Chapter 210

Letting Go of the Noise

The shower doesn't help.

I stay under the hot spray until my fingers wrinkle, until the smell of chili and french fries is long gone. My skin is pink from the hot water, but my nerves are still on fire. My heart hasn't stopped hammering in my chest, regardless of how much I try to calm my

breathing.

The shame won't rinse off. The cruel words still echo loud in my ears.

Whore. Slut. Desperate.

I tug on a clean set of pajamas and twist my wet hair into a towel. I'm so tired, but I know

I won't be able to sleep like this. Not with my chest feeling like it's full of shattered glass. Not with my stomach still turning.

Might as well get my stupid ice cream.

I make my way down the hallway quietly, heading to the kitchen. The house is mostly dark, but Zaid has turned on the warm under cabinet lights, casting a soft golden glow across the counters.

Zaid's sitting at the island, hunched over his sandwich. He hasn't taken a bite, he's sort of just staring at it.

His eyes lift when I walk in, and I don't miss the way they flick down my body in a slow, heated, lingering gaze. It's just a second too long.

I feel it like a spark against my skin. But then he blinks, clears his throat, and pushes back his stool, standing up. I'm left with my stomach tightening and my breath shallow.

He walks over to the fridge, opening the freezer and reaches into it. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

He pulls out the dented pint of ice cream and grabs a spoon without needing to ask me.

I sit on a stool with a sigh, resting my elbows on the counter. "Sadie happened." He pauses. His jaw ticks.

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Letting Go of the Noise

"Of course she did," he mutters, opening the cabinet for a bowl. "She's a bitch."

his voice makes me bristle, sending my skin into a mess of

the weight of everything suddenly hits him. "I'm sorry, you know? For everything. For taking her to the

him. He's apologized for it before, but never

it's not what I

don't care about Sadie," I

anything right away. Just gives me the bowl and sits down beside

him for a minute. His strong profile, the tired way

behind his ear that I know by

than ice cream.

clear my throat, trying to push the

I ask, my

His eyes flick to mine,

slept at all

doesn't finish

He doesn't have to.

know exactly what

And it hurts.

and when he finishes his sandwich, he still doesn't get up. I

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Go of

slide off the stool and walk to the sink, rinsing my bowl. The entire

heart hammers. They don't listen to the logic my

but can't find the courage

you," I whisper, before slipping

footsteps are light on the stairs, the house hushed and still. I reach my

the door

lying there, turned toward my side of the

back the covers and slide

for his arm, gently pulling it back around my waist, needing the weight of

Just

his arm drapes around

groggy and thick with

whisper, stroking his forearm.

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