The Wake After the Fall
1040 Words
Ava Lane didn't come home that night.
Her mom called—twice. Then texted:
Mom: Ava, where are you?
Mom: Please answer me.
Mom: If you're at Becca's, tell her mom I said thank you.
She didn't answer. Not yet.
She knew she'd have to face the repercussions sometime, but not yet.
Not when her skin still felt the memory of Noah's fingertips.
Not when the heat of his breath still clung to her ear.
Not until the burden of everything they were—impossible, reckless, brittle—hadn't yet shattered.
Noah slept first.
His breathing leveled out sometime around 1:17 a.m., one arm across his chest as though guarding something invisible.
Ava watched him from the crook of her elbow, memorizing the line of his jaw, the way his lips twitched in sleep, as though he was dreaming something just on the edge of hurt.
It frightened her—how much she needed him now.
Because Ava didn't do need.
But Noah had never asked for her walls.
He'd climbed them.
Morning – 6:43 a.m.
They woke up in silence.
Not uncomfortable—just heavy.
Noah sat on the bed's edge, rubbing his face with both hands.
"I didn't mean for this to happen," he said at last.
Ava pulled the blanket tighter. "Which part?"
"All of it," he said. "But most of all… making you care."
She moved closer. "You didn't create me. I just did."
He faced her, eyes tired. "You don't know what it's like having people use your scars as warnings. I see it in their eyes—like I'm branded."
"You are," she told him. "So am I. So is anyone worth knowing."
A gentle, broken smile pulled at his lips. "God, you speak like a poem."
"Perhaps I'm just weary of acting like I'm not bleeding too."
That was when the knock came.
Loud. Sudden. Sharp.
Noah froze.
Three more thuds followed—fist on wood. Insistent.
He sprang up fast, tugging on his hoodie. "Stay here."
But Ava was already rising, pulling on yesterday's jeans. Her heart pounded in her ears.
The door opened—
And there stood Coach Evers.
The gym teacher at school. Now, though, in a button-down and with a folded piece of paper in his hand. His face was lined, serious.
"Ava," he said, surprised. "I didn't expect to see you here."
Noah stepped between them. "What do you want?"
Coach paused. "There's been a report."
Ava frowned. "A report?"
"About the fight last semester," he said. "The one at Grayson Heights. There's new video footage."
Noah stiffened.
Ava's stomach tightened.
"Footage?" Noah repeated. "That wasn't supposed to be around."
"Somebody sent it to the district anonymously. It's on its way to the board today. You can be expelled."
Ava stepped forward. "No. You said he was cleared—"
Coach Evers looked at her sympathetically. "I said they couldn't prove he started it. But the footage suggests otherwise."
Noah's voice dropped to a whisper. "I didn't hit him first."
“You threw him into a locker,” Coach said. “That’s what they’ll see. And he’s pressing charges now. Private attorney.”
Noah shut the door slowly, like if he moved too fast, the world would fall apart again.
After Coach Left
Ava sat beside him on the edge of the bed.
“I thought it was over,” he said, voice hollow. “I made it over.”
“Maybe this is just another scar,” she whispered. “You’ll survive it.”
He stared at her then, wide-eyed and seeking.
"I won't be able to live if you're drawn into it as well."
Later – School
Ava returned to school after lunch.
Her mom had called the school in a frenzy that morning, and Becca covered for her—said Ava was at her place, studying.
By now, however, the rumors had already spread.
Crystal was smirking again. Boys leaned on lockers, whispering Ava's name as if it were a sin.
She walked into class with her hood up and her eyes scrunched up. She didn't flinch when Mr. Kent looked up from his desk in surprise. She didn't even react when Becca mouthed "what the hell happened?"
She just sat in the seat beside Noah's—empty again—and waited for the day to go by.
After School – Parking Lot
Becca pounced.
"You stayed with him."
Ava didn't say anything.
"You slept with him?"
Still nothing.
Jesus, Ava. He's not a game. People are saying he's going to get arrested."
Ava spun around, calm but lethal. "Do I look like I care?"
Becca's eyes blinked.
"I'm not asking you to understand," Ava said. "I'm asking you not to judge."
"Fine," Becca said. "But if this ends with you crying on my floor at 2 a.m., just remember—I warned you."
Ava didn't respond.
Because she already knew.
This was going to end badly.
But sometimes the storm is worth it—even if it kills you.
---
That Night – 10:02 p.m.
Ava's phone buzzed.
Noah: You awake?
Ava: Always.
Noah: Can I see you?
Ava: Where?
Noah: Same rooftop. Bring a lighter.
She didn't ask why.
She just grabbed her jacket, slipped out the back door, and caught the last bus down Ridgeway Street.
The air on the roof was cold, wind lashing against her skin like guilt. Noah was at the edge, hoodie down, jaw tense.
He was holding a photo in one hand. Burned at the edges.
Ava stepped closer.
"Who is that?" she asked.
"My brother," he said.
The boy in the photo looked like Noah—except younger. Kinder. Innocent in a way Noah wasn't anymore.
"I need to let him go," Noah said. "I need to stop punishing myself for not being able to save him."
Ava nodded. "Then do it."
He lit the photo.
They watched the edges curl. Flames danced at the boy's smile, his hoodie, the blue sky in the background.
It crumbled into ash.
And Noah wept—silently, savagely—like it was the first time he'd let himself feel anything.
Ava wrapped her arms around him.
And for once, neither of them spoke.
Because sometimes grief doesn't need language.
- Writer
