Chapter 2: Fever Dreams and Shattered Trust

By then, I’d already gone to the bedroom.

I closed the door behind me, leaning against it for a moment, gathering my strength. The familiar room felt foreign, like a set in a play I no longer belonged to.

Not long after, the door was pushed open.

The knob turned with a soft click. I looked up, bracing myself.

I looked up to see Noah leaning lazily in the doorway, chin tilted up. “This is my room. You’re sleeping somewhere else tonight, clear?”

His voice was flat, eyes cold. He stood with his arms crossed, blocking the doorway like he was daring me to argue.

I’d felt dizzy all day and didn’t have the energy to fight. I just nodded and started packing my things.

My hands shook as I folded my pajamas, stacking them neatly. The fabric felt soft and familiar beneath my fingers, but my chest ached. I refused to let him see how much it hurt. God, I just wanted to scream.

Noah frowned, clearly unhappy with my reaction.

He watched me, lips pressed tight, as if waiting for me to protest. When I didn’t, his frown deepened.

He pushed further. “Go to the room at the far end of the hall—stay as far from me as possible.”

His words were sharp, meant to wound. I bit my lip, refusing to give him the satisfaction.

I ignored his tantrum, finished packing, and left the room without a word.

My footsteps were steady, my back straight. I could feel his eyes on me, burning holes between my shoulder blades.

Thankfully, the other rooms were kept clean, though the beds weren’t as big as the master bedroom.

I set my suitcase down, grateful for the fresh sheets and the faint scent of lavender. It wasn’t home, but it would do.

My head was spinning. I showered quickly and went straight to bed.

The hot water did nothing to clear my mind. I crawled under the covers, shivering, exhaustion finally dragging me under.

In the middle of the night, I spiked a high fever.

My skin burned, sweat soaking through the sheets. I tossed and turned, dreams feverish and fragmented.

My head throbbed, my whole body felt cold. I opened my eyes in a daze and saw a figure standing by the bed.

For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. The room was dark, the only light coming from the sliver of moon outside.

In the faint moonlight, I recognized Noah.

He stood at the edge of the bed, face half in shadow. My heart leapt, hope fluttering weakly in my chest.

For a moment, I thought the Noah who loved me was back.

My mind spun with memories—soft laughter, gentle hands, whispered promises in the dark. I reached out, desperate for comfort.

Almost instinctively, I reached out my arm.

My fingers brushed his sleeve, searching for the warmth I remembered.

I couldn’t see myself, but I knew my eyes were fever-red, my gaze watery, my nightshirt slipping down.

I must have looked pitiful, all vulnerable and fever-flushed. Honestly? I didn’t care. I just wanted him to hold me, to make the pain disappear, even if only for a second.

He paused for a second, then finally bent down.

His breath was warm on my forehead. For a heartbeat, I let myself believe he cared.

I wrapped my arms around his neck, voice small and needy. “Chase… my head hurts so much.”

The wrong name slipped out, thick with fever. I didn’t realize what I’d said until it was too late.

He froze, then abruptly straightened and pulled away.

His hands were rough as he grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were cold, mouth twisted in a sneer.

His touch was harsh, nothing like the gentle caresses I remembered. My heart ached.

He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. His tone was mocking. “Who are you calling? Chase? Even burning up with fever, you’re still thinking about your precious Chase?”

He let the words linger, voice dripping with sarcasm. The pain in my head was nothing compared to the ache in my chest.

Any tenderness vanished. He leaned in, his breath brushing my cheek.

His lips were close enough to brush my skin, but the warmth I craved was gone. All that remained was the sting of rejection.

“Want me to take you to him? Looking like this, I bet he’d love it.”

His words were cruel, meant to wound. I flinched, anger spiking through the pain.

I finally snapped awake.

The fever fog cleared, replaced by a white-hot surge of fury. I glared at him, refusing to let him see me cry.

The moment it clicked, I saw red.

My hands balled into fists, nails biting into my palms. I forced myself to breathe, to keep it together.

I turned away from his hand, rolled over, and yanked the blanket up, leaving him with just one line: “Get out.”

My voice was ice-cold, flat. I didn’t care if he heard the tremor in it.

Noah laughed, exasperated. “Fine, burn up all you want. Let your precious Chase come take care of you.”

His footsteps retreated, the door slamming behind him. The room felt colder than ever.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, tears streaming down my cheeks. I refused to sob, biting my lip until I tasted blood.

I kept my eyes closed. Tears soaked my pillow, but I forced myself to sleep.

The ache in my chest wouldn’t let me rest, but eventually, exhaustion won out.

I don’t know how long it took, but I finally drifted off, fitful and uneasy.

My dreams were restless, haunted by memories of better days.

I kept feeling something cool pressed to my forehead.

A damp washcloth, gentle hands. I was too far gone to care who it was, only that it helped.

Eventually, the pain eased.

The fever broke, leaving me shivering and weak. I drifted in and out of consciousness, aware only of the soothing touch.

I sensed the bed dip beside me.

The mattress shifted, a warm body settling next to mine. I instinctively curled closer, seeking comfort.

Someone, awkward and stiff, pulled me into their arms, gently brushing the small cut on my cheek.

His touch was hesitant, almost clumsy, but careful. I let myself relax, just for a moment.

Burning with fever, I felt cold all over. The warmth drew me in—I instinctively snuggled closer, finding the most comfortable spot.

His arms tightened around me, his breath slow and steady. For the first time in days, I felt safe.

The figure froze, not moving for a long time.

I could feel his heartbeat, fast and uncertain. Neither of us spoke.

In the quiet, I heard his low, almost dry whisper.

He whispered into my hair, voice low and rough. "What’s so great about Chase, anyway?"

He sounded almost vulnerable, like he was trying to play it cool but couldn’t quite pull it off.

“Whatever. I don’t care at all.”

He said it like he was trying to convince himself more than me. I almost snorted, but I was already half-asleep.

The exhaustion pulled me under, and for the first time in days, I slept soundly.

The next morning, the moment I moved, the arm around my waist tightened.

I blinked, disoriented, the warmth of his embrace both comforting and confusing.

The person holding me woke up too.

He stirred, breath catching, as if waking from a dream he didn’t want to end.

Noah hadn’t even opened his eyes, but he instinctively pressed his lips to my forehead.

The gesture was tender, automatic. My heart skipped a beat.

As soon as he did, we both stiffened.

The realization hit us at the same time. He jerked away, eyes wide with shock.

By the time it registered, Noah had already let go, sitting up in disbelief.

He stared at his hands, like they’d betrayed him. I watched, silent, heart aching.

His brow was furrowed tight, like he couldn’t understand his own reflexes.

He looked at me, confusion and frustration warring in his eyes.

His eyes landed on me, as if he wanted to say something.

He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again. The silence between us was thick, suffocating.

I didn’t want to hear anything hurtful, so I cut him off. “You’re awake? Then go back to your own room.”

My voice was flat, emotionless. I couldn’t handle another round of pain.

His face turned cold again, practically grinding out the words: “Fine.”

He stood, fists clenched, and stormed out without another word.