Out of My League

Chapter 15 (Izzy)

When I wake up, my eyes feel as if they're swollen shut, but it takes me almost a full minute to realize why, to gather my surroundings enough to realize what happened.

When that horrible realization hits me, I want to cry again, but I am physically incapable.

It's almost like my tear ducts dried up, or my body took pity on me and refused to send the sad hormones to my brain.

As if Noah didn't already pity me, didn't already think I was certifiably insane, I broke down in front of him for no reason.

Okay, so it wasn't, exactly, for no reason, but that's beside the point, isn't it?

He was a witness to a breakdown.

Forcing my eyes to open to their fullest capacity, I glance around the living room, dreading the point at which my eyes meet his.

The moment, however, doesn't come because I'm on the couch alone.

A blanket is pulled up to my chin, a pillow tucked underneath of my head.

Someone humming and the sound of dishes clinking around in water meets my ears.

I sit up a little and the blanket that had been on me slides towards my legs. My face feels unusually sticky.

When Noah, who had been the one humming at the sink while he washed dishes, sees me move, he immediately quits the task at hand, dropping the cup into the sink and drying his hands on a towel as he walks over to me.

"Hey," he says, voice soft as he takes a seat on the edge of the couch, "How are you?"

"I'm sorry," are my first and only words.

"Sorry?" His eyebrows furrow in confusion, "What are you sorry for?"

"For crying in front of you," I say, my chin feeling wobbly, "I didn't mean to. I guess the seriousness of my situation and the resurfacing of the memories just-"

He stands, crouching in front of where I'd lain back down on the couch.

Our eyes are at the exact same level as he looks at me, compassion in his own, and tells me that I never have to worry about crying in front of him.

"Still," I say, "I ruined the evening."

"You didn't ruin a single thing," he leans up and forward, planting a kiss to my forehead, "The evening can still go exactly as we'd both planned."

"How's that?"

"Come on," he takes me by the hands, pulling me to my feet. I toss the blanket off to the side as I stand.

It lands on top of the pillow in a jumbled heap, but neither of us bother to fold it up and put it back on the couch.

Instead, he leads me out to the kitchen where a table is adorned with a single candle. Two empty plates sit at opposite ends of the table.

"See," I insist, gesturing, with the hand he's not still holding, at the set-up, "Ruined."

"Nothing's ruined, Bella," he smiles, "I realized that after all we'd just talked about, neither of us needed a fancy dinner. We needed a comfort meal."

I quirk an eyebrow, trying my hardest to not smile, but I do anyway, "And?"

"And-," he's interrupted by his doorbell ringing. It echoes through the house and out toward the kitchen, "Have a seat. I'll be back in a second."

I do as he says. Seconds later, I hear voices and the soft clicking of the door closing.

Noah walks back into the kitchen moments later, carrying a box of pizza.