Loving Nolan

By Melayne Schmidt

"Loving Nolan was the most blissful and excruciating moment of my life."

Aiden and Nolan feel as though they have the world at their fingertips. Falling in love, graduating college, and writing novels--they have their lives figured out, and they're ready to conquer the rest of their lives together.

That is until a secret Nolan has been harboring for most of their relationship becomes known to Aiden and ultimately tears them apart.

Five years later, they meet again completely unexpectedly, and Nolan can't help but feel that fate is on her side. Aiden feels differently.

While Nolan wants to redeem herself for her past mistakes, Aiden won't allow her to forget them. The two grow from lovers to enemies to strangers and are now stuck wondering if they will ever be able to come back from what tore them apart.

Can they forgive each other? Will Aiden allow himself to fall for Nolan all over again? Or will this be the biggest heartbreak of his life?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Fulton Books, Inc.
• Release date: Feb 26, 2024
• ISBN: 9798887315867

Book preview

Table of Contents

Title

Copyright

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Epilogue

About the Author

cover.jpg

Loving Nolan

Melayne Schmidt

Copyright © 2024 Melayne Schmidt

All rights reserved

First Edition

Fulton Books

Meadville, PA

Published by Fulton Books 2024

ISBN 979-8-88731-585-0 (paperback)

ISBN 979-8-88731-586-7 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Chapter One

Nolan

My pants were wet.

It was all I thought about. That and the fact that I just punched a guy. No. Not a guy. A man. A full-blown, grown-ass man whose arms were bigger than my head. I just punched him.

The shock of my actions didn't settle in my stomach right away. I was too busy gawking at the grown-ass man I just punched to feel anything other than relief.

Relief because that man just had his hand on my knee. Relief because after I said no, he squeezed my leg so hard that I winced and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let me. Relief because he tried to touch my notebook, and when I called him a dick, he poured his bottle of beer over my notebook and lap. Relief because he had what was coming to him.

The man fell backward from the force of my blow to his nose. The lower part of his back collided with the floor of the bar with an extremely satisfying thud. That thud repeated in my head for the next few seconds until another man crouched on the floor beside the one I just hit, asking for paper towels because his nose was bleeding, and I felt pride swell within my chest.

I made a grown-ass man's nose bleed.

My pride only lasted a few seconds because now Ally was next to me, grabbing my face, examining me with fearful eyes. I blinked at her, looked down at the man, then back at her, and the pain settled. I gasped and peered down at my right hand. The skin was red and throbbing. I felt a heartbeat pounding against my knuckles. I shook out my fist, but that only made it worse.

Upon seeing the look on my face, Ally released my face and grabbed my upper arm instead, hauling me out of the booth and onto my feet. I stared down at the man I punched and have the urge to spit on him.

So I did.

He began to crawl to his feet at my actions. Ally shrieked and tried to yank me away from the scene beginning to unfold. I tugged back. Wait. I turned, grabbed onto my soaked notebook with a grimace, and nodded toward Ally. She whisked us away from the man struggling to get to his feet and toward the bathroom.

Up until then, the entire bar had felt silent. My actions made the world turn off, and I was deaf for a few minutes. I couldn't hear anything other than the ringing in my ears and the heavy breaths I was expelling. Now I could hear everything. The music that was overly loud that at first, I thought was overbearing and really annoying now sounded really good. There was a lot of yelling, and I could tell that it was coming from where I was just sitting, but I didn't dare look back.

My feet were up against Ally's heels as she pulled me into the bathroom. She turned to me, placed her hands on my shoulders, and looked over me once more. Ally is a few inches taller than me, so she bent her knees to become eye level with me. I didn't know what she was looking for because I couldn't feel anything other than this deep sense of satisfaction for defending myself. After a few minutes of making sure no part of me, other than my knuckles, was injured she begins to clap.

"Oh my god, I never knew you had it in you. She smiled at me, and I smiled back. That was crazy. What even happened?"

He touched me. I started slow. I gulped in air, filling my lungs as though they've never felt the coolness of air before. I didn't realize how out of breath I was until I started speaking. My heart rate was through the roof, and my hands were trembling but with excitement. He grabbed my knee, and I said no. He poured his beer on my notebook.

I looked down at the notebook in my hands and bit the corner of my lip. I didn't want to cry because that was kind of pathetic. Crying in a bar bathroom over a wet notebook. That's a little too childish for me. But my entire life was in this notebook. Now I was just being dramatic. My career was this notebook.

