Need Love

What is it about leaving my parents that has me crying since yesterday? I don't know. I thought it would be much easier to leave my parents and not return until vacation. After all, that's what I wanted since middle school. I would live away to find myself, with the freedom of doing whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. However, the idea didn't seem too attractive now when I am in front of my parents, trying not to cry harder than I already am because then they'll detain me here.

I didn't think they would cry for me like this. Don't get me wrong; I know my parents love me. I didn't think they would suffer that much. So, as I didn't want to suffer anymore, I decided to hug them and leave as soon as my body allowed me to, and I did. I hugged my parents, first my mom and then my dad. I almost ran out of the house and walked until I found myself out of the garden, the car in front of me. My parents were standing at the door. My mother had her hand on her chest while my father kept his hands in his pockets. I screamed for the last time. "Bye! See you soon!" and they smiled before I entered the car. Now there, I cried again, but it wasn't the worst thing in the world.

However, the gloomy feeling disappeared when I got to the airport. Oh, I couldn't help the happiness that came over me the second I got to my check-in. I forgot about the reasons I had cried the night before and, of course, forgot about the one person that waited for me there. When my foot touched the airplane floor, I felt the freedom I wanted since childhood.

The flight from Washington to Cambridge was almost eight hours, so I decided to sleep. The first class was the same as always, but the food seemed less tasty than on my father's plane. I asked myself once again why I would decide that it wasn't worth it to have the jet take me there... Yeah, the freedom. That's why. I watched The Fate Of The Furious again and then slept until my eyes begged me to wake up. Then I decided that drinking some juice was a good idea, so I did. I couldn't drink champagne yet. I wasn't even eighteen. Something contradictory is that I talked for hours and hours with my dad and his friends about wine and other alcoholic drinks. With the soundtracks of The Fate of The Furious again playing in my mind, I tried to think about the fact that I had to live with... Noah.

I fought with my parents over that, but it was Noah or going with my aunt. This was only for a month before classes started. I would live on campus when the year started, that was the rule at Harvard, and I was more than happy to accept it. I wanted to live in a summer apartment for a month, but Noah's father insisted that Noah could show me the city.

Leaving my parents behind, I ventured into uncharted territory, ready to embark on a new chapter of my life. As I stood outside the elegant white house, which would be my temporary residence, I was abruptly confronted by Noah, my arch-nemesis. His lean figure leaned casually against a sleek, red Porsche, exuding an air of arrogance and confidence that only fueled our animosity.

Noah's piercing green eyes locked onto mine, a glimmer of amusement dancing within them. His presence alone was enough to stir a mix of irritation and curiosity within me. Dressed in a fitted black shirt that accentuated his muscular frame and black pants, he exuded an aura of disdain.

Attempting to slip away unnoticed, I turned to make my escape. But Noah's perceptive gaze saw through my facade, and he called out, his voice dripping with derision, "I know it's you!" Reluctantly, I turned back to face him, knowing that evading him was futile.

Suppressing my frustration, I forced a sardonic smile. "What's up, Hoe?" I fired back, refusing to let him see my vulnerability. The tension between us was palpable, a constant battle of wits and wills.

His lips curled into a smirk as he responded, "Thank you, Hoe," employing the derogatory nickname that had become synonymous with our turbulent relationship. His nonchalant demeanor infuriated me, yet I couldn't deny the undeniable pull he had over me.

A silence fell between us as he picked up my bags, his actions brimming with self-assurance. I followed him begrudgingly, an unwilling participant in this unwanted journey. As he opened the trunk of his car, his shirt strained against his muscles, a sight that should have been irrelevant but managed to ignite a spark of conflicting emotions within me.

Summoning my determination, I met his gaze with defiance. "Shall we?" I challenged, my voice laced with a mixture of defiance and an unspoken desire to beat him. He nodded, a flicker of confusion briefly crossing his features. With the roof down and the wind whipping through my hair, I resolved to maintain my guard and not let Noah's presence affect me.

Curiosity got the better of me, and I couldn't resist breaking the silence that hung in the air. "What are you looking at?" I asked, my tone edged with a mixture of defiance and intrigue. His smile was enigmatic, his eyes locked on the road as if contemplating something deeper than mere transportation.

"Why do you care?" he retorted, his voice dripping with an undercurrent of tension. I bristled at his response, determined not to let him see the effect his presence had on me.

As the journey drew to a close, we arrived at a stately white house. Noah handed me the keys, his motives shrouded in mystery. "Those are yours, you can keep them," he said, his words laced with a hint of smugness. Though confused by his gesture, I accepted the keys with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.

Ascending the stairs together, we arrived at a hallway flanked by four rooms. Noah pointed out the central one as his own, a clear divide between us. With a dismissive gesture, he motioned towards another room, leaving me with the closest one to the communal bathroom. Entering my designated space, I was met with a conflicting mix of relief and resentment.

As I walk into my new room in Noah's house, a wave of excitement washes over me. The walls are adorned with a stunning combination of gold rose and beige, creating an atmosphere of elegance and tranquility.

The sunlight filters through the sheer curtains, casting a warm and gentle glow that accentuates the golden hues of the room. It's as if the space itself is bathed in a soft, rosy embrace.

My eyes are immediately drawn to the centerpiece of the room—my bed. It's a haven of comfort and luxury, dressed in silky gold rose sheets that invite me to sink into their softness. The plush pillows in various shades of beige add a touch of sophistication, making the bed not only cozy but visually pleasing as well.

Opposite the bed, a sleek desk awaits, its surface bathed in a soft golden glow. The golden accents beautifully complement the room's color scheme, adding a touch of opulence. This will be my creative sanctuary, a place where I can let my imagination run wild. I imagine placing a vase of fresh flowers on the desk, their vibrant colors contrasting against the serene backdrop.

