"Bye, mom!" I yelled, ready to run out of the door. I was terribly late and even if there was no volleyball practice that day, getting yelled at by Mr. Sullivan (my new literature professor) first thing in the morning wasn't something I looked forward to. Before I could slip out, my mom stepped in front of me, her hands on her hips.

Noah had insisted that I go meet my family for the weekend, seeing that I clearly missed them. It was a great idea if I was being honest. I was feeling much, much better by the end of the weekend, even if I had an essay to finish. I should be shaking with fear, but at some point in my college life, I just stopped giving a damn.

I gulped. My mom was a very intimidating woman in her late forties. Her forest green eyes resembled my own, but other than that, we literally had nothing similar. She had a silky black mane and such sharp cheekbones that even models would be jealous of. My mom was still the most beautiful lady I've ever seen.

And probably the strongest too. Our father left us when me and my sister, Elena, were young and my mom raised us all by herself. She loved our dad but when he left, she never let us see her pain. She was strong, so strong, all through it. She was and still is our pillar of support.

Despite our very obvious height difference, she could still make me tremble like I was five, "Mom please, I'm late!" I whined, shouldering my bag.

Her glare softened into a sigh, "You never eat, Abby. One of these days you're going to work yourself to death and it's all going to be because you didn't eat breakfast. Don't expect me to drag your ass to a hospital if you faint."

"Yeah, yeah."

Her eyes were filled with love and concern when she asked, "Are you okay? Are you taking your medication properly?" I hated it when she looked at me like that. Like I was deserving of so much more than what I had, "You know you can tell me anything, right honey?"

I thought of telling her about the anxiety attacks. She would insist I go to therapy. That's what I was supposed to do. And then I remembered how warm Noah's arms felt around me and how soothing his words were. Then I decided maybe, I didn't really need therapy. Maybe I already had everything I needed.

I grinned and swooped down to give her a cheek kiss, "Stop worrying mom. I'm fine. More than fine, actually."

 She swatted me away and groaned, but I could still see the small smile on her lips. Before I could protest, mom shoved an apple in my hand. Seeing that I was going to complain again, she gave me a death glare, "I don't care if you don't like apples. You're eating it."

I saluted her, "Alright mom."

"Mooooom! Leave that loser alone! Can I have more pancakes?" Elena called out from the kitchen.

My mom rolled her eyes and yelled back, "One second, honey!"

I laughed and gave my mom a tight hug before hopping out of the house. Oh, how I loved her.

An involuntary sigh escaped my lips when I realized that I had to go back to living in my shitty dorm room and eating chips and ramen for all three meals. I promised myself that I would visit my mom at least once in every two weeks even though I knew I wouldn't.  But who cares, really? We make such big deal of saying that keeping our word matters, but we're all dirty liars and hypocrites at one moment or the other.

There's something exhilarating and absolutely delightful about lying to yourself and breaking something which isn't meant to be broken, don't you think?

The campus looked beautiful that day. The sky was so brilliant and blue and my ears were filled with the sound of birds chirping. It almost seemed like I had walked into a fairy tale. But as I walked inside my class, I couldn't help but feel as if something was going to go terribly wrong.

My anxiety just kept getting worse by each passing hour because I hadn't seen Noah even once. No matter what happened or how busy he was, he always texted back. And he was nowhere to be seen in the classes we shared.

The day went by in a flash and before I knew it, I was packing my bag to leave. Still no word from Noah.

"Abby!" Sarah screamed in my ear, making me jump.

"Jesus Christ, Sarah! I'm right here!" I spat back, holding my throbbing head.

"You never listen. There's no other way in which I can get your attention," that was a fair point. She sighed like she couldn't believe she was saying this, "Your lover boy is hurt."

I should've seen the signs before. It was so apparent that it was laughable. I should've seen it coming way back.

I felt a jolt of white hot fear course through me. My hands immediately became cold and clammy," Noah? What happened to Noah?!" my voice cracked at the end.

Sarah shrugged casually and checked her nails, "Don't know. Just heard that he was hurt. He got into a fight with some seniors, it seems. He should be in the bathroom in the other side of the campus, the one no one uses."

All I remember was running. There was this primal, almost crazy panic in me which was taking control of me. I was running, running and running. By the time I stumbled inside the bathroom, I couldn't feel my legs and didn't even care that I was going inside the boy's bathroom. Past me would've been outraged by my guts.