I whirled around, looking for a hand dryer. It's a bar so I should've known that it wasn't high tech. There's a black plastic bin that's holding brown paper napkins. They were thrown across the sink, drenched in water, some crumpled and tossed aside. I sighed and grabbed a bunch of them and began to dab at the wet papers. I continued to gnaw on my bottom lip because the ink was starting to run, and my words were jumbling together, and I couldn't make sense of them.

After a few moments of trying and failing miserably at drying the paper, I huffed and peered in the mirror. I didn't look different than when I arrived, but I felt different. I felt much more relaxed, much more confident now that I've just punched a grown-ass man. My eyes were a bit frantic, and my chest was expelling hot and heavy puffs of air, but other than that, I looked the same. I lifted my gaze in the mirror and caught sight of Ally watching me silently.

We'll get you a new one, she said the words slowly and hesitantly. She knew the importance of this notebook. She knew what the destruction of these pages will do to me.

I shook my head. That's not the point. I went back to dabbing at the paper, growing more and more frustrated because even though I was gently dabbing, the ink was rubbing off onto the napkins. "Fuck, this isn't good."

Okay, calm down. Ally's hands came to my shoulders, and she squeezed tenderly. Her thumbs lightly stroke the sides of my arms. You have the best memory of anyone I know. I'm sure once you get home and clear your head, you'll be able to rewrite it.

I hated that she was right. I nodded reluctantly and threw out the wet napkins, folding the notebook so it was closed and facing Ally. I could tell I had a distraught look on my face because Ally sighed and wrapped her arms around me tightly. We stood like this for the next few minutes, and in those few minutes, I concluded that the bastard who poured the beer over my notebook deserved much more than just a punch to the nose.

Ally pulled away from the embrace and looked down at my wet pants with a laugh. You need to change.

I laughed with her and sniffled, not realizing I had started to cry. Can we leave? I just want to go home.

Ally stared at me for a moment and then nodded. I let out a sigh and let her intertwine our fingers as we exit the bathroom. The music is still loud in my ears, but the shouting has stopped, and I became nervous that the man I hit was going to appear and say Payback's a bitch and knock out my tooth.

I gripped Ally's hand tightly as we weaved through the small crowd that was beginning to form around the bar. It was the bar of our college, Iowa State University. All the kids above and some below twenty-one went to this bar because it was the closest one to our campus. Apparently gross older men learned that this is where spunky, newly formed adults spent their weekends and decided to join us. I've been to this bar a handful of times, but ever since I met Ally, I've been coming every weekend.

I met Ally at the beginning of my junior year. The roommate I had been living with since I was a freshman suddenly bailed, and so I was left with an extra bed with no one to occupy it. That is until Ally popped up one day with an ecstatic smile and open arms. She's been my roommate every semester since. I was glad we had gotten along as well as we did since my old roommate, Rebecca, didn't seem to like anyone that wasn't her boyfriend.

Ally and I weren't complete opposites. We had the same light eyes and light-colored hair. Hers consisted of bleached-blonde strands of bouncy curls that seemed to only get bigger with age and eyes that matched a clear blue sky in the middle of July.

The only thing that drew the line at similarities was our personalities. She was loud and obnoxious, and I just wasn't. I wasn't shy or quaint, but I most definitely didn't get on top of barstools and shout out the lyrics to a Never Shout Never song just for the fun of it. She managed to do that every weekend we ended up at this bar. I was genuinely surprised that the bartenders didn't try to kick her out.

We were able to get to the front door without any other problems. Ally stopped a few times to say hi to some people she knew from classes, but other than that, we made it quickly to the door. I hadn't realized I was holding my breath until I saw the glass door come into view. I was still holding onto Ally's hand as we halted, waiting for the new group of college students to enter the building.

That was a bit dramatic.

I hated that my eyes automatically fell to the curve of the guy's mouth. It was the feature I was the most intrigued with a person. But this guy's mouth was curved so delicately it was as though he was crafted by God himself. Maybe he was a fallen angel because no one had those kinds of features. No one was that good-looking. He had a five o'clock shadow covering his chin and cheeks. He was holding a beer, and when he saw me notice, he lifted his arm and took a swing, a smirk contouring his features as he did so.

