All The Ways He Didn't Look At Me

Abby’s POV I don’t remember much from the burial ground. The only thing that keeps replaying in my mind is the sound of the casket scraping the earth as it was lowered to the ground, the golden hues of the sun gleaming over the dark surface, the sound of my mother crying, her heart-wrenching sobs carrying into the air. And then, him. Noah Fisher. It has been five years now. Five whole years, and he still manages to make me feel this way. I didn't think he was going to come home with us, but as the light chatter fill the air in our living room, my eyes find him again. He stands at the fore of the room, close to the doors, as if contemplating leaving any minute now. One hand is wrapped around a glass, and the other is in his pocket. A light wrinkle caresses his forehead, and a muscle works in his jaw. He brings the glass to his lips, taking a slow sip. I swallow, just as the liquid reaches his throat. And when he pauses suddenly, his gaze hovering, I pull my eyes away, red patches appearing on my cheeks like I have just been caught doing something wrong. “You good?” Jordan, my boyfriend, asks, one arm slung over my shoulders. He has been right beside me all day, since the service at the church. At first, it felt sweet, having someone to share my pain with, to pat my back gingerly when the pain got unbearable. But right now, I really just wish he’d go. Does that make me a bad person? “Hmm,” I nod, smiling up at him. “You know you don’t have to smile when you are hurting so bad, right?” he murmurs, pulling me even closer. “Your father just died. It’s fine to cry.” “I have to be strong for my mom,” I whisper, feeling guilty immediately. This has nothing to do with her. It never has. Jordan's hands squeeze my waist tighter, and a knot works its way to my throat. His head dips as his lips meet my ears. "You're shaking," he murmurs. "Do you want to get out of here?" "No!" My tone is a little too sharp, too laden with panic. Jordan narrows his eyes in my direction and I swallow. "I mean…I cannot possibly leave everyone here, Jordan. My father just died, and these people are here to mourn with us. The least I can do is be here with them." It is almost impossible not to look at him again, my hair framing the side of my face as I search his. Noah isn’t looking at me. He hasn’t since he stepped foot into this building. Yet, my heart does a funny dance, mixed with a sharp pain slicing through it. I have never considered the possibility of thrill and pain coexisting, but today, everything I believe in seems to be put to the test. His lips are now pressed together, and his body leans away from the wall. He shouldn’t have come. Noah Fisher doesn’t belong here anymore. “You keep looking over there,” Jordan mutters. I can hear the accusation in his tone, the one I have gotten so familiar with through the years. “Mind telling me who that is?” “He’s no one,” I say quickly, bringing my gaze back to my boyfriend. Jordan doesn't believe me. I can tell by the way he arches his brow, how he sets his lips in a grim line, like he is about to make my father's funeral all about him. "Doesn't look like no one." Because he isn’t. My feet move uneasily under me. I don't like talking about Noah. "He used to work for my family," I whisper. "He was our mechanic years ago." It has never been that simple, all our lives summarized in those words. But that is the problem. There is never the most appropriate term for it. “Mechanic?” Amusement curls in his tone as Jordan shakes his head. “That explains the tattoos. Why is he here anyway? Are there cars for him to fix or something?” “Jordan…” “Whatever,” he sighs, unwrapping his hand from my shoulders for the first time today. I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding, watching as he turns away, muttering something about people like that always showing up where they are not needed. I want to defend Noah, but I don’t even know how to. He catches my attention again, his foot shifting. His hand reaches for his tie, tugging it hard before sliding the glass onto a surface by the wall. His footsteps echo as he heads for the back door. I should have let him go. I have survived five years without him. I can do much longer. Yet, my feet move too into the quiet hallway, following his retreating figure until he stops by the back door. His tie is gone now, and his sleeves are rolled up. I can see the tattoos now, peaking out into the wild. His head snaps at the sound of my heels hitting the wooden ground, and as he turns around, it feels like the wind has been knocked out of me. Those eyes. My heart thuds hard against my chest when they meet mine. The pool of piercing green stares back at me like they can read into my soul. “Noah,” I whisper, my lips barely moving, his name ingrained in the very fragment of my being. He just stands there, staring at me, his chest rising and falling, his eyes unmoving. “I…I didn’t think you were going to come,” I breathe, taking a slow step forward. I feel the urge to close my eyes when his scent hits, the smoky intensity ebbing around me. “I heard about…I’m sorry…” "Don't." His voice is low, yet it squeezes me too tight. "You don't get to be sorry." My lips part, but nothing comes out. “Noah, I…” "Go back inside, Abby," he murmurs, before turning around and stalking away. My chest aches so badly that my hand reaches for the wall to steady myself. A quiver runs through me, and the pain pulls me under. I try to breathe, but I seem to have forgotten how to. I hear the footsteps behind me, and my breath hitches when they cease suddenly. “Abby?”