There he was. Under the flickering lights of the bathroom, he looked like a fallen angel. Standing in front of a mirror, staring at his own reflection with disgust, tears streaming down his face. His hands and lips were bloody and trembling. All I wanted to do was hold his hands in mine and tell him everything's going to be alright. But something about him stopped me; whether it was the unbridled rage shining on his grey eyes or the guttural noise which escaped his throat, I didn't know. I just stood frozen on the doorway and watched him unravel before my eyes.

He reached out to touch his reflection hesitantly like he almost expected it to fade away. Like he wanted himself to be a bad, bad dream. When his fingers came in contact with the mirror, a sob tore through him. It was so raw and filled with agony that I could feel my own eyes sting with unshed tears. He growled, "No no no no NO."

His fist came smashed on the glass with a sickening crunch.

And then he was swinging his arms around wildly, throwing punches and screaming with all he can. I wanted to go forward and do something, to tell him to stop, but I was paralyzed in horror.

He was weeping, his knees were buckling and yet, he continued feebly hitting the mirror again and again, muttering, "Why won't you just go away?" . He sounded so exhausted and so done with it all, like he had no will left in him for anything anymore. I muffled my sob with my fist. The tears were falling faster.

He still didn't notice my presence as he stared at the shards of the broken mirror with a haunted look on his face.

And that's when I knew, this boy I so foolishly thought I knew, this boy I had grown to love was so terribly broken.

He was broken into a million deadly shards of blood-stained glass. His soul was damaged and smeared with the nightmares of his past. This boy, who loved so fiercely and passionately, yearned for love like no other. He was torn, shattered, bloodied, broken and bruised and so, so beautiful.

There's something so intoxicating about broken things. Something so tempting, something so achingly beautiful. perhaps it was the promise of being able to fix someone when you don't know how to fix yourself, a feeling of worthiness and the surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Perhaps it was just that your heart is so hopelessly in love with it that you just can't see how this human, this terribly flawed being could end up hurting you.

I didn't think twice before throwing my arms around his fragile form. He stiffened for a second before holding me so close that I couldn't breathe. I leaned my forehead on his, holding his face in my hands.

Or maybe, you simply choose not to care about it all.

****

I could feel his eyes on me as I wrapped the gauze around his hand carefully, burning holes on my head. He hadn't even shown a single sign to show that he was in pain. He looked like me bandaging his hands was more shocking than the blood flowing from his wounds. I ground my teeth and forced myself to think about anything other than that.

There were so many questions I wanted to ask. Why didn't you tell me you were hurting? What happened? What are you so scared of?

"Why?" I found myself asking quietly. And all the answer he could give me was silence. Cold and dreadful and strained silence.

I found myself tracing words on his skin. It's okay. You're okay. His eyelids fluttered close and he suddenly looked like he wanted to sob.

I was ready to repeat myself more clearly when he whispered, "I don't know," his eyes darted around nervously, like a monster was going to jump out of the shadows, "All I know is that there's this anger inside me, this monster inside me, consuming all I am and all I want to be. I can't control myself anymore. There are times when all I want to do is scream and burn down everything around me." he closed his eyes like it pained him just to think about it. My chest constricted painfully when I heard the despair in his voice, "And sometimes, all I want to do is hurt people. And that's not what I want to be, but seems like that's what I am. I hate it. I hate it and I hate this world and this life which painted me a monster and I hate myself."

I frowned, "Noah, you could've told me. After all my problems with intrusive thoughts, I could've-"

His breath became more and more laboured with every word, "No, Abby. You don't understand. Intrusive thoughts aren't real. But you don't want to do anything which you think about in real life. But... But, I..." he looked down, ashamed. I felt a twinge of fear despite myself, "Those fights, all that violence, I... I just can't help it. I... How could I tell you all this? Abby, you are quite possibly the best thing which has happened to me after a very long time and if I showed you all these... these ugly scars and flaws and thoughts, if I showed you who I really am, you would've run away. And I really don't want that."

I bit down on my lip, hard and looked at him. His raven hair was falling over his closed eyes. He was breathing hard and it suddenly felt as if the room had shrunk and all the air was gone. I held his uninjured hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

He let out a breathy chuckle which sounded more like a whimper, "You know, when I was young, I promised myself that whatever I became in the future, the one thing I wouldn't become was my father. Look at me now. I am all the things he is and more. Whenever he hurt us, I used to think, what sort of monster could hurt the people he loves? And now, I know. I am so scared to get close to anyone not because I'm scared of hurting them, but because I know I'll hurt them."