My eyes slowly made their way up his form. He probably thought I was checking him out. I definitely was, but I really didn't want him to know that.

His lips were flushed pink, nearly red from how dark they were, and when he edged up the corners, I took notice of the indents on either cheek. Dimples. I never thought such a small characteristic could be so daunting. His jaw was continuously clenching and unclenching. It made me become awfully aware of how sharp his jawline was. Damn it, this man was definitely God's favorite.

I knew this because when I got up to his eyes, I found myself willingly drowning in them. I wasn't drunk, but I could get intoxicated from the bourbon that coated his irises. They were bright. Brown eyes weren't usually bright, but his were. They were gleaming in the dim light of the bar, and that was when his features started to become familiar.

I parted my lips to reply back to him, but he spoke before the words could fully form within my throat; Can I use that whole scene in a book I'm writing?

His question threw me off for a moment. A book. He's a writer? What? was all I managed to get out.

He grinned. Can I use you in my book? I have to ask permission. It's the gentleman thing to do.

"You write."

I didn't mean to sound so surprised, but I genuinely was. A man crafted by God himself would not be a writer and would not want to put me in his book. He was messing with me. He had to be. He's actually in his thirties with a wife and two kids, going to a college bar to hit on younger women for the fun of it. He actually works in a small office cubicle and hates his life, but at least he's good-looking.

His grin was still evident on his cheeks. He was looking down at me, and it took me a moment to recognize just how close we actually were. I was passing by him to get to the door, but from the massive group that just piled through the door, we got pushed back, and now I was almost pressed into this man. My shoulder was grazing his chest, but he didn't seem bothered by our closeness.

I am. He nods to himself. You don't know who I am?

I shook my head slowly, staring up at him. I had to arch my chin up a few inches in order to connect our eyes. He's got a head over me. Um, no. Should I?

He pursued his lips as though my uncertainty upset him. I sit behind you in class.

I furrowed my brows. What class?

He took a swing of his drink, and I watched as he swished the liquid around his mouth for a few seconds, and then my vision trailed down to his throat, and I watched his throat bob as he swallowed. I swallowed too because watching someone swallow shouldn't be attractive. But it is, and I'd watch him do it again and again.

Advanced fiction writing.

I nodded. I didn't know what else to say. I didn't even know what to do because we're so close I could feel his breath on the side of my neck, and I couldn't tell if the shivers I was experiencing were from being uncomfortable or from liking how close we were. I tried to brush the thoughts aside, and I nodded at him again. His eyebrows raised in question.

Yes, you can use me in your book, I answered audibly.

Great. He took the last gulp of his drink, and I couldn't help the way my eyes zeroed in on his throat as he swallowed. See you in class, Nolan.

As he tried to maneuver around me, I tucked my still wet notebook under my arm. I grabbed onto his shirt and pulled him back. Hold on. I want to know what this book is about.

My piqued interest seemed to deteriorate his confidence. His shoulders deflated, and he started scratching at the back of his neck. From this view of him, he no longer looked like he was in his thirties. He looked like a man, sure, but he still had a boyishness to him that doesn't go away until he was well into his late twenties. I didn't mention the fact that he knew my name, and I had yet to learn his. But the fact that he was in my class and was writing a book made me want to know more about him.

He didn't answer me right away. He reached down for my right hand and lifted it so it was in his view. He examined the red skin and newly formed bruises and winced. His eyes flickered up to my curious gaze, and he gently swiped his thumb over my knuckles. I didn't react to the touch. I just watched him. I didn't ask him what he was doing because if I was being honest with myself, I didn't want him to stop.

He held my gaze for several seconds, and then his eyes dropped back to my hand. He raised my hand further up until his lips smoothly glided over the skin. This time I did react. A gasp fell from my throat, and I attempted to cover up the sound by coughing, but he caught it. He smiled, and it liquified my insides I think because I was feeling a bit woozy and almost like I was going to pass out.

You should put some ice on that. When he spoke, his lips skimmed the bumps of my knuckles. "It's throbbing."

The way he said the word made me shudder. It was a silent innuendo without actually being sexual. But I could feel it. There were chills harboring my arms and legs, and from his proximity, he could feel it too.

I didn't like how compelling he was. I didn't like the way he made me feel. I was used to having a lot of things roaming throughout my mind. Typically, about writing or homework or grades. But never boys. I never cared about boys. Of course, I've had my fair share of experiences in my lifetime. Nothing traumatic, but nothing bookworthy.

