warnings.

People say we look a lot alike—my mother and I—and I can see it. The same green eyes, the same freckles. But her hair is dark and streaked with grey that started early, a face that's maybe aged a little beyond her years due to questionable lifestyle choices which led to a drug addiction and a handful of felonies.

And aside from those eyes and freckles, I don't know what we have in common. I don't know much about the woman next to me; I don't know what made her. I just know that, whatever it was, made it impossible for her to be more than this to me—more than a warning.

You'll end up alone. You'll end up broke. You'll end up homeless or in prison. Trust me; listen to me. You'll end up on drugs. I know what I'm talking about.

You'll end up like me.

She puts the car in drive and begins following the moving truck out of the parking lot before suddenly screeching to a halt. My head slams back against the headrest, and when I look up, Tate stands in front of the car. I blink, sending tears rolling down my face, salt stinging the cut under my left eye.

I fix my gaze forward as he walks to my side of the vehicle and pounds his fist against the window. "Noah! Hey! Wait!"

He tries the door handle a few times, but it's locked. My mom honks the horn.

"I just want to talk to her for a minute! Noah, please?"

"Just go. He'll move." I lean forward and turn the volume dial on the dash to drown him out, and my mom slowly pulls forward until Tate steps aside. Then she turns the car onto the highway.

I stare out the window, wondering what I'm going to say to any of them—if they even call.

Maybe Tate will apologize, tell Mia the truth, and she'll have to get over it.

Yeah, right. I scoff at the thought.

I run through a few alternative scenarios in my head during the short drive. I could go along with Tate's lie; Mia would probably forgive me for being desperate. She might even like it, thinking I got what I deserved—humiliated. I could shelf what's left of my self-esteem and keep being their part-time secret behind her back. I was happy…for the most part.

But I can't do that, either.

What if this is it?

As we pull into the driveway at Paul's trendy tudor style home, a part of me knows there's only one of these scenarios that will play out.

I'm never going to see them again.