My eyes widened. Noah never talked about his family, except for the occasional joke about having a shitty father or emotionally unavailable mother. Everyone else would've passed it off as an edgy joke, but I knew better than that. I could see the hurt beneath his carefully worn mask.

I've never understood the concept of hearts breaking until that day. You could hurt, yes. You could feel sad and lost and hopeless and in pain. But your heart doesn't break. It's not a piece of pottery. It's nothing breakable. Your heart can feel pain, but it can't break.

But at that very moment, I knew. I knew that hearts break. When I looked into his eyes and saw nothing but hatred for himself and agony, I knew. I felt my heart stutter and stumble and fall. I heard it crash and shatter. I saw my skin ashen and tasted the salt on my lips. At that moment, I knew that hearts break and that when it does, I knew that it stings and bruises and hurts.

I knelt down and shifted closer to him and held his face in my hands without hesitation. Noah inhaled sharply, "Abby?"

I knew I should stop. Friends don't touch other friends like that. Friends don't have the overwhelming urge to kiss the tears off other friend's face.

My hands seemed to move on their own accord. My thumbs grazed his cheekbones gently, "Listen to me carefully, Noah. You are not a monster. You are everything but a monster. Your anger does not control you. It does not define you. Do you know what defines you?"

There was something so raw and vulnerable swirling in his grey orbs. It hit me too fast, too hard. I had look away and let myself catch my breath before I could talk again, "Every goal you kick into the net defines you. Your crooked smile and your shitty jokes defines you. The way you glow whenever I say something witty and sling an arm around my shoulders defines you. Your love, your passion, your talent, and your fire defines you. You are not who you think you are."

His pale pink lips quivered as he lifted them up in a shaky smile. It seemed to say,' if only you knew. If only you knew.'

"You are Noah Dimitri Winters, my best friend and major pain in the ass. You are not the monster you claim yourself to be."

It was meant to provide comfort to him. But I knew all too well, deep down in my heart, that it was just me reassuring myself. And strangely, the smile Noah gave me seemed to whisper that he knew what those words stood for too.

With an impatient growl, I pulled him closer to me by his neck so that our foreheads touched. He raised a questioning eyebrow, like he was surprised by my sudden bravery. And to be honest, I was surprised too. I barely recognized the girl who was pulling her best friend closer without a silver of hesitation or fear in her mind. It was like I was in the theater watching myself in the screen. I was there and yet, I was so far away.

"And you, mister," I growled playfully, moving away and sitting cross-legged in front of him," better stop with all this self loathing. I don't take anyone insulting my best friend lightly, not even you."

Noah's laugh was breathy and flickering, the soft sound of a candle flame holding up against a breeze. I felt myself smile, "You better keep smiling. Sad doesn't suit you."

Suddenly all the playfulness disappeared from his eyes. He gulped, nervousness evident in his eyes. I frowned, "Hey, you okay?"

He mumbled a half hearted 'yeah' and clasped his hands together in front of him. And then his eyes were on mine, burning with silent questions and hesitation. I felt colour rise up to my cheeks.

"Abby, I..." He wet his chapped lips and sighed, "I've been wanting to ask this for quite sometime now and I never got the right time until now."

My heart was hammering in my chest, threatening to burst out of its cage. A bead of sweat trickled down my brow. I felt like I knew the question before he could even grasp the right words for it.

And the answer? It was pulsing through my veins and pumping in my heart and ringing in my ears. My mouth suddenly felt dry.

"Abigail Davis, would you go out with me?"
***

A/n.

If there's anyone who's reading this, hi!! Thank you so much for giving this book a chance, you wonderful human! I adore you <3

As I'm a forgetful idiot, I didn't mention some things in the last chapter. So here we go:

Abby has severe anxiety. Intrusive thoughts are kinda like its side effects.

To be exact, Unwanted intrusive thoughts are stuck thoughts that cause great distress. They seem to come from out of nowhere, and cause a great deal of anxiety. Xanax, the pill she takes in the previous chapter is a short-acting tranquilizer used to treat anxiety and panic attacks.

And that's all folks. Hope you like this thing I've cooked up! Be sure to tell me if you do :)