But as I stood in front of this man, with his mouth touching my skin, all I could think about was how badly I wanted to write all this down so I could always remember it. This was bookworthy. Who kissed people's hands anymore? My mouth was dry. I let go of his shirt and swiped his drink from his grasp and downed the rest of it.

Ally was tugging at my hand, but the man in front of me was staring with fervent eyes, and my insides were melting. Ally turned when I didn't automatically follow behind her. Her clear eyes darted from the beer in my hand to the man kissing my knuckles. I must have looked like I was in desperate need of some help because Ally lurched forward and knocked the man back into the wall. She pushed herself between us and slammed her knees between his legs.

I watched silently as he held his breath until his face was nearly purple, and his hands moved to cup the region Ally just damaged. Ally didn't let him get that far. She wedged her elbow against the center of his throat and pushed. The man gasped, and his eyes moved beyond Ally and landed on mine. I was still processing what was happening when I heard him choke out my name.

Creeper, Ally seethed. She moved her face close to his and narrowed her eyes. Leave Nolan alone. She doesn't want you.

Ally! I hollered over the commotion. She didn't move. I know him. He didn't do anything.

Is that true? she questioned him and nudged her elbow deeper into his throat. I cursed myself to hell for not learning his name. He barely got out a nod from the pressure Ally was pushing on him. What's his name, Nolan?

When I didn't answer as quick as I should've, Ally wisped her head around and gazed at me pointedly. I stared at the man against the wall and watched as he mouthed out a name. Aiden!

Ally turned and looked at him for a moment before pulling away. The man bent over, holding his throat and rubbing at the raw skin. I wanted to ask if he's all right, but this somehow felt like my fault, so I stayed silent until he'd gathered enough courage and allowed the pain to subside.

Once he was stable, he held his hand out toward Ally, who was still narrowing her eyes at him. I'm Aiden. I'm a friend of Nolan's.

Ally stared at his outstretched hand for a few seconds, and then she crossed her arms over her chest, seemingly bothered by what he just said. "I know Nolan's friends. You aren't one of them."

He grins. Newfound friend.

Ally peered over to me and raised her eyebrows, silently asking, "Really?" I nodded rapidly because I really didn't want to see her put Aiden in a chokehold and knee him in the nuts again. Yeah. We have a few classes together. He's also a writer.

I was spewing out everything I just learned about him within the past few minutes because I was afraid she wouldn't believe me if I just simply nodded. Aiden was still looking at me, and somehow, his name suited him. I glared at him when Ally's attention turns back to him.

What do you write about?

Ally had always been intrusive. She needed to know everything and anything in order to be her friend. She was like that with me in the beginning. We spent the first night we met staring at each other, asking personal questions and stupid ones in order to make sure this new arrangement would work. By 3:00 a.m. we had shoved our beds together in the corner of the room and rearranged the room. By three thirty, we were both convinced that this was a long-lasting friendship.

Now she was doing the same thing with Aiden. It was awkward because I knew she was going to ask him personal questions about me in order to see if we were telling the truth. No one could hide from Ally. It was her special talent. You couldn't lie to her. It's impossible.

Aiden looked past her and met my eyes with a wide grin. I tried not to alter my gaze to the indents on his cheeks or the stretch of his mouth. Girls punching grown-ass men in bars they don't belong.

Ally smiled, and I expelled a heavy breath from my chest. Sounds like a great plotline.

Aiden kept his eyes on mine. I was feeling a bit dizzy, either from the alcohol or from the way he was looking at me. It is, especially since the girl is an incredibly sexy strawberry blonde with green eyes that are hard to look away from.

I prayed that the dinginess of the bar hid the flush that just warmed its way onto my cheeks. I broke our eye contact and stared at my feet. I'm grateful that I wore sneakers tonight and not clunky boots, like I normally wear. These made it much easier to get away from the man I punched.

At the thought, I quickly looked around the room, suddenly aware that we were still standing in the same bar, and the guy I punched was somewhere around here. I really didn't want to have to punch anyone else. I reached forward, meaning to grab onto Ally's hand, but the fingers that curled through mine were much too calloused and rugged to be Ally's.

I went with it. Aiden wants to ask me more questions about tonight. He wants to use it in a book.

