The Missing Years - a kissing booth fan fiction

Feeling

Noah

I've just got back from my run and I'm standing in the shower, letting the hot water pelt down on me. Every morning I wonder if today's the day I'm going to feel better. I finish showering and step out, drying myself off and wrapping the towel around me before starting to shave. I'm sick of staring in the mirror and seeing that look in my eyes. It's like I'm my own fucking ghost, haunting myself.

Since I already feel like crap, I decide to chance a look at Elle's Instagram. She doesn't post often but when she does it's mostly scenery or funny signs. The most recent post has a bunch of photos of her and I wish I'd managed to curb my masochistic tendencies today. Some of the pictures have clearly been taken by someone else, one with Elle's face shining with joy as she slides down a snow covered hill on a sled, another of Elle with snow in her hair, cheeks pink. Standing next to her with an arm draped casually around her shoulders is a muscly guy just a bit shorter than me by the look of it, a big grin on his face. My jaw clenches.

There are a couple of selfies taken in a booth with Elle and a blonde girl clinking beer glasses, and then a shot of a big group. In this one, Elle is sitting in between the blonde girl and the guy from earlier, who still has a stupid grin on his face. The guy on the other side of the blonde girl looks so similar to her that I wonder if they're siblings, but the rest of them look like they could be there on dates.

The thought of Elle being on a date with someone has me alternating between wanting to be sick and wanting to put my fist through the wall. In the end I do neither, flopping down on my back on the bed, tossing the offending phone away. Has Elle moved on? That would go some way to explaining the complete lack of contact from her.

I kind of assumed that she would reach out at some point, but it's been over six months now and there's been nothing. I know she's overseas, but phones still work, as does the internet. I have to face the fact that she doesn't want to contact me. That she wants nothing to do with me. That she might be with someone else.

I wish I could just move on with someone else, but there's not enough of me to share. It wouldn't be fair to start a relationship with somebody, even if I was interested in having one. No one deserves to be jerked around by someone who can't let go of the past, who can't imagine the possibility of a future with them.

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Chloe and Aiden still drag me out to clubs and bars and my acting skills are getting pretty good, I think. Maybe if I can simulate being okay for long enough, it might actually become reality. It's not like I'm a complete misery. I still laugh and joke and have fun with my friends. I still enjoy parts of my life. I just don't feel like I have a whole life.

Sometime in spring, I stop saying no and start saying yes. I used to turn down every girl who tried to give me her number. I didn't return the flirty smiles. But what exactly am I trying to prove? And who am I trying to prove it to? Nothing and nobody. Not anymore.

I never make the first move. I'm pretty selective and I never take anyone up on their offer if they've obviously had too much to drink. But in general, if a woman is bold enough to come onto me, I'm inclined to say yes and if the opportunity arises, suggest we go back to their place. For a number of reasons, but mainly so I don't piss Chloe off with a string of random women leaving the apartment.

It's just before midnight when I unlock the front door and walk into the living area. Chloe is sitting on the sofa with a glass of wine, reading a book. She looks up as I enter, smirking at me over the cover. "Well, well, well, if it isn't the man whore of Massachusetts."

I snort, "I'm not that bad, Clo."

"Hmm, yeah, you keep telling yourself that, pal."

"And Conner left how long ago exactly?" I tease her, flopping down in the armchair.

She snorts slightly. "Maybe an hour ago. But sleeping with one person multiple times isn't quite the same as sleeping with multiple people one time, you know?"

It's my turn to smirk at her. "True. But why should I deny those people the chance to enjoy my sparkling conversation and wit?"

"Ha! If only that's what they were enjoying. Somehow I suspect there's not a lot of conversation involved in these interactions you're having."

"That's not entirely true. Some of them are very interesting." I can't resist needling her. "And some of them are very vocal about their opinions of our interactions." I smile devilishly.

"Oh my god! Gross! Do not tell me any more! I absolutely don't want to know!" Chloe throws a cushion at me, laughing.

I laugh too, and toss the cushion back on the sofa next to her. "Enough about me, what's going on with you?"

Chloe proceeds to give me the run down on her love life with this new guy, Conner. I've met him a couple of times and he seems okay. I chuckle to myself as I remember the one time that he wandered into the kitchen the morning after spending the night with Chloe and found me sitting at the counter eating breakfast. I'd just come back from the gym and was scrolling though my phone. I looked up when he came through the doorway and narrowed my eyes at him.

I'm pretty sure he thought I was about to beat the shit out of him. I knew that Chloe would be pissed if I scared him away, so I'd smiled quickly and said, "I'm Noah, Chloe's housemate. And best friend." I shook his hand when he introduced himself and hadn't been able to resist squeezing it just a little. Chloe had been seeing him for a couple of months now, but I gathered from the way she spoke that it wasn't serious. Clearly she's had enough of talking about herself though, because she's back on my case.

"Do you really think that revenge-fucking your way around Cambridge is the best way to deal with whatever it is you're feeling?"

I don't want to have this conversation, even with Chloe. Especially with Chloe, because she knows me better than anyone and deep down I know she's probably right.

"Maybe not Clo, but it's more fun than therapy." I fob her off and head through my room into the bathroom to shower.

With the water pounding down on me again, I can stop pretending to be whole.

Chloe thinks I'm masking my feelings, but the truth is I'm feeling nothing at all, and right now that's preferable to feeling like I was before.