Noah and I have known each other for around six years. We were friends first before we were lovers, and we always told each other everything. We sought comfort in each other through an unusual point in our lives. Noah was on a break from his long-term relationship. I was in the midst of my sexual awakening. We were both intellectually provocative and sexually frustrated. Thrown together, what happened between us felt like it was inevitable.
We met in class. He was the TA for an upper year seminar course I was taking. I was a bright and keen student who asked a lot of questions and visited a lot of office hours, hoping to get on the good side of the person grading me. An email chain, that truly began innocently with me asking for feedback on my essay, outlasted the course of the semester. It turned into lists of suggested further readings, which then spiralled into quirky, intellectual discussions about anything and everything. A couple weeks after the semester ended, I found him on Twitter and our banter continued virtually there.
Until one day, when he sent me a private message, suggestively letting me know he'd be at a local bar downtown by sharing a flyer for a local jazz band we both liked. I showed up alone and so did he. With alcohol and flattering lighting, and of course, the already existing tension between us, our platonic friendship quickly took a turn into something more.
That was the first time I met him in person outside of class. I tried to be classy, but I couldn't keep my hands off of his thighs as I was sitting beside him all night. I tried to concentrate on the band but all I could think about for hours was the thought of him fucking me. And he did. The bar was conveniently down the street from his apartment.
We fucked, and stayed up all night talking and smoking cigarettes out of his bedroom window, and fucked some more. I knew how these things went, I didn't want to get too attached. But the next day, he was the one who begged me to stay with him. We had brunch together and spent the day walking around the city, just talking.
We texted every day for months and saw each other multiple times a week. I had never had anyone like him, and I thought that I never would again. He was smart and to the point, he didn't play games with me. He always let me know exactly what he wanted, something boys my age seemed incapable of doing. The air of maturity he had was so charming to me.
He told me that I was special. That he had never met a girl like me before. He told me about his long-term girlfriend. That they're on a break but seeing other people. That it's over with them. That he would never go back to her. He held my hand when we crossed the streets. He kissed me on the forehead. He drove me to my dentist appointments.
But our brief whirlwind almost-romance didn't last very long. I was almost in love with him. We were almost a thing. Almost, but not quite.
Things ended rather abruptly when he got his on again off again girlfriend pregnant. Just like that, they were back on again and he disappeared from my life like he had never been there. He ended things—whatever it was between us—with a single text. I don't even remember what it said, but I can remember how I felt. I felt stupid.
He was 27 and I was only 20 years old and clearly naive. We never talked about what we were, but for some psychotic reason I guess I thought wanting to talk to me and see me all the time was an indication of him falling for me, but no, I was only a placeholder for the person he ultimately wanted to be with. But after all, he had never asked me to be his girlfriend. We weren't anything. So why did I expect anything more? It took me some time, but I moved on. I was only almost in love. But not quite. I was fine.
Until five years later, when he liked a picture of mine on Instagram. Maybe he had liked the picture by mistake, but it was unmistakably him. noah___ with three underscores.
It's funny how much people reveal about themselves online and yet how much of our online persona is a complete fabrication. Noah got married six years ago in the Bahamas, a destination wedding. His wife was hardly showing in their wedding photos, but I knew their secret. He has a four year old son. They live in a big beautiful suburban house uptown. On Instagram, they have a happy and flawless life. And yet, Noah visits me on days when he's meant to be running errands.
A few months ago, we met again at the same jazz bar on a night when his wife took their kid to her mother's. I wasn't hurt anymore by how things had ended. I was calm. I was at peace. I just wanted to catch up, with someone who I had talked to every day for a year, more than I had with anyone else in my entire life. I sat across from him, mindful not to be inappropriate. But somehow the ending to our night just felt inevitable. As inevitable as the first time we visited that bar.
But this time it was different, my heart was impenetrable. My heart doesn't flutter anymore when his name shows up on my phone. It doesn't race when his body presses against mine. It reacts, but it's just sex, and nothing beyond that.