Ally looked Aiden up and down a few times, pursed her lips, and then nodded. Instead of leaving as we had initially planned, she turned and pushed her way through the crowd that seemed to have gotten ten times bigger since we first got there. She lifted her right arm and waved toward me with a small smile. When her eyes crossed mine, she threw me two thumbs up and wiggled her eyebrows.

She goes from zero to a hundred quicker than I can say never mind.

I was not entirely sure why I decided to lie to Ally about being friends with Aiden and about him needing to ask more questions. But his hand intertwined with mine felt good. I glanced down at our hands, and when I did, I watched as his fingers tightened around mine, almost like he was afraid I would pull my hand back. But I didn't want to, so I kept our palms together and our fingers laced.

I arched my chin up at him. He was looking down at me. Where to?

He grinned, and it was wide and boyish and made my stomach swirl. Coffee?

I nodded. I know a place.

Jesus, Nolan, what the hell are you doing?

Chapter Two

Nolan

Five years later

Are you nervous?

My best friend and roommate, Ally, asks from the doorway of my bedroom. I sigh and keep my attention trained on my hair, watching my fingers as I circle the three clumps of hair in and out of each other, forming an imperfect braid. I was starting a new job tomorrow, one that I wasn't entirely sure I even wanted, but the adrenaline and excitement that pumped through me the moment I received the acceptance email made it seem worth it.

I glance at Ally through my mirror. Her knotty and untamable curly hair is propped up on top of her head in an overly large and incredibly messy bun. She is wearing a pair of baby-blue scrubs, the kind the hospital she works at gave her when she first got the job, her name tag was swinging at the bottom of her scrub top. Ally became an intern for the closest hospital in our neighborhood the moment we flung our black caps into the air. Now she's in her last year of residency, and she was already offered a job there permanently.

Ally moved into this apartment complex almost a year ago. She rented out a two-bedroom with hopes that I would come back to town and ask for a place to stay. After months and months of her begging and constantly asking, I decided to move in. I only moved in last week, so I have boxes and bags lining the hallway, piled in the corner of the living room, and filling up every open space in my new bedroom. My bedroom didn't have much anyway. It consisted of a mattress without a headboard or box spring and a dresser that I brought back from my apartment in New York.

I lived in New York for almost five years. I immediately fled this town the second I was able to. I saved up enough money to rent out a nice apartment, and I spent my days walking to the same coffeehouse, ordering the same coffee, and then going back to my bedroom to write. I am still a part of a publishing company that is held in New York. They allowed me to keep my contract despite moving hours away. So my writing never dimmed, but if I wanted to live with Ally, I needed more money, which is why I got a new job.

I left a lot of my belongings in New York. I wanted a clean slate, a brand-new start, and what better way to do that than to leave most of my things and buy all new things.

I shake my head in response to Ally. No. It's just like going back to school. Most of the professors we had are still there.

"Most of the professors you had, she corrects me with a shrug. But it's just like having the first day of school all over again. Doesn't that make you a little bit nervous?"

No. I laugh. But it does. It makes me so incredibly nervous that my throat is tight and my strong and confident mask is beginning to slip. But I laugh and smile because if I don't acknowledge the nerves, they aren't actually there.

Ally slits her eyes and stares at my trembling fingers, watching silently as I fumble and curse quietly. I run a brush through my hair and start my braid over again. Liar. What's making you so nervous?

I shrug. I just have this gut feeling that it won't be a good thing. Like this job is either the best thing in my life or the worst.

Ally's eyes grow sympathetic. You'll be fine, babe. This is a good thing. You need something new in your life. This is it.

I nod, but my apprehension stays bubbling at the surface. I've never really had a job like this before. For the past five years, my job has consisted of short stories and poems that I have rewritten or thrown out to perfect and then published. Being a writer in today's world is incredibly difficult. You have to know and understand your audience because if you don't, you'll get nowhere. At first, when I published my book, I was terrified that it wasn't going to hit the audience I wanted it to, and I would be stuck continuing to write the same kind of genre for the rest of my career.

I got lucky that the publishing company I signed over to wasn't like that. They wanted me to expand my voice, look into other genres, and attempt them, which I did; and it worked out well for me, but in the end, it didn't bring in as much money as I had hoped it would, which is another reason I ended up moving back to my hometown, going back to Iowa State, and teaching. I never thought about being a teacher. It was never something I saw myself pursuing, but after going through the entire interview process and demo teaching, I started to feel as though it was made for me.

