If shame was something that could be worn, I was wearing it.
I wake, limbs tangled with Noah’s on my bed. My desperate wish that last night was all a dream, a broken, fever dream of a very desperate, desperate girl, dies the moment I see Noah still asleep, in my room, on my bed, arms thrown over my waist, holding me close.
I swallow, stay perfectly still while my breath tries to escape my lungs permanently.
What did we do. What did we do. I’m panicking. Oh my God. Noah and I, how could I…
I feel like crying, feel like running away, but I lick my lips, blink my eyes, and start to pull out of reach, out of his arms.
It’s unforgivable that even as I pulled away, even as I felt shame and regret like heat on my face, I still ached for his warmth. Still wanted it around me.
I’m crazy. Abso