A small bookshelf occupies one corner of the room, its shelves beckoning to be filled with my favorite novels and treasured possessions. The golden rose and beige tones of the room provide the perfect backdrop for the colorful spines of the books, creating an inviting and serene reading nook.

The walls are adorned with subtle artwork in golden frames, adding an element of sophistication and personal touch to the space. Perhaps I'll hang a few mirrors strategically to reflect the warm glow, amplifying the sense of light and space.

As I take it all in, I can't help but feel a sense of gratitude. This room, with its gold, rose and beige palette, reflects my style and personality perfectly. It's a space that promises comfort, inspiration and a place to call my own within Noah's house. I can't wait to infuse it with my personal belongings, memories, and experiences, turning it into a true reflection of who I am.

The first battle commenced that very night. Hunger consumed me, urging me to descend the stairs in search of sustenance. Scouring the kitchen, I discovered the necessary ingredients to craft a delectable cheese sandwich, and so I did. Typically, I prepare three sandwiches—not solely for my own consumption, as I merely indulge in one, but with the intention of catering to my parents' late-night cravings. After quickly assembling the sandwiches, I ascended the staircase, clutching my own meal along with a can of diet coke. This routine of making three sandwiches had become a familiar habit. Regrettably, I couldn't find any Coke, so I settled for a glass of chocolate milk instead.

With a sense of longing for my parents already gripping me, I left the remaining two sandwiches in the microwave. Hastening back to my room, I nudged open the elegant golden rose door with my foot and stepped inside. The door's color evoked memories of the earrings Noah's father had gifted me on my fifteenth birthday. Placing the food on my nightstand, which matched the hue of my bed, I reached for my phone and decided to text Noah, extending the offer of the remaining sandwiches.

"There are two sandwiches downstairs. If you want them, feel free to eat."

Without waiting for a response, I locked my phone and whiled away the time engrossed in a Netflix series. The show followed the clichéd premise of a good girl falling for a bad boy, yet I couldn't help but enjoy such narratives, despite their predictable trajectory toward a slightly healthier relationship.

Thankfully, I wasn't confined to the archetype of a 'good girl,' as I mused about the potential perils of such a situation. As the third episode drew to a close, I decided to indulge in a relaxing bath. To my dismay, I realized I had forgotten my bath bombs and speaker. Unable to conceive of a bath without accompanying music, I resorted to playing music through the television, adjusting the volume to a level that would resonate through the bathroom.

Stepping into the expansive bathroom adjoining my room, my eyes were greeted by blue tiles adorned with delicate purple accents. The pristine white washbasin boasted convenient compartments beneath it. Next in line were the toilet and shower, accompanied by a bathtub. Fragrant flowers infused the air with a soothing vanilla aroma. As I prepared to turn on the shower, the chorus of "Amarte Más No Pude" by Diomedes Diaz was abruptly interrupted by Drake's voice. Leaving the bathroom momentarily, I increased the volume to savor the music. Returning to the bathroom, I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror and found myself momentarily entranced. My naked form, illuminated by the dim light, held my gaze until Drake's voice snapped me back to reality.

As I turned the volume up to its maximum, Drake's voice and Diomedes Diaz engaged in a melodious battle for dominance in my ears. I allowed the cold water to cascade over my skin and hair, embracing the refreshing sensation. As Drake's voice gradually receded, a contented smile formed on my lips. Soon after, a knock on my door interrupted the tranquility. Hastily wrapping myself in a towel, I approached the door with wet hair. There stood Noah, shirtless, sporting gray sweatpants. He leaned in close, his warm breath sending electric shivers down my spine, and whispered, "Could you lower the music? The neighbors are complaining." I nodded in understanding and adjusted the volume to a modest 8%. Noah muttered something, but I couldn't make out his words over the expletives before he abruptly closed the door. My body trembled, an unexplained tremor coursing through me.

After spending a few more minutes in the shower, I attributed the shivering to the icy water. Stepping out of the bathroom, I slipped into my comfortable pajama dress, gently drying my hair with the towel before allowing it to air dry. Bundling it up with the sheets, I retrieved my phone. Though Noah had responded, I refrained from reading the message, opting instead to lose myself in a stream of Instagram reels. Among them, I stumbled upon a post by a friend announcing her impending nuptials. Offering my heartfelt congratulations through a direct message, I proceeded to browse through Instagram stories. Friends were enjoying romantic dates, dropping subtle hints about their past relationships, celebrating marriages, and sharing snapshots from afar. Then, my heart skipped a beat—Noah appeared in a photo with a girl who bore an uncanny resemblance to me. The image depicted us sitting together in a car, with me gazing out the window while he looked directly at the camera. To my surprise, the instrumental of "In the Night" by The Weeknd played in the background—a cherished favorite of mine. Swiftly capturing a screenshot, I received a voice note from Mia, my closest friend.

Mia and I had been inseparable since middle school, confidants who shared innumerable secrets. Her three-minute voice note brimmed with excitement as she regaled me with tales of her upcoming surprise. Although she was currently in England, en route to Cambridge (where she, too, would attend Harvard), she pledged to interrogate Noah relentlessly upon her arrival.

I responded to her message, conveying my own shock and disdain for the situation, the animosity that had simmered within me since childhood rekindled. Once again, memories of the past threatened to engulf me, but I halted the narrative, aware that delving too deep would only invite tears. Resolute, I shifted my focus and engaged Mia in a conversation about life in England.

Gradually, I succumbed to sleep's embrace, The Weeknd's music continuing to serenade me throughout the night.