Ally could see the way I felt the moment I came home from my interview. I was ready to start the job. I was ready to talk about writing and different genres. My downfall was the fact that Iowa State didn't want me as a professor but as something like a guest speaker who is constantly there. I will be sitting in on a new English class that will only be using my work due to the vastness of my writing, and I will be there to help guide the students. I wasn't aware of the teacher I would be sitting in with, but I didn't mind. I was too excited than anything.

But then the nerves settled in.

And I felt sick.

I cover my mouth with my hand and quickly make a dash for the bathroom, knocking into Ally on my way out. I barely make it to the toilet when I feel the bile coat my cheeks and tongue. I release my breakfast and morning coffee into the toilet with heaving coughs and gags. I can't bring myself to stop until the taste of acid coats my tongue, and I'm only dry-heaving into the toilet. I settle my right arm along the side of the porcelain as I bring my left hand up and flush the disgusting contents that poured from my stomach.

I rest my forehead along the toilet seat and breathe in deeply. The idea of starting a new job was entirely too nerve-racking for me. I was never good with presentations or PowerPoints. My words would jumble together, and I could never bring my thoughts in one direction. I was all over the place. I convinced myself that it was something that was made for me, but now I was thinking, and I let the nerves settle, and it didn't feel like that anymore.

You okay, babe? Ally is at my side now, handing me a glass of water that I take with an appreciative smile. I take a slow sip, sighing at the coolness that slides down my throat. Finish that. I'll go grab some bread.

I let out a breathless chuckle. I'm not hungover Ally, just nervous.

Do you want to go over the class with me?

I shake my head and readjust myself so I'm no longer leaning over a dirty, vomit-smelling toilet. I rest my back against the wall alongside the toilet and take another sip of water. It's not like that. I'm not technically a teacher. I don't even know whose class I'm sitting in on for the semester.

"Oh. Ally sits down beside me and squeezes my knee. You'll be fine. It's all about your writing, your stories, your words. You really can't go wrong with that."

I seal my eyes shut. I know Ally means well, and I've never explained to her the worst thing I've ever done, so I really can't explain to her that my words have also been the sharpest knife I've ever used. I cover the pain that floods my chest with a sigh and flash Ally a small smile, one that doesn't reach my eyes, but Ally has never noticed those kinds of things.

I lean my head against the wall behind me and sigh. Ally wasn't wrong with what she said, but it didn't make me any less nervous. My words aren't all they were written out to be. Almost all my works have hidden meanings behind the words, which is why they were chosen for this class. The excitement that twirls within my stomach isn't enough to cover the jitters.

Okay, Ally says. Let's get ready, and we'll have a day.

I smile at her. A day? Really?

Yes. Ally rolls her eyes and stands, grabbing onto my hands and hauling me off the floor with her. She places her hands on my shoulders and smiles. Let's go have a day.

A day is something Ally and I discovered back in college. Whenever one of us couldn't handle the pressure or the anxiety that four years of school were giving us, we would have a day. It consisted of running all over town, going into almost every store we saw, and buying whatever it was that we wanted even if it was completely outrageous and had no significance to us at all. Ally used to have them a lot when we were first put into a room together.

Almost every Friday, she was arriving back in our room late in the evening with too many shopping bags to count. She would put on an overly dramatic and drastic show while flaunting everything she bought. By the next Friday, I offered to join her, and we both splurged with money we didn't have and bought things we didn't need. We also took the time to talk about all the things that were bottled inside of us. Sometimes a day turned into an all-day crying session. It was therapeutic.

I quickly brush my teeth and tongue, making sure all the spit and vomit was out of my mouth. I undo my hair and retie it into a loose braid that floated over my left shoulder. I touch up the little makeup I have on, slathering a layer of ChapStick over my lips, and adjust my top. It's the end of August, so the weather is going back and forth between cold and hot. I am wearing a white tank top with a see-through flowy yellow top with a pair of light-washed jeans. I left the bathroom and thrust on my clunky black boots.

Just as I finish, Ally pushes out of her bedroom. She's no longer in her scrubs, but her hair is still toiled on top of her head, a few curls lingering around her face. As alike as we are, our clothing styles are completely different. I'm dressed semidecent for