Fixing Noah / Finding Noah - #ForNoah | +18 | BWWM

06 | Ghost

Outside, pearly white puffs of air rise from my lips. It was too cold to be outside in an evening gown without a coat on. But I needed calm to steady myself after Scum Bitch. I don't know what it is about Noah, but being around the things he created steadied me. Of course, I gravitated toward the boat with the blue spotlights that look like waves in the water. His thick brush paintings of the sea with lights on them. The visual presentation of a tiny boat in the middle of a storm. As my gaze lifts from the stern of the ship to the mast. The white sails were full of a wind that didn't exist. Made that way for the presentation of the visual arts. I couldn't escape my memories of Noah. I didn't want to escape my ghosts, in all honesty. I let myself have the thought without reserve for once. Without guilt at this art, we created together. This majestic ship and these beautiful paintings shine shining up into the night sky.

A warm hand slips a too-large tux jacket onto my shoulders. Saltness mix with the smell of pine. The thoughts didn't connect. The feeling of that jacket's warmth on my shoulders, none of it connected. It was another ghost, right? It was the feeling of a massive chest directly behind me that knocked me out of my daze. I knew that chest. But for some reason, turning around scared the fuck out of me. If I turned around and it wasn't real. If it was another ghost, another shadow in the corner. I couldn't handle it if it wasn't real.

I had to. I had to do it.

With my breath held, I looked behind me. Expecting another ghost or some nice guy. Sandy blonde hair and ocean blue eyes took me back to our first meeting instantly. Where he didn't even say hello to me the first time. My hand shook and the urge to reach out and touch him and make sure he was real. Make sure I didn't wake up. I never want to wake up sometimes when I'm with him. But I kept my hands to myself. Turning on the spot and taking a single step back. He was bigger, so damn larger. The tux wasn't one I had sent to the cleaners before the event. It was brand new and I highly doubt he'd be able to fit the old tuxedo. His arms were bigger, shoulders, traps, thighs. Everything was super-sized. It wasn't like he wasn't a big guy before. Noah doesn't look like a painter. He's huge, like a wrestler or some pro-NFL football tight end. And now he's even better, even bigger. But his hair is up in a bun, which is different. Noah was wearing a tux and his hair up instead of the lumberjack guy accustomed to. It's different. I'm not used to it at all. Instead, he looks so urban and refined. Not like the Noah I know. Still a Roman God Neptune though.

He wasn't talking. Why isn't he talking? The words I should be saying to fill this didn't escape my mouth. I felt like a fish out of water. But the conversation we really needed to have didn't happen. As the sound of voices heading for the sailing ship got louder.

"Follow me. We should get you ready for your interview." I was shutting down. The mask of professionalism was slipping on. That needy part that had been reaching out for Noah since he left was shoved down as deep as I could put her. As dead as I could make her. His jaw twitched at my words. But he followed me. I should have said more welcome back, but what can you say? Really, I've been trying to think of something since the day he walked out.

His footfalls behind me were heavy but consistent, and that steady Noah feeling was there. Through the side door, passing the press, and guests at the museum, the doors opening and closing in our wake. Even with his new urbane look, he was still steadying Noah down deep. At least that's the vibe I got. Although, I didn't touch him or reach for him like I badly want to. But he was still Noah, just not my Noah anymore.

I stop in front of the green room door. Above my head, Noah pushes the door open, and I walked in. I hand him back his jacket. When he put the tuxedo jacket back on, he was so sophisticated. It was a striking cut on his heavily muscled frame. He buttons the jacket. And the words that should be between us are just not there. A sea of things that should be said that isn't and my heart is fucking breaking.