Breaking Noah

Looking between the couch and love seat, I choose the smaller sofa for us to sit on, so we’ll both have a table to set our glasses on without having to reach over each other. I’m sure I can handle being close to her, but if she’s reaching over me or vice versa, I can already sense my resolve wearing.

Once everything is situated, I barely sit down on the cushion when Zara makes her way toward me carrying a bottle of wine in one hand, two glasses in the other, and a bag of chips between her teeth. She bends forward to set everything on the coffee table and my dick instantly hardens when her perfectly shaped ass is only inches from my face. She’s close enough that I could reach out and caress the soft flesh, but luckily I’m able to stop myself before I actually make contact.

“Movie ready?” she asks, turning her head slightly and in enough time to catch me staring at her. A sly smile appears across her plump lips. If I thought the air was charged earlier, I was wrong. Acting with more class than I’ve just displayed, Zara ignores me further, plops down on the cushion next to me, brings her feet up under her, and pops a chip into her mouth.

The next hour we spend watching Super Troopers brings the tension down a little. But then I let my head get away from me. Watching her laugh and be carefree…this is almost worse than her standing in front of me bare naked.

I can see things. I can visualize a future with Zara. One where after a long day of work I come home to her and she’s just hanging out in a T-shirt and underwear. We could curl up on the couch and watch a movie. Enjoy ourselves. Laugh. Love life. Each other. I could see myself doing exactly this for the rest of my life.

It’s terrifying.

It wouldn’t have been if she’d never violated my trust. It would have been the best-case scenario. What I always wanted with Shannon but knew we’d never achieve.

Zara could have been mine.

I slam the DVD player closed and Zara jumps, spilling her glass of wine all over the both of us. “I’m so sorry. You scared me.” She leaps off the couch, runs into the kitchen, and returns with a wet cloth. She attacks the couch first, dabbing the red stain on the fabric. Moving on, she wipes the liquid from her leg then starts in on me, rubbing the cloth across the cotton of my sweatpants. A little too close to the one part of me that doesn’t care what she’s done or what she’s capable of

doing.

“It’s fine. It’s not your fault. I’m just tired. I’m going to get some sleep.” Brushing her hand away, I stand and take a few steps into the guest bedroom. I could sleep upstairs, but it’s filled with memories of my childhood that I don’t necessarily want to remember.

After I brush my teeth and splash some cold water on my face, I peek in the living room to check on Zara. She’s lying on the couch in the dark, tucked underneath my mother’s quilt. I’m not sure if she’s already asleep, but I highly doubt it. That thick, almost tangible tension is back and stronger than ever.

Deciding to keep the door open in case she needs me, I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, praying for sleep to take me. But it doesn’t. Too many things run through my mind, from those that are important to others that make me question who I am as a man.

I knew it was wrong to get involved with a student, but I did it anyway. Why did I think she was so important that I would risk throwing my career away?

Was anything we shared real?

Did Zara really feel anything for me? Is it possible that she really was falling in love with me?

If this was an act for her, and I thought I was starting to fall for her, can I still have those same feelings if she’s not who she said she was?

Can I really blame her? If something like this would have happened to someone I love, the way she loved Karly, could I have let it go and moved on? Or would I have felt the overwhelming need to right a wrong?

What kind of man am I? Allowing her to sleep on a couch while I have a queen-size bed with a pillow-top mattress all to myself? My mother raised me better than this.

Throwing the blanket off me, I pad into the living room, flicking on the hall light on the way. When I approach the couch, Zara’s shoulders violently shake and her sobs fill the room.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, honestly concerned.

“I don’t know how to come back from this,” she says, rushing out every word.

“I guess we’ll have to figure that out. Not tonight, though. Maybe tomorrow.”

“It’s pretty scary out here, too. There’s nothing to drown out the sounds of the outside. The wind whipping through the windows, the tree branches clipping against the outside of the house, the animals making noises. I can’t take it. This is like a scene from a scary movie. All I need is a man in a mask to break through the front door wielding a knife aimed for my face. On top of all that, I can’t close my eyes and not see Karly and how disappointed in me she’d be.”

Deciding to do the gentlemanly thing, I pick her up, carrying her down the short hallway and into the bedroom. As I lay her on the mattress, she scoots to the far side, flipping the blanket back.

“Please don’t go. I’m really scared. We can have different blankets, but if I sleep alone and I’m already this creeped out, the nightmares will come. I can’t have another one. Please,” she begs…and I cave.

“What kind of nightmares? I used to have terrors as a child and I remember being told to talk about them when I’m awake and they’re less likely to come when I’m sleeping.”

Taking a deep breath, she rolls away from me. “They’re usually about Karly. What I could have done to help her. But it always ends the same way. She’s dead and there’s nothing I can do.”

I don’t push. I’ve had the same nightmares. I know how much they hurt, and I hadn’t known Karly like Zara had. Letting the conversation go, I resign to sleep in the same bed as Zara, hoping I can keep my hands to myself.

With her warmth next to me, it’s only minutes before I’m starting to fade away. Just as I’m on the brink of sleep, Zara starts talking.