Page 92 of All of Him
“What’d they say?” I asked, picking at a loose cuticle.
Noah took a few seconds to think, and I looked around the room, as if not staring him down would help his anxiety. The smell of pizza wafted from the kitchen, which made me feel better. At least I knew he’d eaten something.
“They agree on how I’m handling it,” Noah responded. “They believe that, given my history, it’s best you and I not go forward with a relationship right now.” He paused, the words seeming to hit him harder than anticipated. “They also agree that you’re good for me, and in order to be fair, you should know what I planned on telling you before saying you’ll wait. I shouldn’t have started anything without you knowing, and I take full responsibility for the way this was handled.”
“Noah, you’re scaring me,” I said, wiping away the spot of blood that had appeared on my thumbnail.
He paused, covering his face with his hands, and took a deep breath.
“When I left Ireland,” he started, his voice wavering, “I left against medical advice. I had already been in the hospital for two weeks.”
“For what?” I asked, afraid to know the answer.
Noah bit his lip and shook his head. The air in the room seemed thicker, and my ears began to ring. My body couldn’t handle all of the stress and crushing blows, but I needed to hear him out. I needed to know what battle he was really fighting. But somehow, I knew already; I just hadn’t consciously thought of it.
“Attempted suicide.”
I closed my eyes slowly, feeling the tears prick at the corners of my eyes for the millionth time that week. Noah kept talking despite the fact that my eyes were closed. His voice was shaky, and he was trying not to cry. Still, I couldn’t move to hold him. My body would not respond.
“They held me there for so long because I wasn’t progressing. I kept saying I was going to go home and do it again. But when the call came about my parents, despite the terrible news it was, it felt like an out. And I know that’s some sick shit, but I needed it. I needed to leave all of it behind. When you’re in that kind of emotional state, sometimes it’s the strangest thing that becomes that light at the end of the tunnel.
“I came here with every intention of getting better, but there wasn’t much motivation. I ran and took my meds. I established a routine, but I still felt like shit. I still thought about dying.”
He paused, sniffling, and I opened my eyes to look at him.
“And then I met you. I met this girl who I had no business being around, who happened to keep pushing buttons I hadn’t wanted pushed. Buttons I hadn’t known Ineededto be pushed. And I got better.Your friendshipmade me better, Amanda Bette.”
“But you’re not better anymore,” I argued, wiping away a tear.
Noah shook his head.
“No,” he admitted, “but you know what? I don’t want todieanymore. I want to get better. I just need some space to do that, to focus on myself for a little while.”
I stood up and walked over to the couch, finally able to move, and sat next to Noah. It’d felt unnatural and wrong to sit across from each other for that conversation. I needed to be next to him, comforting him as he spilled his darkest moment to me. I also needed to be close to him to remind me of my love for him. Because what he’d shared was a game changer.
What Noah had told me scared me to no end. I would have run if I didn’t feel so much for him. I would have saidfuck thisreal quick and found someone steadier. But deep down, I was in it for the long run. Letting go wasn’t an option.
“How did you do it?” I asked, aware that I wasn’t entitled to that information, but some sick part of me needed to know.
“I took a bunch of my meds,” he said quietly. He looked down at his folded hands. “I took plenty to kill me, but I passed out with a thud, and my downstairs neighbor checked on me. If it wasn’t for her, I’d be gone.”
“Jesus Christ, Noah,” I said, realizing how lucky he’d been.
“That’s another thing,” he started, looking at me through red eyes. “I cover the scar on my face because it’s a reminder of that day.”
My jaw went slack as I figured out what he was saying. The whole time I had known him, I’d thought it was from the accident. He’dtoldme it was from the accident the first day that we met. Andno onein Ireland had pointed it out.
“It’s a lot easier to lie about where it came from than to tell people it’s from where you hit your head on a coffee table…while trying to kill yourself. I see it every day. Every mirror reminds me of how low I can go, how weak I can be.”
I leaned toward him and put my forehead on his shoulder, letting my hand run up and down his back as he took a few deep breaths. Eventually, he leaned back against the couch, and I wrapped my arm around his waist to keep him from falling apart. There was a long, heavy silence, and I debated on sharing how I really felt about him.
Maybe if he knew how strong my feelings were, he’d get better sooner or be less likely to try anything again. He’d reassured me though that he wanted to be with me. If assuring him that I was waiting wasn’t enough, I wasn’t sure what was. He’d told me not to say the words until I could have all of him, and I wanted to honor that.
“Can you promise you won’t do that again?” I asked, knowing it was unfair and uncertain.
“I’ll do my absolute best,” he said, putting his arm around my shoulders, “and I can promise that whether or not you wait for me. Do not wait only because you’re afraid of what I’ll do.”
“Noah,” I said, lifting my head and turning his chin to me with my thumb and index finger.
