Kinsley

While Cole's gone, Noel and I watch the movie. Aside from the movie, the room is silent. The air between Noel and me is tense. Deciding to sit beside him isn't helping the tenseness. Although I'm not much of a talker, I feel as though I should break the silence. He's the one who invited me over, after all.

Being social isn't a talent of mine. In fact, I'm positive I repel being social. Which is ironic. Before the accident, I was a social butterfly. Back then, I could mingle and discuss any topic, even pointless ones. During college, I made several friends and could continue conversations on for hours.

Now?

Stringing sentences together is difficult. There's no point in wasting my time. After coming close to death and losing the people I love... After dealing with traumatic aftermath... Mingling isn't my thing.

However, there is a small part of me that longs for carefree topics and discussions normal people have. I wish I could fit in and be normal again. They say your years at university hold value. Any type of value. If you achieve a degree or if you're partying until the sun rises—there is still value in it. You're supposed to be wild, young, and free.

Me?

I'm trapped in a cage built by foundation of my personal hell. Memories and trauma. The lingering aftermath of my injuries.

The accident stole my life from me. Witnessing the deaths of my loved ones sucked the ability to feel from my heart. Impact took my innocence. That was when the world decided I needed to grow up. Although I hate to use cliché sayings, it definitely was in the blink of an eye. In the blink of an eye, I watched my youth disappear. Now, I never wonder, never nurture my curiosity. Risks no longer exist. Fear and trauma control my mind.

Prior to the accident, I was eccentric. On hikes, no stone was left unturned (figuratively). I wanted to know, learn, and see everything. Aaron used to call me reckless and adventurous, but with my head screwed on properly. I had energy and was smart about my decisions.

That's the Kinsley Hastings who died.

She died and left behind a shell.

"Please tell me you're bored with this movie," Noel says.

I glance at Noel. He's leaning against the pillows. Although he's creating the illusion he's relaxing, I can tell he's not. As this term has progressed, he's become easier to read. Noel can never relax. He always needs to be moving. During lecture hours, he's gnawing at the eraser on his pencil or tapping his foot against the carpet. On stage, he's singing and strumming his guitar. Right now, he can't get comfortable. Ever since Cole started the movie, Noel's ben shifting his weight back and forth. If the bed creaks one more time, I'll slap him silly.

My brow furrows. "I voted for the movie. Why would I be bored with it?"

He mutters something about how much he hates superhero movies.

"Why do you hate them?" I ask.

Noel flips onto his side to face me. "Superhero movies always have the same theme. You meet the hero and the villain, they go head-to-head, the hero momentarily falls and you're terrified the villain will win. Then the hero comes back to overcome the challenge, winning the battle in the end. All that perseverance and shit." He props his chin on his fist, elbow pressing deep into the pillow. His nose is wrinkled. "They're predictable and fake. There are no heroes in this world, so why bother creating the illusion?"

I blink, and my tongue feels heavy in my mouth. His words are out of character. Despite his cockiness, he's quite positive and upbeat. These words sound... negative. I believe there are heroes in this world. Perhaps on a much smaller level than someone who saves the entire world from fatal destruction. There are paramedics, nurses, and doctors. Without them, I wouldn't have survived the accidents. Firefighters. People brave enough to stand up to bullies.

I suppose the role of hero or heroine is cliché. Maybe that's why Noel doesn't like these types of movies.

"So, you don't like clichés?"

He shrugs.

His response confuses me. If he doesn't like clichés, then why did he want to watch The Breakfast Club?

"You said The Breakfast Club was an array of clichés," I point out.

Noel shakes his head and sits up, turning to face me. He's in my direct gaze now, sitting before me cross-legged on the bed. I meet his dark brown eyes. His stare is intense, almost heated.

"The difference is, the clichés in The Breakfast Club are relatable to reality. People are categorized from the moment they're born."

"How so?" I challenge.

"You and me are Canadian. Cole is British. Cole and I are males, you're a female," he replies. His tone is simple, resembling the motion a shrug makes. "Different categories already. As we grow older, we become even more categorized. You've got people that are below the poverty line and above it. There are different skin colours. The freaks, the losers, the jocks, the outcasts, the princesses, the loners. In that movie, all the characters are more than what their category defines them as. In the end, it shows that we're all people. We're all the same."

I sit up, mirroring Noel's position. "But we're not all the same, Noel," I argue. "We're all different. We all have different backgrounds, lives, looks, et cetera."

He leans forward, so close I can feel his breath on my face. His elbow rests on his knee. "Biologically, we are all humans. We all need to breathe oxygen, drink water, eat food. Our hearts need to beat."

