The Art of Gravity

NOAH ANDREWS

I was helping my parents in the kitchen when I heard it.

It was painfully loud, and terrifying. It was bone chilling. It was Tobias. I dropped the knife I held in my hands, my parents staring at me in confusion and fear. I glance quickly at them, then wasting no more time, I run.

I run fast, out the door, towards his house, up his stairs and to his room.

It's messy. There's a hole in the wall, a big one. Various papers have been scattered around the room, his desk chair knocked over, and yet I didn't see him.

"Tobias?"

There is a terrible silence. There's an unsettling feeling in the pit of my stomach.

There's a pounding coming from the closet, anxious, scared. Tobias.

And then I hear him.

"Noah! N—Noah, please! Get me out! Get me out! Noah, please help me! I'll die! I'm gonna die! I can't breathe, I can't—"

"Tobias?" I question, but I know it's him. I try to breathe properly because I don't know what's happening. He's in pain.

I walk towards the closet, it looked more intimidating than I'd even see it be. But, Tobias was there. And I'd do anything for him.

So, I grab ahold of the knob, and I twist. And I panic because the door wasn't opening.

Footsteps echo faintly in my ears, until I can hear them clearly. My parents stand at the door, my mother's hand across her mouth, my father's face filled with shock.

I look around the room for something to open the damn door.

"Please... Noah, I can't—"

His banging intensifies, and I feel a hotness on my cheeks. The tears plop pathetically on the carpet that was tainted by the color of blood.

I sank to my knees against the door, leaning my head against it.

"It's locked. It's locked, I can't—"

I can hear him on the other side of the door, his uneven breathing, his pain.

My heart aches, as does my head, and I jump high when I feel my father's hand grab my shoulder. He held a pair of scissors, which I took weakly, and shoved into the lock.

I fiddled it around until I heard the click, and threw them across the room, opening the door, and catching a weakened Toby.

His lip was split, his eyes clouded over with tears. His hand was broken, falling limply to his side. There was a bruise decorating his jaw, and I wanted to ask. Who did it? Who hurt you?

But I didn't. I held him, tight. I wrapped my arms around him, and I held him tight as his body trembled, shaking with tears and pain. My fingers lock in his hair, and I hold him close against me. I don't want him to disappear. His arms tighten around my shoulders, his fast breaths against my neck.

My parents were whispering quietly at each other, glancing over at me and Tobias, before walking downstairs.

Once they were gone, Tobias lifted his head up from my shoulder.

I shake my head at him, because I'm scared. I'm scared for him. I wanted to know who would do something like this? Who would do something so inhumane?

His tears continued to flow as he looked at me, and for once those angry eyes weren't angry. They were tired. Physically and emotionally tired.

"I'm so sorry." He says, his lip trembling, "So sorry. Don't hate me, please. I couldn't help it. I—"

"What are you talking about, Tobias? Why the fuck are you apologizing? Do you know how much it hurt to find you like this? In a damn closet! What the fuck happened?" I say, my words loud, but my voice soft. He just shakes his head, over and over.

"I told you I wanted you. I don't want you to hate me. And I'm sorry that I scared you—"

"Don't apologize. Please don't apologize. I don't care. I care about now. I cared about what happened. I care about you, Tobias."

His jaw tightens, "You shouldn't care, Noah."

"Well, I do. And you can't say shit because I'm always gonna fucking care about you." I tell him. Why can't he see that?

He looks down at his broken hand, before flicking his eyes back to me, "Look at you, Noah. Look at this. Look at me. You don't belong in my world, okay? Don't let me take your life away—"

And then he's quiet.

We're both quiet.

Because my lips are on his and his lips are on mine, and our tears are the only ones who'll ever witness this moment.

His lips were rough, his kiss tender. I could taste the blood from his lip, but the other tastes were overriding that one. He was sweet. His lips were sweet, and so was his rough hand on my soft cheek.

I anchored my hand into his hair again, holding on and never wanting to stop. Kissing him was sending little electric tingles all over my body. I wanted him closer. And I think I knew why now.

Toby pulls me back, his breaths melding with mine as we leaned our heads together. His eyes were closed, and they didn't open when he spoke.

"Clichés would tell you that I'm not good enough for you... that you should stay away," he says, trailing his thumb up and down my cheek.

I shake my head, "Fuck clichés."

"You'd be smart to listen to them. It's true that you shouldn't be with me. No one should be with me, Noah. But especially you... fragile, little doe eyed boy."

I shake my head again, "I can't stay away from you. Not now. I have to be with you. I can't not be with you.

Toby smirks a little, hissing from the pain of his lip, "It's because you watch me, right? Is that why you watched?"

"I know you, Toby—"

"No. You know what you want to," he says, opening his eyes, and pressing his thumb against my bottom lip, "In reality... You know nothing."

My eyes dropped down to his lips again, and I move closer.

"Tell me," I whisper against his peach colored lips.

"Later."

And then we're kissing again. It's like we do it everyday. It's normal, the action. But the feeling is beyond my understanding. There's only one thing that I know for sure now.

"Hey, Tobias."

He looks up at me, eyes staring hard, calculating.

I smirk a little at him, "I want you too."