Tangled in Love

Chapter 8

Nolan froze dead in his tracks. He watched his best friend's lips merge into the shirtless stranger's, noticing his big, manly hands holding her small waist firmly close to him. He saw the abs he had, the six packs that he envied and worked for daily by doing crunches but never could get those perfect bellies. He didn't know what to say, what to do, how to stop them.

If he should stop them.

He shuddered, noticing how focused they were on each other. So focused they had remained sitting there, with Sasha's hair being used as a wall for both their faces, her hair bringing them together closer as they held their lips in a stiff, yet lively, locked position, not seeing that Nolan had walked into the room. The pit of his heart felt shattered, cracks slowly appearing on his nearly mended heart.

Nolan slightly moved himself back a step, before gently pushing the suddenly heavy door away from him, silencing the creaking as the stale wood clicked into the door's border, creating a wall. The door's wall blocked Nolan from Sasha. Sasha and her "friend"... boyfriend.

Without a real answer for who Sasha's face was pressed against, Nolan's mind began running amuck. He couldn't contemplate Sasha with someone, someone so muscular - with bulging muscles that could protect Sasha like he never could - and attractive.

His heart squeezed itself into a little ball, cramping his chest into a tight, painful cringe. With that, a tear was pushed from his moist eyes. He had became sensitive - vulnerable, even - thinking he was comfortable with Sasha, thinking he had nothing to lose by staying with a friend - just a friend. That's what he told himself. But it hurt him - it really hurt him - to see that she had replaced him with a stranger who took her heart and had total control over it, to see her pressing hungrily up against his beautiful face and perfect lips, seeing her so close to another man.

It really, truly broke his heart.

He quickly panicked, needing air. He looked to his left and then to his right, searching for any nearby spectators who might possibly see his next action and get him in trouble. When his suspicions were erased, he paced swiftly to the other side of the room where Sasha's brown leather wallet had been laid, hidden in plain sight on a bookshelf. He opened the wallet, searching once more for anyone watching, before removing a twenty dollar bill from the wallet.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Nolan dropped the money in a hysteric panic.

"I'm sorry!" he yelled in response, closing his eyes and putting his hands up in surrender. After a moment without hearing someone reply, he realized the question had come from Sasha's room.

"I'm going, it's getting late," he overheard their conversation continue.

With that, Nolan began filling with anger. He could visualize the blood rushing throughout his body, red, boiling liquid filling his veins, all mad at him. He had a flash of regret, for even lifting the wallet of such a good friend. Money really didn't matter, she really didn't matter. He really didn't matter.

He sprinted to the guest room he had been staying in, no sounds made when his dark soccer shoes brushed against the soft, red, but mucky carpet. He scanned the room of things to bring with him, seeing the neatly made brown, lacy bed, and the large, bland painting of a still life. He planned for things to pack on his next journey - running away - and lifted his navy-blue fabric duffle bag before beginning to drag it.

He suddenly saw a flash of black and white at the corner of his peripheral vision and when he glanced at it, he saw his black and white soccer ball sitting all alone, welcoming him back. Oh, it had been so long since he felt the shins covering his calf shake from powerfully kicking the soccer ball towards the goal. He missed the wind swishing through his blond, sweaty hair and satisfying him for a moment, and the quick beating of his heart when he anticipated a goal for his team.