I shake my head in disagreement. "We're not just biological. We all have souls, too."

He quirks an eyebrow, suppressing a grin. "Think about how you worded that, Kinsley. You said we all have souls. How does that make you any different from me?"

I open my mouth. Close it.

Fine. He has a point. Perhaps we are the same. We're different, but our traits don't give us more value than another person's. Noel's musical talent doesn't make him more valuable than another man. Cole's accent doesn't increase his worth.

That being said, I can't accept my train of thought. My trauma won't allow me. All this guilt bottled up inside me reduces who I am as a person. My soul is shattered. Destroyed. Broken.

Noel's isn't. He has friends and family.

He holds more value than I do.

I look away, unable to respond. If only he knew. We all have brains, bodies, hearts, and souls. But the differences lie with what shape we're in. How broken or complete we are. Noel doesn't know what it's like to lose your loved ones. He can't comprehend the effects of survivor's guilt or a broken heart or PTSD.

Yet... Yet part of me wants to agree with the previous statement. It's the part of me who longs to be normal. Being exactly like everyone else would benefit me.

Sighing, I turn my gaze back to the screen. Continuing to argue with Noel is pointless. Unless I want to reveal portions of my past, I can't say much more. Instead, I decide to change the subject. Gesturing at his shorts, I make a soft snorting noise.

"What's with the shorts? It's winter still."

Noel looks down at the gym shorts he's wearing. When looks at me, he's wearing a cocky grin. "I'm a furnace when I sleep. Sweatpants would be too much for my body temperature."

I nod. Fair enough. Waking up sweaty is disgusting.

He yawns as he climbs to his feet. "Good thing it's January and we're not on the farm," he adds. "Not even the AC can keep up with the heat. I sleep naked."

I nearly keel over. Images of Noel sleeping bare-chested with the covers pulled up to his waist flitter across my mind. My mouth dries as I focus on the floor. A hot feeling spreads through my cheeks.

Damn him. Why did he say that? While I try to correct the alignment of my thoughts. My heart is a traitor, as is my mind. Aaron's the only man I'll ever love. My heart belongs to him. It will never belong to another man. Moving on means forgetting Aaron.

I take a deep, soothing breath.

When I glance at Noel, there's a grin on his face. His damn dimples are showing.

Him standing over me makes me feel intimidated, which is why I stand, too. We're now standing between the beds, staring at each other. The movie plays in the background. My lips part, but no words come out. He's no longer smiling. His gaze is too intense for me.

He cocks a brow. "Cat got your tongue?"

Fire burns in my gut. The audacity he has pisses me off.

"I'll have to get back to you on that." My voice is snarky. My response is immediate. If he thinks he can get away with being a jerk, he's got another thing coming.

Noel lifts his chin and raises his eyebrows. His lips curve into a subtle smirk. "This is new."

My cheeks flush. Whatever confidence has taken hold... It hasn't been around for years. "Shut up."

His mouth twitches. "Did Google run out of come backs?"

Taking a step toward Noel, I jab him in the chest with my pointer finger. "That's not funny."

I ignore how stunning his brown eyes look as he chuckles.

"I'm amused," he teases, grabbing my wrist.

His palm is smooth, but I can feel slight ridges in his skin. As if the callouses that were once present have healed, leaving behind weathered skin. I wonder how many of those are scars from his guitar strings.

"That makes one of us," I say. My gaze stays locked with his as the tension between us builds. I don't think it, but I can't prevent myself from allowing my eyes to flitter across his face. I've never been this close to him. There's a light dusting of freckles across the bridge of his nose. Unless you were this close, you'd never see them. From here, I can also see a faint, jagged scar beneath his eyebrow. The white, scarred skin juts out a little, but fades into his pale complexion.

As my eyes travel across his face, I realize he's still gripping my wrist. Not tightly. His grip is gentle. Almost as if he's not trying to prove who the dominant one in this situation is.

My breath hitches in my throat when our gazes meet again.

His stare is intense. So is the way his Adam's apple bobs as he swallows thickly.

"Kinsley..." He trails off, clearing his rough, throaty voice.

My heart clenches. Will he kiss me? Part of me longs for it. Another is screaming at me to get my head out of my ass.

Before I can decide which logical path to take, the door opens.

Noel and I break apart. I sit down on Noel's bed. Noel pretends he's grabbing his water from the desk. Scared to meet Cole's gaze, I glance down at my hand. They're resting on my thighs, as I'm sitting cross-legged. Although they're resting and not suspended in the air, it's easy to tell they're shaking. To hide them, I slide them beneath my legs so I'm sitting on them.

