We Are Stars | OLD DRAFT

Chapter Eight: Talk

The address that Noah gave me sits coldly in my pocket. I've been waiting outside of this coffee shop for almost twenty minutes and he's still a no show. My head is telling me that he stood me up, but my heart, or whatever internal organ, claims otherwise.

Silas' note lies in my other pocket, along with a trusty pocket-knife that I decided to bring along today. Since I apparently have to meet him later tonight, I might as well bring along a defensive tool. Despite the absence of reassurance about tonight, my mind is fixed on this moment, and what exactly I'll find out regarding Noah's depart two years ago.                                    

Cars of all types drive down the newly paved roads. I watch as people go about their daily activities, whether it's just going for a walk or getting something to eat. I actually ordered a cup of coffee not too long ago, but I finished it in a matter of minutes. It's the same coffee shop my friend and I go to. I almost forgot that Noah and I used to come here too.

My back straightens when I see a figure jogging toward me; Noah. He has a surprised look on his face when he reaches my bench. "You came," he says.

"You sound surprised," I reply.

"Can you blame me? You were never exactly the easiest person to convince." He takes a seat beside me and a slide over an inch, putting some space between the two of us. "What, do I have the plague or something?"

I chuckle. "No, but what you do have is some explaining to do." I dismiss his bad attempt of amusing me. "A good place to start would be explaining why you're so late."

An apologetic look appears in his eyes. "Yeah, sorry about that. I had some... stuff to take care of."

"What kind of stuff?"

"Just some extra errands," Noah replies. "Which reminds me, I got you something." His arm perks up and picks up a brown, paper bag, handing it to me. I hesitate to take it from him. "C'mon, Nyc. Just take it." Taking the bag from him, the scent of chocolate and coffee fills the air. Holy shit, he didn't...

My wish is granted when I pull out a chocolate-glazed donut, my all-time favorite food. As much as I want to inhale every last bite, I know what he's trying to do, and it's not going to work.

"Alright, what's wrong?" asks Noah.

"It's nothing," I say, putting the donut back into the bag.

"Rowen, you were looking at the donut like it's poison, and we both know that you would happily eat that thing is one bite. So what's up?"

Frustrated, I pull the note from Noah from my pocket and slap it down on the bench. He looks deflated when he eyes it, but it's not look he's never seen it before. He is the one who wrote it. "Why the hell am I here, Noah?"

His eyes meet mine again, slightly agitated. "You said you wanted answers."

"And so far, all I'm getting is freaking donuts!" I raise my voice, growing more annoyed. Noah hand touches mine on the bench, but I pull away quickly. "You didn't invite me here to answer my questions, did you? You came here to try to fix things with me," I claim.

"No, I came here to explain myself."

"And yet you're trying to woo me with donuts and hand-holding? Well here's a news flash for you, Noah: it's never going to happen. You left me, remember?"

He switches positions so he's fully facing me. "I know what I did was wrong, and Nyc, I am so, so sorry."

There's a deep pause and no one speaks. I gently shake my head and look deep into the forest in his eyes, wanting to set each tree on fire. "I've outgrown your apologies, Noah," I say with cruelty and get up to leave.