Breaking Noah

“Noah,” I quietly mutter under my breath. He may not be physically with me, but he’s fucking here.

With my thumb pressed firmly to my clit, I thrust two fingers into my opening, feeling everything that Noah would feel if it were him inside me. My walls clamp down on my digits, warmth fills my entire body, and stars dance behind my closed lids. Pure ecstasy. Well, as close as I can get by myself, anyway.

—

I’m late for work again the following morning, having picked up an extra shift on my free day. A side effect of spending too much time thinking about Noah is I am easily distracted and I make stupid mistakes—like setting my alarm for p.m. instead of a.m.

After a word from my boss about my “tardiness not being acceptable” and me promising not to be late for the next month, I slip on my apron and begin my shift. The second I loop that apron over my head, though, I push all thoughts of Noah away, because even though I don’t need this job, I enjoy the distraction it gives me. I find making coffee relaxing, which is kind of ironic, considering how jittery I feel when I drink the stuff. Not that it stops me from downing a few cups a day. It’s ev

en harder to pass up when you can get it for half the price.

“Hey! Zara, right?”

I look up and recognize the girl standing at the counter as the chick from my lit class. I rack my brain trying to remember her name, but it’s refusing to come to me.

“Yeah, hey.” I smile widely. “How’re things?” I hope I can avoid having to use her name until I remember it.

“Good. We were going to catch up, but you never called me.”

“Right. Sorry, I totally forgot. I’ve been so busy with classes and work….” My voice trails off because it sounds like a piss-weak excuse, but it’s better than telling her the truth: that I had no intention of calling her. “I have a break in about an hour, if you’re still around,” I say, nodding to the pile of books under her arms.

“I was heading to the library, but sure. That sounds great. I’ll meet you back here.” Her bright smile makes me feel bad about not calling her earlier.

—

She hangs around out front until my break, when I join her. My new friend—whose name I still cannot remember—is sitting at one of the four white plastic tables in the dining room. I sit down and slide the coffee I’ve just made her across the table. I’m racking my brain trying to think of a way to find out her name without actually asking, but I’m coming up empty.

“Thanks.” She grins, her fingers closing around the cup. “So I didn’t even realize you work here. I haven’t seen you and I swear I come past at least twice a day for my fix.”

“I only do a few shifts a week,” I explain. “Just enough to kill off some of my spare time.”

“I wish my parents would let me get a job. They’re so overprotective. I guess I can either work or go to school,” she jokes, staring wistfully into the black depths of her cup.

“I wish my mom and dad were like that. I have to work to afford little things like gas and food,” I tease back. “But my grades are good, so I can’t complain.”

The conversation grows silent as we both search for a new topic to talk about. It’s hard when you don’t really know someone. What should you say? How do you get to know someone without asking a billion questions? I probably should have thought of this before deciding to make friends. In my defense, she did pop up here out of nowhere.

“Did you finish your paper?” she finally asks, breaking the silence.

“Yeah, the other night. It was easier than I thought it would be, though.”

“You’re insane. That was the hardest thing I’ve written…ever. Maybe that’s why you can work and go to school. You’re obviously a genius.” We both halfheartedly laugh.

“Well, my break is almost over,” I say, my voice apologetic.

“That’s cool. My sister’s here, anyway. Maybe we can catch up again?” she asks.

I feel bad because I can see how hopeful she is. She seems like a nice girl, but I just don’t need friends complicating my life right now. I’m here for a reason, and I can’t risk losing sight of that.

“Sure,” I say, forcing a smile. I hand her my phone, which is open to contacts. “Throw your number in and I’ll call you.”

“Hey, Mel.” I look up to see a petite brunette and I know it’s her sister. I can see the likeness right away. They have the same facial features and dark eyes. “You ready?”

Melanie. That’s it. I have to stop myself from hugging this chick. Instead I offer her a small smile, which she returns, her eyes watching me curiously.

“Oh, Heather, this is my friend, Zara. She’s just moved here from Ohio.”

“Oh, nice,” she says, her smile widening. “That’s a pretty big move. Do you have family out here, or just for college?”