"I knew you would show up." Wet curls dangle across my face as my eyes fly open. He's on top of me and everything is beating at a thousand miles an hour—from the rain slapping the pavement outside to my poor, erratic heart.

With a smile teasing his plump lips, he thrusts out a delicate hand and clasps both my wrists over my head. Heat slaps my cheeks as I notice my growing erection. My breathing hitches as he dips his head as if he's about to kiss me. A scent of mint and musk washes over me, and I'm reeling.

"You did?" My voice comes in heaves.

"Noah. I've been waiting for you." His scorching eyes engulf me, blurring my thoughts and heightening my senses. My heart pounds in my ears as he nips at one lobe. My voice grabs at my throat, surfacing as wanting moans.

Can he hear how he affects me? Can he tell my mind is turning to mush?

Hands of mine... Why the urge to launch yourselves forward, seeking shelter right in the middle of this boy's chest? Where is this profound connection coming from? He is here, right in front of me, and I am here but also a million miles away from the constellation that is this intoxicating stranger.

I am at a loss to what to say next or how to even breathe. Thank heavens for involuntary processes taking over.

If words were enough to paint how scary this moment is, then perhaps some would dare come to my mouth. Seconds go by, I am so ashamed I've become paper thin. But then, he smiles again, and it makes me explode into atoms, puts me back together and returns the new shape of me back to earth.

Seconds later, his lips find mine with eagerness and pure lust. I'm combusting, my breathing hot and heavy, my mouth needy and yearning for more than just this kiss. His hands travel all the way down my torso, reaching my hip bones where he lingers his touch, making me so fucking aroused; I can't focus on anything other than his warmth against my skin. I let out a soft groan in total ecstasy as he nibbles on my collarbones, first the right, then the left as his hands unzip my jeans. I am panting; I want him. Badly.

"What is it, Noah?" he asks in a silky whisper, right into my ear.

"I want you," I gasp.

"Good, 'cause I fucking want you too."

Seconds later, I'm falling from my bed, landing hard against the wooden floor of my apartment, disoriented and covered in sweat.

What was that all about? Was I about to make love to a guy? Why am I okay with that suddenly? But truth be told, I am.

I'm grinning like an idiot as I get up and drag my horny—presumably gay—ass to my bathroom. Once there, I look at myself in the mirror, eyes wild and flustered, my sped up heartbeats echoing the remains of a fading face with soft lips and azure eyes. He is haunting me in my dreams now; he has haunted me for the past three days; I need to know more about this whole unsolved mystery, or I'll blow a fuse.

I'm craving my caffeine buzz to be functional, and as I'm fixing myself breakfast, I check on my cell. Shit. Two messages from Candace. Of course she would send me messages, what was I expecting? For her to give up and never want to see me again? We've dated for the past year and a half—on and off, but still. I could never feel—what's the word?

Nothing, there is no word, because I've felt almost nothing. I should have known better than to make promises I couldn't keep.

There's always the one that loves more, wants more, needs more in every relationship. Here, Candace is the one coming out empty-handed. I've failed at this boyfriend business, I've given her nothing in return. Maybe I'm just that, King of Nothing.

Candace: We need to talk, Noah. Text me when you get this. 

Noah: Hey! I'm home now. Wanna come over?

Candace: On my way. 

Five seconds ago, I was ready to fuck a guy. Now I'm answering a text from Candace, figuring out what to do. What's your deal, Riley? If only I had a clue. She won't be long, so I grab a pair of clean jeans and a black tee. But while I wait for her, his face flashes behind my eyes, making my hand tremble, spilling coffee on the countertop.

Chill, Noah. Fucking chill. I finish my coffee, ticking away the seconds with dread. Ten excruciating minutes go by and there's a soft knock on the door. My face drops. Candace is here.

"Finally! I was thinking you've been avoiding me." Her tone is casual yet whiny. I can't stand it. It's as if her nagging is pooling inside my pores, clogging them with sticky tar.

"Sorry, C. I've been dealing with some family things, that's all." I kiss her because she is the one leaning in first. So different from the sheer eagerness streaming down my veins when I thought he'd kiss me.

"You fought with your father again?" Her high-pitched voice takes me out of my reverie, much to my resistance.

"Let's just say, we had a brief chat about Pratt and me and my MFA."

"How so?" She wants to know; I have no will to tell her anything about myself anymore.

"Don't worry about it. It's all good now," I say, trying to get her to focus on something other than my business.

"Where were you on Friday? Tried calling you, but you never answered. It worried me, you know?"

How do I tell her I don't know where I was? I mean, I know where my body was, my head? I'm not so sure.

"Yeah, about that, I'm so sorry; the thing is, I needed some inspiration for a new art project I must deliver for Drawing 1, so I went out for a walk. Then once back home, I headed to Savannah's for dinner and forgot my cell here." By the looks of her, she's not buying any of my bullshit stories.

"Ask Savvy if you don't believe me." Please don't do that. She'll kill me for getting her in the middle of our shit.

"No need, Noah." Thank you. At last, something seems to go my way.

"Do you want some coffee?" I add because I don't know what else to say to her, so I fall back on what my mother taught me or at least tried to: manners.

"No, thanks. There's one thing I want, though."

Dang, here comes the blow.

"Wanna know what it is?" Her demeanor does a one-eighty; she sashays towards me in what she thinks is seductive. Staring at her moving toward me like that makes me wonder if there's something wrong with her hips. Are they bruised or out of alignment? Please, let it be that and not what it looks like...

"I want you, Noah Riley, on top of me like right now." She clashes against me. Her breasts are full, I can feel them in her haste. Her mouth claims mine. I have no choice but to follow suit. The second we make out, it already feels wrong; she doesn't seem to notice because my male anatomy is reacting to her touch, so she whimpers, "Quick. Take off those pants. I want to feel you inside me."

I am out of myself, watching as she unzips my jeans and fights with my underwear, yet I remain somehow miles away. She slips off her top and bra and leans down on the bed, waiting for me to fuck her.

I don't want to... I feel nothing.

Candace makes fists with my tee, pulling me on top of her as if it were all a game, "Stop playing hard to get, dummy. I can see you want me too." Her gaze travels to my length, and she spreads her legs for me. Her arousal clear in the glistening of her core.

But I don't. I feel nothing. "Candace, I'm sorry," I say with a meaningless apology, hovering above her heaving chest. "I don't think this is such a good idea right now."

She stares at me with hurting eyes, turning colder by the second. "I see." She is furious, eyes flaring, cheeks huffing, pursed lips the entire show. Now, she pushes me aside to yank on her discarded clothing.

I understand that I've hurt her. Yet—I feel nothing.

With a flick of her wrist, she fends the thick fog of tension away as if it wasn't a big deal. I know better than to fall for her stunt. I've messed her up.  "Noah. I think we should see other people."

"Sounds fair to me," I all but whisper.

That's it; she is gone without another word, banging the door on her way out, and yet I've got nothing but emptiness inside.

I stare at the carved indents lining the wood, my eyes trailing the detail with my mind's artistic finger. And as it does so, I analyze my reaction to the last few minutes. It's as if I fell into the cracks between emotions, staring up as the vibrancy of color dart overhead. So close to my fingertips is anger, passion, joy. Intense, addictive examples of life and living it to its fullest. But here, in the quiet darkness of my mind, I feel nothing, not even peace.

I am King of Nothing.

I turn away from the light harboring life and face the darkness...

Yeah, that's more like it, Noah  

Better if you hold your breath and don't look down—at the ashes of your paper crown.