Keep Me In | DR3 | BOOK 1

65 - We're Concerned

I would never forgive him for this. Doing all he could to get me, to open me up, only for him to drop me as if I was some old good luck charm that ran out of glamour. For reducing me to some pacing mess, my mind relentlessly running in circles as I looked for an answer. A reason.

For him not seeing me now, as I was. For bringing my past back into the equation- my unashamed attempt at packing it all away and turning the blindest of eyes to it, almost brought to ruin.

--

I was decidedly in a better mood today. Not that I was no longer heartbroken, feeling like a dust bunny that had been sitting in an unreachable spot under the bed for far too long, like an unconcealed zit ready to burst and ruin someone's day more than I already had.

The pain was still ripe. It still sank through my body like lead in my veins, flowing laboriously with gravity as I sat up slowly in bed. The pain of having to face another morning without him. I couldn't believe I had nearly made it a full working week. How was it only Friday?

There was no warmth from his arms, clasped around me at every angle. No nest of frazzled curls on the same pillow my newly silken blonde locks fell on. If I lifted the bundle of sheets I had laid my eyes on behind me, on his side of the bed, I wouldn't find him hiding from his alarm and I as we fought to wake him up. I'd find pillows. The pillows he used to tease me about. The pillows he'd move under my head, while he took me from behind, for me to muffle my moans and screams of pleasure.

I didn't wake up in a better mood. I didn't wake up feeling fresh, excitable, and suddenly realizing I didn't still wish to have all of these aspects of us. Like I didn't miss it at all. But I wanted to wake up feeling like that- consumed by nothing but ambition, with the same drive I was raised to embody. Because there was no use in wishing for something that would never happen. Something that was so unattainable to me.

So I decided I would be in a better mood instead. It wasn't real, and it was far from being true, but I had to start somewhere, right? Fake it 'till you make it, or whatever I used to tell him. It was mine now.

"Morning," I chirped, getting into the left-side passenger seat of Noah's car, handing him a warm to-go mug before buckling myself in.

"What's this?" he questioned suspiciously, holding the mug far from his body, like whatever contents the mug held behind their double paned walls would dissolve through the barrier, burning him. Like I was trying to poison him. Can't I do something nice for him without being questioned, for once? I laughed out loud, slapping my knee with the palm of my hand, my tongue settled on my top row of teeth as I shook my head at him.

"I made you a latte," I explained, holding up my own glossy lime green Yeti mug, one that had 'OMC' printed in thick, italicized lettering on the side. "Oat milk."

"You made me a latte!? Why?"

I let out a noise in offence, wagging my chin toward him as I spoke, "Can't I made my favorite employee a coffee? As a thank you, for picking me up today?"

"No," he mumbled facetiously, letting his eyes travelled down to the mug he was now sniffing. I shoved his shoulder, rolling my eyes and picking up my own to take a sip. Noah followed my lead, eyebrows raising in shock when he realized the coffee was made to his liking. I looked at him righteously, my eyes speaking for me. See, Noah? No poison.