Deja Vu- (Kissing Booth fanfiction)

Chapter 3

Noah's POV

I walk through Elle's front door and stop short at the scene in front of me.  I have seen it before.  Eight years ago, I came through the same door and saw the same people in a similar tableau.  Elle's dad sits at the dining table, his head in his hands and my dad's hand on his shoulder.  My mom sits on the couch, quietly comforting a crying Brad.  The only thing missing is Lee and Elle on the stairs, shoulder to shoulder, hands clenched.  Even then - even before I knew I loved her - I wanted to protect her, to save her from the pain of her mother's illness.  But of course she leaned on Lee, not me, and I was left on the sidelines, a 14 year-old frustrated by his inability to take away her sadness.  I spent high school trying to make up for my failure, using threats and fights to protect her from a different kind of heartbreak.

 My mom's embrace brings me back to the present.  Of course Mrs. Evans's death devastated her family, but my mom lost her best friend too.  "I'm so sorry honey.  I can't believe we are back here again."  Of course, leave it to my mom to say out loud what we are all thinking.  "Elle went upstairs, " she whispers in my ear, "but before you go up can you say something to Brad?  Mike is just too overwhelmed right now."  Sure Mom, of course I know exactly what to say to a 15 year-old who knows exactly what this diagnosis could mean.  

"Hey man," is all I can get out as I perch on the coffee table across from Brad.  He tries to quench his tears, unsuccessfully.  For years Elle teased that Brad idolized me, that I could do no wrong in his eyes.  Now I know I will be exposed as a false idol - one with no answers, no comfort.  I hear Brad's voice crack, "I don't understand why this is happening again.  I can't imagine losing her too."

I can't bring myself to make him false promises, so I decide to try validation instead.  "I can't imagine it either man, and it scares the crap out of me.  What did Elle say when she told you?"

"Just that she has leukemia, and that she wouldn't know any more until she goes back to the doctor tomorrow.  Then she called your parents to come over.  After she told them, she said she was tired and went upstairs - to wait for you."

"Did she cry?"

"No."

"That Elle isn't it - no point in crying, just get on with it.  I think we are going to have follow her lead on this dude.  It's at least a place to start - right?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Now she's waiting for me, so I'm going to go upstairs, but I'm sure your dad wants to talk to you too. Okay?"

"Okay, thanks Noah."

I take the stairs two at a time, but my courage fails me when I reach her bedroom door.  I was a bystander when her mom was sick.  Compared to Lee, her dad or even my mom, I have no experience supporting someone going through anything like this.  I  know I will have to learn from them,  because it will kill me if I get it wrong.  So I get over myself, and turn the handle of the door.

Asleep on her bed, Elle suddenly looks as ill as she is.  I didn't see it earlier in the week - the paleness, the slight glistening of sweat on her brow, dark circles under her eyes.  Knowledge makes everything come into focus.  I'm standing over her, hating myself for not noticing it before, when her eyes flutter open and meet mine.  I lift her up, one arm under her knees, one supporting her shoulders, turn around, and sit down with her on my lap.  My arms envelop her as she rests her head on my shoulder.  

"I'm sorry," we say in unison .  Our shoulders shake slightly as we chuckle at our timing. "You first," she commands.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there with you - at the doctor's office.  I'm sorry you had to tell your dad and everyone else by yourself.  I'm sorry that I wasn't there for you when your mom was sick.  Most of all I'm sorry that I'm scared out of my mind right now."

Elle answers into my neck, "I'm sorry I sent Lee to tell you - that I didn't have the courage to do it myself.  I'm sorry I stopped you from going back to Harvard."

I try to interrupt, to protest her apology, but she ignores me and goes on,  "Telling Dad by myself was my idea.  He was brave enough to tell me when they knew Mom wasn't going to get better, so I thought I could be brave enough to tell him about this.  There wasn't much to tell at this point anyway - I just blurted out 'I have leukemia.'  Not  harsh at all right?"

I offer no response but a smile at her effort to lighten the moment - seeking safety in sarcasm.  She went on, "And don't be sorry for being scared - it helps to know that I'm not the only one."  Her arms tighten around me and she begins to cry, the sobs convulsing her whole body.  We stay in our human cocoon for what seems like hours - Elle releasing the burden of her fear, soaking my shirt, my own tears silently stinging my face.  We cannot lie to each other, to pretend a strength that we do not feel in this moment - all we have is miserable honesty that ironically comforts both of us.

Eventually Elle pulls back and rests her hand on my chest. "You need a dry shirt - I think there is still one of yours left in my drawers."  She grips the bottom of my t-shirt and begins to move it up.  I raise my arms to allow her to remove it completely.  Still sitting on my lap, Elle stares for a moment at my bare skin, then suddenly brings her lips to mine.  She seems so fragile, I reciprocate as gently as possible.  But then Elle deepens the kiss, moving her legs to straddle mine, using her hands to bring me close, and then closer.  My body instinctively recognizes her need - and moves to answer it.  I lay her back, gently resting her head on the pillow.  "Are you sure?" I ask, searching her face.

"Noah - I love you.  Right now that is the only thing I know for sure.  Tomorrow everything will be different - hard.  Please - I want to run away from that - just for a little while - to something I know, something that is easy and certain.   Let's help each other forget what is coming  - will you help me?"

"Always" I whisper, before our bodies join together, and we make our temporary escape from the promise of the struggle to come.