Page 74 of Under the Lies

This game means more than winning though. As much as it pains me to admit it.

It’s been my only line of communication with him since he decided to go ghost on me. I don’t get that man.

First, he all but forces me into moving in with him, then he hides all my clothes except for the most impractical, illogical pieces in my closet, then he drags me into playing a game where he wanted me to spill my secrets only to leave me angry and buzzed and wanting to break another one of his plates when his sculpted, suit wearing back disappeared inside the elevator.

The house felt quiet, with a stillness that only came with being alone, but Noah’s presence is a ghost I feel every moment I’m here. It’s in his décor, which is dark and cold. Metals and blacks that make it feel as welcoming as a cave. Even the floor to ceiling windows aren’t enough to make this place feel bright enough.

The ground is black tile under gray rugs, a black marble mantle sits above an electric fireplace that is bordered by smooth gray stone. Blacks, grays, and whites with splashes of reds thrown in here and there, Noah’s home is sleek and industrial with a touch of gothic flare and fits him so properly.

I couldn’t imagine him living somewhere with plants and bright colors. Everything has a place, or it did until I moved in.

It’s only been three days, but I’ve made sure to leave as much of my stuff in Noah’s space as I can. Textbooks on the counter, shoes and coats by the elevator. Used wine glasses on the coffee table. Whatever I could, whatever I had here, was left out to annoy Noah, the clean freak that he is.

I even left a bra on the couch last night.

Call it spiteful, call it whatever, I had thought that if I dirtied up his quarters, sprinkling traces of me throughout, he’d remember that you know, I live here now.

No such luck.

Though this morning I did find my bra in the middle of the chessboard, carefully placed on it to not disturb our game, and nothing else.

I saw red when I spotted it, and not just because that was the color the bra was, but because he’s purposely ignoring me and I don’t know why.

Actually, I do, and it twists my stomach to admit it. This is just for show, an act, and I’m only needed when it’s my part to play.

Nothing is real, except these feelings budding inside me say differently. I’ve grown so used to seeing Noah every day that an attachment I didn’t allow has formed and now a hollow is carved in my chest with him being gone.

I miss him. I miss his brooding face, his piercing eyes. I miss his presence and the constant hum in my blood when he’s around.

And that’s what’s making me angry. How fucking dare he.

He moves me into his penthouse and makes me feel these things for him after years of convincing myself my childhood crush would stay in the past and then just leave. Poof. Without a word. Which is why I didn’t stop at leaving my things around his place to get his attention.

Oh no, I blew up that boy’s phone as well.

The first day of him being gone I waited until it was around nine at night to send him a text message. He never replied. He also never replied to the slew I sent after either.

Not that I expected him to respond to the last one, which I so eloquently typed: FUCK YOU KINCAID!

But seriously, fuck him.

I was a prisoner in his home without my cat.

And I’m sick of it.

Is Noah even looking for who broke into my apartment? Is he doing anything to help me?

I wouldn’t know because he isn’t here!

So here I sit on his supple leather couch with my laptop on a throw pillow. My frustration is evident with every word I type for this paper. My fingers ache from how hard they’re smashing each key. I don’t even know what I’m actually typing, it’s hard to focus on that when my mind keeps wandering elsewhere.

He uproots my life only to be a ghost that walks his own home.

It’s quiet save for the keyboard clicking away when the elevator to the penthouse opens.

Is today the day I’m finally graced with his royal assness?

A strange sense settles over me. My fingers slow, unable to focus on anything aside from my straining ears, desperate to hear the sound of Noah’s aggressive steps.

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