Breaking Noah

“You think I’m homesick?” she questions with distain in her voice.

“Well, I assumed—”

She cuts me off in mid-sentence, only to lay into me. “Well, Mr. Bain,” she hisses, “you know what happens when you assume, right? You think I’m some whiny-ass girl that’s sad because her mommy and daddy aren’t close by? Get the fuck out of here. My cousin, my best friend, she’s dead. I came here to be closer to where she spent her final days. I came here to see if I could fix the wrong that was done to her. I’m not fucking homesick.”

Standing, she flies into the bathroom and walks out carrying her soaking-wet clothing. It’s when I hear her messing with the locks on the front door that I realize she’s trying to leave…wearing only a T-shirt.

“Zara. Stop it. You’re not leaving right now. We’ll throw your clothes in the dryer, then you can get dressed and leave if you want. But I can’t let you walk out half naked in the middle of the night, and in a thunderstorm, no less.” The dimly lit living room brightens when a flash of lightning cracks across the dark sky. It must catch her attention as well, because she walks into the laundry room, puts her clothes in the dryer, and turns it to the highest setting, not caring about any damage she could do her to her garments.

“Twenty minutes and I’m out of here.”

“I didn’t mean to imply that you were weak in any way. I’m used to dealing with students who get homesick, that’s all. I’m sorry about your cousin. Do you want to talk about her?”

“What good would that do? Is it going to fix anything? No, it’s not. It’s just going to upset me again.”

“Let’s just give it a try. If it doesn’t work, we can stop anytime. How’d she die?” I pray she gives this exercise a chance before shooting it down. Grief is something I’m good at helping people work through. I led the students in mourning Karly, and most are doing well and adjusting.

“She killed herself.” Straight, concise, and to the point as ever, Zara briefly explains that her cousin was in a bad spot and felt the only way out was ending her life.

“I also had a student that committed suicide. She wasn’t my family, but it was still difficult.” This seems to catch Zara’s attention. Her head whips in my direction and her posture stiffens. Maybe I’ll be able to get through to her and she’ll let me help her manage the grief if I open up about Karly. It can’t hurt, and it’s a risk I’m willing to take. This version of Zara worries me.

“She was a bright young woman. Great grades in my class, and the rest of her teachers had nothing but positive things to say about her. She had started a relationship with someone that her family wouldn’t approve of, but she kept seeing him anyway. I’m not sure if they were in love, but it seemed like she at least loved him. I tried to talk to her a few times about it, though she never really opened up. Until she found out she was pregnant. She showed up at my office much like you showed up here tonight.” Zara squirms in her seat, seeming to be uncomfortable with the direction of our conversation. Her walls are coming down. I can see her body language shift from locked away to angry. Anger is usually the first emotion shown when someone begins the grieving process. I’m making progress, so I continue.

“She was very depressed. I wanted to help her…tried to help her, but I wasn’t very helpful, I guess. She left my office that night and her body was found the next day. I’m constantly wondering if there was anything more I could have done. So I know what it’s like to carry the what-ifs around, Zara. I can help you if you’ll let me.”

A few tears slip from her lashes, slowly tumbling down her flushed cheeks and into her lap. She’s looking anywhere and everywhere except at my eyes. I don’t want to push her past where she’s ready to go, but I feel like if I don’t at least try, I could be getting a call tomorrow that someone’s found Zara’s body, and that’s not a call I want to receive. I care for her.

Dare I say I’m falling in love with her? Wrong or right, I can’t fight the way I feel about Zara. She’s everything I never knew I was looking for. Her only downfall: She’s my student.

“What was her name?” Zara asks, choking back emotion she’s not ready to show.

“Karly,” I whisper, holding back tears of my own. Such a great girl and her life was cut short.

We both sit silent for what seems like hours, yet in reality it’s been only a few minutes. As I’m ready to break the silence, the dryer buzzes. Both of us jump, and it’s apparent that Zara’s gone back inside herself.

“I better get going,” she says, standing and making long strides to the laundry room. I follow close behind and have to stop myself as she reaches into the dryer, pulls out her clothes, pulls my shirt over her head, exposing her naked body. As hard as I’m trying to remain platonic in this instance to give her a sense of support, looking at her firm body, my dick wants anything except distance. Bracing myself on the door frame, I forcefully hold myself back from pouncing.

As soon as she’s dressed, she shuffles past me, purposefully keeping her distance. At the door, once it’s unlocked and cracked open, she turns to face me, a rainfall of tears streaming down her face. I step forward to comfort her, but she opens the door wider.

“Bye, Noah,” she stutters. I can’t help but feel like there’s a double meaning behind her farewell.

Before I can blink an eye, she’s out the door and into the night.

Chapter 23

Zara

I pound on the door again, ignoring the pain shooting through my knuckles. It’s late, but I don’t care. I need answers and she is the only person who can give them to me right now. The door opens, and a sleepy Heather peers out.

“Zara?” she asks, tightening the cord on her pale blue robe. She’s much more awake now as she ushers me inside and closes the door. “What are you doing here?”

I glance at the clock on the wall. It’s nearly eleven. Any sane person would have waited until morning before ambushing someone they’ve met only once.

“I need to talk to you. I’m sorry, I know it’s late, but I really needed to speak to you,?

?? I mumble. I had this all planned out in my head, but now it just seems frivolous. Heather is eyeing me like I’m insane, and why shouldn’t she? I’m not exactly exuding mental stability at the moment.

“Sure. Come into the kitchen. Do you want a hot chocolate?” she asks, and I nod.