When he came back into my life, I swore that I would never allow myself to fall for him again. Especially not now that he's married. I didn't almost-love him anymore; I hadn't for a long time. I made it very clear that we were just two friends who enjoy each other's company intellectually and also happen to like having sex with one another. He's just getting from me what he isn't from home. And I, him. It's not like we're having an actual Affair. Or maybe that's just what we tell ourselves so that we can feel better about what we're doing.
But it also really isn't just about the sex. Sure, we have a lot of it. Having to fuck like we don't know when we'll see each other again certainly keeps things exciting. But our time is also spent together debating ideas and sharing stories and dreams and ambitions and fantasies. I guess there is a certain level of amenity in sharing secrets with someone who you don't have to face everyday.
. . .
As Noah pulls his fingers out of me, I let out a small moan. I collapse against his body and he picks up the bagels with one hand and me like a child, with my legs wrapped around his waist. He brings me to the bed and goes into the bathroom to wash up. I kick off my skirt, and lie on the bed in just my underwear, with my arms out like a starfish. I feel drained.
"Noah, can you close the curtains?" I say in a tired voice, as he is coming back into the bedroom.
"Did you have a busy night or something?"
I laugh, amused at this line of questioning. I wonder what has come over him. "What are you insinuating?"
"Well, I saw your neighbour leaving your apartment and locking the door behind him." He plops down beside me, facing me sideways and propping his head up with one hand.
I turn to face Noah. "What? You saw Hunter leaving my apartment?" My heart gives a little flutter. Was he looking for me this morning?
"What the fuck, you didn't know?! That creep... I swear..." Noah absentmindedly plays with my breasts softly.
"No, not at all, I mean, I had a party here yesterday and he was here. And then people kinda crashed here and my friend was throwing up and everything, so I crashed over at his place. He was probably just wondering where I went this morning. I kinda left in a hurry when I woke up and saw your text." Why did this sound so much more coherent in my head?
"Did you sleep with him?" Noah's tone is flat, emotionless.
"Does it matter if I did?" At this point, it's no longer amusing and I just feel slightly annoyed with his tone. It's not like he owns me or anything. I'm not his wife. I'm not even his mistress.
"Am I better?"
"Are you serious right now, Noah?" I roll my eyes. "Is that why... just now... God, you weren't trying to make a point were you? I honestly hope Hunter didn't hear anything, I don't want him to think I'm a nympho or something."
"Why do you care so much about what he thinks?" Noah's dark brown eyes stare hard into mine.
I blink, breaking away from his stare and looking down. I run my fingers along his collarbones and down his chest as a distraction. I don't know how to answer that. I don't know why I care. "I didn't sleep with him, okay?" I say instead.
Noah lifts my chin up to bring my eyes back to his. His expression is unreadable. He breathes out a sigh of hestitation, as if waiting for permission. I think I know what he wants but I don't want to give in. I don't want to be the bad guy. I don't want to break our promise to only be friends.
I close my eyes, willing time to just stop so I can roll away and make my escape. My heart starts pounding. Noah leans in and his lips touch mine. They're soft and warm and wet. And it feels like we're touching for the very first time. My stomach flip flops. I can't figure out what it means but I can't say I hate it. He presses his body against me and moves his hand to the back of my head.
He hadn't kissed me like that since years ago. There are so many emotions running through me that my head feels like it's about to explode. It's a mix of sadness, confusion, desire, and contentment. The feelings I felt for him years ago that I thought had completely dissipated makes a small break to the surface. The kind that make your heart flutter at the thought of someone.
But with them, also come the feelings of abandonment from when he just dropped me like I meant nothing. We went from texting and talking all day to complete radio silence in the matter of one text message. My heart is not racing but aching now.
When Noah pulls away, we both realize only then that I'm crying.
"Oh Baby..." he pulls me close to his chest and holds me in silence for a while. I'm not sobbing, but I can't stop the flow of tears from my eyes.
"Blair, I'm so sorry... for everything..." he sighs and says quietly into my hair, "If only you grew up faster..."
~ * ~
Should I write a spin off of Noah and Blair's story? Thoughts? 🙈