"Bro," Noel says, turning around. The glass of water is in his hand. He takes a sip, trying to look casual. "What took you so long?"

Cole rolls his eyes. "Line up, mate. You know what the bathrooms are like on Friday night."

Noel shakes his head and sets his glass down. After that, he saunters over to the closet and swipes his gym bag from the top shelf. He slings it over his shoulder, turning to us. "Excuses aside, I'm getting the hell outta here. I can't handle another second of this cliché movie."

Noel puts emphasis on the word, shooting me a grin. My face turns into a scowl. Just because I didn't continue the debate, does not mean he won the argument. It does not mean he will get away with his obnoxious ability to contradict himself. Yes, I noticed. Yes, I will call him out. Different storylines aside, he stated he hated clichés.

"Have fun, as you Canadians would say," Cole replies.

Noel gives Cole the two-finger salute before exiting the room.

Just as the door's about to close, he pauses and glances over his shoulder. "Night, Kinsley."

I tip my chin up, keeping my face neutral. He needs to know this argument isn't over.

All he does is flash me one last smirk before shutting the door.

Feeling the need to distract myself, I grab the remote and pause the movie. Then I turn to Cole. "Noel really hates superhero movies, doesn't he?"

I'm creating conversation because the atmosphere surrounding Cole and I is awkward. He knows he walked in on something. I know I want to forget that moment. Call it a compromise.

Cole smiles as he sits down. He runs a hand through his black hair. "Kid looked like he was ready to go bonkers."

My mouth pinches to one side. "British terms fascinate me. In a Canadian accent, they sound ridiculous. But when you have a British accent, they sound normal. How is that possible?"

Cole chuckles, flopping back on his bed. "The origin, love," he replies. "It sounds ridiculous when I say words such as ain't and poutine."

I replay those words in my head. Personally, I don't think they sound ridiculous at all. They sound far more interesting than they usually do. "You told me you're from England, but where are you from?" I ask. "Like which town or city?"

"A small town in England called Rye," he replies. "Complete with cobbled lanes and half-timbered houses. And let me tell you, Kinsley, Calgary makes my hometown look like a shack."

I lean back against the pillows, picturing a countryside town. I'd prefer to be there, somewhere off the grid, rather than in Calgary. But I need to be here. I need to earn my degree for everyone I lost. "Do you miss home at all?"

I don't know where the questions are coming from. Avoiding creating conversations with people is my preferable route. Conversations are the first step to getting to know someone. I know Cole and I are friends, but I've never asked him so many questions.

"Sometimes." Cole props himself up on his elbows. I notice his cheeks are flushed pink. As if he were standing outside in the snow.

Huh. That's strange.

Strange as it is, I don't question what Cole was doing. Maybe, after he went to the bathroom, he called Tristan. They're still arguing over the drama that went down.

"Sometimes I miss it," he continues. "But I do like it here in Canada. I've lived here for almost thirteen years now. It feels like home. Though, if I was offered a trip back to England, I'd certainly accept it."

I smile. "Well, I'm glad you like it here in Canada."

Cole sits up and leans over. His chest is almost pressing against his thighs. "I like that," he whispers, tapping my cheek.

"Like what?" I ask.

"When you smile and it's not forced. You never smile just because."

I look away, feeling guilty. Happiness feels like a curse. Something I shouldn't experience. My parents, Jessa, Aaron, and Mads should be happy, too. They can't be, though. Survivor's guilt eats me alive. I'm worried happiness will cloud my memories of them. Forgetting about them because of my happiness makes me selfish.

"I hate my smile," I mutter.

Cole lightly grips my chin between his thumb and his pointer finger. His skin is smooth and warm. He tilts my chin up so our faces are inches apart. "You have a beautiful smile, love. One that deserves to be admired by the world. Don't forget that."

Cole's green eyes are full of emotion. He's still holding my chin in place, his grip soft. With his rugged stubble, Cole is devastatingly handsome. Had things been different, maybe I would've considered dating him. All I can see Cole as is a close friend. He's handsome and kind. His accent is sexy. But the building love I have for Cole isn't based on romance. It's based on respect and the enjoyment that comes with having him nearby. Cole's a good friend. Whoever he finds will be the luckiest woman on the planet.

"What's bothering you, love?" Cole asks.

I look down at the sheets. "I don't know," I murmur.

My trauma. My weak mind. Survivor's guilt. The pain that will be present in my heart for evermore.

Cole drops his hand from my face, resting it on his lap. "You disagree with me."

His statement brings a flush of colour to my cheeks. I'm so predictable.

"You're an extraordinary woman, Kinsley. I know there's pain within you, but you can't allow it to alter your perception of yourself." He makes a wild hand gesture. "Everything you've been through... You are far from weak. You being here proves that."

