Page 20 of Pucked Up

"No, seriously, my sister dragged me along sometimes. I was her human pack mule."

I tried to picture Noah as a kid, trailing after a bossy sister with his arms full of camping gear. "Could've used you back when—"

The cabin suddenly plunged into darkness. The absence of light stole the air from my lungs.

Neither of us moved. The darkness wasn't only the absence of light—it had its own presence. It filled the room like smoke, pressing against my skin and seeping into my mouth with each breath.

"Shit," Noah whispered.

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. A memory ambushed me—huddled in the corner of the back porch during a thunderstorm at twelve years old, while inside the house, my parents' voices escalated until something shattered.

My breathing quickened, turning shallow. Fight-or-flight impulses flooded my brain, but there was nowhere to go. This was my place. My sanctuary. How could it turn into a trap?

"Micah?" Noah's voice seemed to come from far away. "You okay?"

I managed a grunt—noncommittal, barely human. The darkness amplified everything.

A storm raged outside. Ghosts haunted me inside. And now, Noah was somewhere in the blackness with me, witnessing me in a vulnerable state.

A floorboard creaked as he shifted. "I'm going to find a light. Don't move."

His footsteps receded down the hallway, accompanied by the soft thud of a hand trailing along the wall for guidance.

Alone in the dark, I listened to the cabin's groans. It brought back a memory of my father slamming a door during a blackout when I was seven, the sound so violent I'd been certain the house would splinter. I'd hidden in a closet for hours, knees pressed to my chest, counting my heartbeats until sunrise.

I slid down a wall until I hit the floor, legs folding beneath me. My hands pressed flat against the rough-hewn boards, splinters catching on my calluses. The blackness swallowed everything—depth, dimension, time. I stared straight ahead, seeing nothing.

I didn't call for Noah. I didn't want him to find me like this—hunched and hollow, trapped in a memory. Yet part of me ached for it like that moment on the ice when our eyes locked, a fraction of a second before impact. I'd wanted him to see me then, even the ugly parts. Maybe I still did.

Suddenly, a pinprick of gold pierced the darkness. It wavered and then grew stronger as it approached. The glow spread fingers of amber light across the floor and up the walls.

Noah appeared at the edge of the hallway, one hand cupped protectively around a candle. The flame danced, shifting pools of light and shadow across his face. His eyes connected with mine immediately, as if he'd known exactly where I'd be.

"Micah?" His voice was soft, a counterpoint to the storm's rage. He moved toward me, careful steps through the unfamiliar dark. "Hey."

I couldn't answer. Words had abandoned me, scattered in the wind howling outside. My jaw worked, but it produced nothing.

The floorboards creaked beneath Noah's weight as he crouched beside me. "Breathe," he said, not touching me yet, respecting the invisible barrier I'd constructed. "In through your nose, out through your mouth."

I followed his instruction without thinking, drawing air slowly through my nostrils and releasing it between parted lips. Once. Twice. My heart still hammered, but the vise around my chest loosened slightly.

Noah set the candle on the floor between us. Without asking permission, he lowered himself to sit beside me, our shoulders not quite touching. The heat of him radiated across the narrow gap, warmer than the candle's meager flame.

We sat in silence for several minutes. I focused on the candle, watching wax pool and drip down the sides. It was easier than looking at him.

"When I was nine," Noah said quietly, "we lost power during an ice storm. Three days in the dark. My dad was...not himself when it happened." He paused, weighing his words. "My sister and I slept in the bathtub with all the blankets we could find."

He offered the memory like a gift—a piece of himself to match my vulnerability. He didn't ask for elaboration on what had triggered me; he merely acknowledged that darkness did strange things to people.

"The quiet," I managed finally, my voice rough. "Can't stand it."

Noah nodded. "It's too loud."

That was it exactly. Silence amplified everything you tried to drown out—thoughts, memories, and regrets. It was all the things that thrived in the spaces between heartbeats.

He shifted slightly, turning to face me. He reached out with his right hand, and his palm came to rest over my heart, fingers splayed across my chest. Not possessive or demanding—only present. It was a steady, human point of contact, anchoring me to the moment.

I coughed, trying to catch my breath. My hand rose of its own accord, covering his where it pressed against my chest. Our fingers didn't intertwine, just overlapped, my calloused skin against the back of his hand.

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