Embracing Rain

4 - Noah

4 - N O A H

I sigh as I receive Chance's final message. I can't tell if he's actually mad at me or if it's just the way he texts. I feel pretty guilty for bring up his name after seeing how extremely he responded, but on the other hand, he didn't seem mad—just embarrassed. At least, I hope so. But I guess I'll drop it for now.

Not that it doesn't make me curious. Abbie Chance Taylor. As girly as it sounds, it's also strangely fitting. Somehow, it captures his shy, timid nature. I wonder why he hates it so much. But even though I'm dying to know, I don't want to push it. I'm afraid I'll scare him off, and by the sound of it, he really doesn't need that right now. And to be honest, neither do I.

Good night, weirdo, I send back, knowing he won't answer. It's late, almost midnight, and after traveling all day, he's almost definitely asleep. On the other hand, I know I won't be able to fall asleep for hours, even though it's already late; I just have a hard time falling asleep. Though that's a bit of an understatement.

As I lay in bed, the stuffiness in the air begins to press in on me, so I stand up and open my door, clinging on to the hope that it will help even though I know it won't. Opening the door never manages to stop the air from thickening, never stops making it hard to breathe. Not anymore. It never stops the walls from feeling like they're pressing inward, growing ever closer to my body and squishing me until I can no longer draw in a breath.

Like I expected, I begin to feel even more claustrophobic, which is stupid. Because it's not like I've ever had any traumatic experiences with small or spaces. I haven't had any family issues, either. I've had absolutely no past experience that should evoke this fear of small spaces, this fear of being crushed by the walls around me. The claustrophobia I feel is inexplicable, and that's part of what makes it so utterly terrifying.

Instead of trying to go back to sleep, I throw on a sweatshirt over my pajamas, grab my wallet and keys, and head downstairs, trying to make as little noise as possible so I don't wake up my parents. It's not that I'm sneaking out—they know I always go out when I can't sleep, although they don't like it, of course. Because what parents would be perfectly okay with their kid wandering around town all night? But I think they've realized that it eventually helps me sleep, so even if I'm only getting a few hours, at least it's better than none.

My breath forms billowy clouds in the winter air as soon as I walk outside. I take a moment and just stand on my front porch, watching the edge of the cloud until it finally dissipates into the surrounding air. Watching it calms me down, in a way. There are no walls that stop it from expanding or from disappearing. It simply vanishes. Which is exactly what I wish my fear would do.

I unlock my car, sitting in its usual place on the curb. Normally, it's nice to have my car outside so that I don't have to make noise and open the garage door when I go out at night. But during the winter, it means that the steering wheel freezes my hands as I drive, and my teeth start to chatter within seconds.

Shaking my hands a little in a futile attempt to rid them of the chill from the car door handle, I get in, shivering a little bit as I put my hands on the plastic of the steering wheel. Though it gets warm here during the day, even in winter, it really cools off at night. And it doesn't help that my car's heating is broken. But whenever I complain, my mom tells me to suck it up and be glad that I have a car in the first place. And don't get me wrong, I am glad, very glad—but that won't stop me from wishing that the heat would work.

Before I pull away from the house, I take out my phone and, pulling up the chat I have with my parents, type Heading to MK. Texting is one of my parents' rules for letting me out of the house—I always have to tell them where I am, even if they're not awake. That, and I have to "not give them any reason not to trust me." Whatever that means. So when I go out, I normally stick to one of two places: Mugs and Kisses or Always Booked, a bookstore that's open twenty-four seven.