‘It’s not about kissing, Norah. It’s about you, about how I feel about you. I got lost for a second.’
‘Bullshit. You don’t just forget I’m this, that I have all these things wrong with me.’
‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I did. I do. I don’t always see it, but I always see you.’
‘You see normal. And that’s not how this works. You should have stayed at your ball. Found a girl you can have fun with, one who doesn’t hold you back, break down when you try to touch her.’ I wipe my mouth a second time; I’m not even thinking about germs any more.
‘I’m confused. Is this about me kissing you or about your own insecurities?’ He’s lucky I can’t touch him because I would slap him so hard right now.
‘You need to leave,’ I say. My guts turn inside out.
‘You don’t mean that,’ he replies. His heart is thumping so hard I can see it throbbing in his throat.
‘Yes, I do. Go. Leave me alone.’ I try for a yell, but it comes out small, a tremor tearing through it.
‘Norah, please . . .’
‘Leave me alone.’
For a second I think he’s not going anywhere, then, like a torpedo, he disappears out of the door.
Norah, I’ m so sorry. I made a huge mistake. Please forgive me.
Norah,
You were right. I didn’t understand, but I’m learning.
I bought some books to read. I’m going to figure this out.
Norah,
Did you know that approximately three million people in the US suffer from some form of OCD? I didn’t know that.
Norah,
I started reading about agoraphobia today.
There’s this association called Limitless.
They have an online support group for people to share stories and strategies.
Norah,
I miss you. I kissed you because I couldn’t help it. I shouldn’ t have done that, but that’s all there was to it. Please don’ t push me away. I have everything I want when I’ m with you. I shouldn’t have crossed that line, but I swear to you, it wasn’t because I needed to.
‘N orah, honey.’ Mom creeps into my room, as quiet as a mouse. ‘How are you feeling?’
‘Dead inside.’
‘You’re not dead inside.’ She pulls the duvet from over my head, and my skin fizzes at the sudden whoosh of fresh air. I wonder why she asked if she was just going to tell me I’m wrong. ‘You promised Dr Reeves you’d get out of bed today.’
‘It’s only . . .’ I look at my watch: eight-thirty. I moan, snatch my covers, and bury myself back beneath them. God. She’s brutal when she’s trying to save me from myself.
‘I was hoping you’d come downstairs and have some breakfast with me. I made pancakes in the shape of rocket ships.’ I flip the cover down, consider blowing her off for the fourth time in as many days, but she looks so helpless. Her shoulders are definitely more slumped over, and I suspect that has something to do with the amount of stress sitting on her back.
‘Sure,’ I reply.
‘Really?’ she ventures cautiously so as not to spook my already-made-up mind.
‘Yeah. I could eat a pancake.’ Maybe. At least, I know I definitely can’t stomach any more snot shakes, and I have to do something to sustain myself.
She flits towards the door, rolling up her sleeves. I suspect this is because the aforementioned rocket-ship pancakes have yet to be made, and she was just using their existence as a way to coax me out from under my sheets. ‘They’ll be ready in five—’
‘Mom?’ I call before she can leave the room.
‘Uh-huh?’
‘Did we get any mail yet?’
She waits a second, takes a deep breath before dropping the bomb. ‘No. I’m sorry, honey.’ I should stop asking. It’s not fair that I keep making her deliver sad news, bad news, no news.
I’ve left it too long.
‘Maybe he’ll write tomorrow,’ she says. ‘I bet he’s been all kinds of snowed under with his finals.’
It’s been two weeks since Luke last dropped a folded yellow note written in perfect handwriting through the mail slot. It’s been almost four weeks since he kissed me.
‘I wish you’d talk to me,’ Mom says. ‘It’s been a long time since I couldn’t figure out what you’re thinking.’
I don’t know how to talk to her. Don’t know how to talk. Can’t figure out what I’m thinking. Not sure I even want to. I was exaggerating when I said I was dead inside, but I am stuck in some sort of limbo wasteland. I let my head take Luke’s kiss to a dark place, and it’s been lording it over me ever since.
I’m always a slave to my thoughts, always at the mercy of what I’m not, what I can’t be. But he brought expect ation here, shone a light on life, and something that’s been sleeping woke up inside me. I can’t figure out how to lull it back to sleep, can’t figure out how to nurture it into something normal.
Before, I was simply-average Norah. Then I was too-sick-to-function Norah. Now I’m drifting somewhere in between.
‘I love you,’ I tell Mom.
‘I love you too, baby,’ she says.
She leaves, and I reach under my pillow, grab the journal that Luke gave me, and turn to the Notes section.
My heart throbs.
It’s there. I did write it.
I thought maybe I’d imagined it, was sort of hoping I had.