His compliment triggers me. He's bypassing the effects of survivor's guilt.

"I'm weak," I argue. "You saw a prime example of that. Who fears glass shattering? I'm still suffering from trauma. After all this time... Cole, I can't let go of them. Healing means letting go of them. Moving on means forgetting them."

Cole sighs, muttering something incoherent. I swear I hear him say Noel's name.

"If you're weak, then why are you here? What's preventing you from trying again?"

His question catches me off-guard. I tried to end my life once. The only reason I'm here is because the doctors saved me.

I frown at him. "I'm not doing this for myself, if that's what you're implying. This—school, pretending to be friends with people—it's all for my loved ones. They would have wanted me to attend university and get a degree. They would want me to live."

Cole cocks his head to the side. "But are you really living if you're stuck in the past?"

Tears brim my eyes. He's being insensitive. My heart is beating. My lungs are working. I am living.

"All I have left of them is the past," I choke.

Cole shakes his head. "That's a lie. You know it. I know it. Those pictures you showed me... Kinsley, you have your father's eyes and your mother's smile. The same colour hair as your sister. They live with you every day—even if you don't see them. The same blood runs through your veins. And don't tell me a part of you doesn't miss living. Not simply breathing and enduring the days, but living. You want moments that put a dent in history. You want to look back and think, Yeah, I did that."

I climb to my feet, furious with him. Why is he saying these things? Does he not realize how much his words hurt?

His words only hurt because you know they're right.

I tell my mind to shut up.

"Don't," I warn, jabbing him in the chest with my finger. "Don't. You do not know how I feel."

Cole stands. He towers over me, but his height isn't intimidating. What's intimidating is the fire in his eyes.

"Maybe not. But at least I'm trying to. Sometimes, love, I need to be that pestering friend. I'll annoy the hell out of you. I'll challenge you. But only because I'm looking out for you. Kinsley, you can talk to me. Whatever is said between us is confidential. You can trust me."

Tears are leaking down my cheeks. I want to believe him. Hell, I do trust him. Cole's a friend I never asked for, but was lucky enough to get.

It terrifies me. We're getting too close, yet I can't prevent myself from seeing him. Losing everyone was supposed to make me smart. I was to never let my guard down. Yet here I am, spilling my soul to Cole and telling him things I shouldn't. Who's saying I won't lose Cole one day? One moment is all it takes for everything to change. Be it drastic or tiny, it still changes.

That's why I need to leave.

"I should get going. I'm tired from today." I step past him and collect the bag I brought, slinging it over my shoulder.

Cole reaches for my arm. "Kinsley, love."

I shrug him off. His desperate tone isn't helping, but I weather through it. "I'll talk to you later, Cole."

As I exit the room, I hear him sigh in frustration. The spring of the bed creak beneath his weight. I squeeze my eyes shut, tugging the door open. This newfound attachment I'm feeling is bad. Attachment leads to relationships, and relationships lead to pain. I can't deal with pain. I'm not strong enough to.

Ending whatever is blooming between Cole and me would be the logical route to take. Heck, even ending whatever dysfunctional relationship I have with Noel would be smart.

But my heart is a stubborn vessel. I can't deny my interest in either of these men. Cole as a friend. Noel as... I sigh. Truthfully, I don't know what Noel is yet. There's just something interesting about him.

"Kinsley," Cole calls out.

My hand tightens on the door handle. I glance over my shoulder. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. One hand is rubbing the black stubble along his jaw.

Swallowing my tears, I ask, "What?"

His gaze flicks to mine. "Moving on is part of healing. Noel... He's a force to be reckoned with. That boy's blood comprises passion and fire. Just... Be gentle with him, okay?"

My mouth turns dry as my cheeks heat. "There's... That's... Cole... I'm not interested in..."

My tongue isn't working. He's caught me off-guard again.

Suddenly, my chest feels tight. I need to leave.

Without another word, I exit their dorm room and jog down the hallway. People give me dirty glares as I push past them. I even knock someone's drink out of their hand. Do I care? No. It's rude of me to avoid apologizing, but my tight chest needs access to fresh air.

I burst through the doors, gulping the dry, cold air. It's stopped snowing. Pressing a hand to my chest, I lean against the wall and count to ten. Then I count down from ten. I repeat the process until I can breathe properly.

Goddamn Cole. 

Because of him, I can remember why I chose to disassociate myself from social activities. There's too much to risk in making real friends. In caring too much about someone.

I knock my head against the wall, groaning. 

He's a splinter of light in the shrouding darkness.

One I don't want to let go of, despite my logic screaming at me.