unique—like someone who will do anything to get what he wants. Someone like Nolan.
“So if it doesn’t work out with Nolan you’re really going to give Tyler a chance?” Harper asks, placing her fork down.
“I don’t know,” I mumble. “I really want to work this out with Nolan but he just isn’t the same. I wish you could have seen him. He was someone else. Mellow, depressed, silent. He hardly talked to me and when he did, we would end up arguing. It wasn’t like us. I can’t blame him for being hurt over his loss but I thought we were stronger than this.”
“I understand,” she says. “When bad things happen, it causes some to change. Not everyone is a “coper” . . . if that makes sense. I feel bad for him but he shouldn’t have let his emotions break it off with you. I’m sure he regrets it now—especially if he called the same night you left. Guys are complete fuck-ups, I swear. Too bad we have to live with the fuckers.”
I nod my head in agreement and Harper changes the subject quickly. She goes over how her major degrees of Fashion Merchandising and Interior Design are going and she even talks about Dawson a bit more. We continue our chat and it bothers me to the max that I can’t stop thinking about Nolan. It’s really time for me to call him. I’m sick of the games. As soon as I get home, we’re discussing everything and I don’t care if it takes all night as long as we’re on the right track again.
****
It’s like a fucking game of phone tag when I call Nolan. I called him as soon as I got home—before I’d even stepped foot into my bedroom—and he didn’t answer. He called back while I was in the shower but I immediately called him as soon as I saw it. Of course he didn’t answer. Now I’m staring at my phone, hoping he’ll call back.
Unfortunately, a few hours pass and my wariness gets a hold of me. I grip my phone in my hand and stare at the screen for a few minutes before deciding to shoot him a text. I wait for ten whole minutes but he doesn’t text back and as bad as I want to wait up, my eyelids grow heavy and I end up falling asleep.
Around three in the morning and I’m awake to six missed calls . . . all from Nolan. There’s even a voicemail. Sitting up quickly, I dial the voicemail and listen to it.
“Damn it, Natalie. Pick up your fucking phone. Are you trying to confuse me? I don’t understand why you’ve been ignoring me and if you’re calling because you want to end what we have, then don’t. I’m not going to give up on us. I’m not letting our relationship come to an end. I’ve worked too damn hard in keeping this going before and I refuse to let it go now. I refuse to be a part of your past.” He sighs through the phone and my heart pounds against my rib cage as he sniffles. I know for sure that he’s drunk and crying. “I just . . . I love you too fucking much, Natalie. I miss you,” he continues. “I’m sorry . . . I’m so sorry,” he sputters. “Just please stop ignoring me. Please don’t let this go.”
The phone clicks and I drop the phone slowly, staring down at it. Tears threaten to spill but I bite back on them. Hopping out of bed, I rush for the window and pull it open. I gulp the warm night air down that’s heavy with the scent of salt. The beach is near and the feeling is satisfying.
Instead of lingering around my window, I grab a jacket and hurry for the living room. I grab a few sheets of paper from the coffee table, a pen, and then hurry for the balcony. All of it then pours out of me. Even with the tears blinding me. Even with the hurt lingering within my soul.
It’s a deadly feeling to be so confused and lost. To feel so hopeless and fucked up. The last few lines are what I’ll remember the most of this lonely night:
Buried deep in hurt, freezing from heartache
Hidden behind locked doors, releasing all that won’t make me
Feel again
Chapter Twelve
Nolan
“Why the hell isn’t she answering?” I slur, sitting on the edge of the couch.