This is one part of chapter 19!!

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And listen to Black beauty by Lana Del Rey while reading this!!

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Nova

Sometimes I hate living.

So much.

I don't know what to do anymore. Everything I do feels so frantic and like I'm living with a countdown for every movement.

My every mood is dependent on other people's validation, and it hurts. I just want to live in the present again. I want to be able to look in the mirror and see who I am- not who I think I am.

Everything I do is for others, and I can't mind it because it's the only way I get things done. I just want someone to hold me. I want someone to tell me that I'll be fine. Tell me that shit gets better because I sure as hell don't believe it.

I want to like the rain again. I want to not sleep through most of the day. I want to feel motivated to do things again. I just want something- anything to hold onto. God, I'm so fucking tired.

I got out of work early after Mae insisted that I needed to take the weekend off early. She spoke in that slow and drawn-out voice that adults use on children who just did something bad.

I took the subway to my place. I decided to treat myself in the rare break that I'm getting. I decide to spend the night doing things I love instead of filling it with school work.

I want to get take out, have a nice shower, and watch a movie.

I walk to the small Chinese restaurant that's a block from my place. I get my order and speed walk back to my place.

Then I take a shower, the kind where you stand there for the majority, listening to the music you have playing, letting the water run down your body.

When I'm done, I change into an old shirt and sweatpants. I get my food before I set myself in front of my t.v.

I feel hungry for the first time in a while today, so I make sure that eating is the first thing I do. Whenever I feel too stressed, my appetite is the last thing I prioritize.

I go on my phone while I eat. I look through all of my social media and read through my emails. Then, it hits me- I haven't talked to Theo in a while.

I find his contact but hesitate on texting him. What if he's busy? Or doesn't have his phone on him?

What if he's upset that I didn't talk to him sooner, so he won't respond. My heart races. My palms grow sweaty at the thought of just talking to him again. I type a few words, not feeling pleased by any of them. God, why does this have to be so fucking hard?

After ten failed messages, I decided that I'll call him instead. If he doesn't pick up, I'll go on with my night and try not to freak. If he asks why I called, I'll say it was an accident. He won't pick up.

If he does pick up, then I'll just say that I was bored. Then he won't think I was being desperate. I'm being so fucking desperate.

I feel nervous as I hit the call button. My stomach is turning, and my hands are shaking. I let the phone ring three times before I panic and quickly hang up.

Staring at the phone like it's going to explode if I touch it. I'm so immature. My breathing calms down a little, but before I can fully calm down, the phone starts buzzing and my heart jumps.

I contemplate on letting it ring out, but I also know that I'll get nowhere like this. This is my chance of moving things forward. So I pick up the phone.

"Hey," I say. I'm surprised I didn't fucking stutter. I'm a fucking loser. "It's Nova." I physically cringe at myself. Why am I introducing myself?

"I know," says the deep voice on the other end. I forgot how he sounded. "Contact names are a thing." He sounds so nice.

My heart is still racing. "Oh. Right." Idiot.

I can hear him sigh, "Is there a reason you called?" See, I do annoy him. I shouldn't have called at all.

My whole brain fumbles. I feel stripped bare of any grasp I had on myself. "I called on accident."

He hums. His voice sounds raspy like he was asleep. Of course, I'd call him while he was sleeping. "Who did you mean to call?"

"A friend," I lie. "Were you sleeping?" Hang up already, you dumb bitch.

"No," he answers.

"You sounded like you were asleep," I say, willing myself to shut the fuck up. Why am I still talking about him being asleep?

"Did you call to interrogate me?" he asks.

"I'm not interrogating you," I say. I probably am, though.

"Doesn't seem like it," he says, humor lacing his voice. "Are you sleeping?"

I look at the clock. It is pretty late. "No. I'm not sleepy, and I'm bored." I can't decide if I should be happy the conversation is still going, or be upset at myself for oversharing.

"So I'm your entertainment?" he asks. His tone gives nothing away and I hate it. I always need to see people to actually understand how they're feeling.

"No," I say quickly. Unless you want to be.

"Shame," he murmurs. "I'm actually in need of entertainment myself."

I lose my words again. He always just casually says something that makes my whole body react.  "Um. What are you doing right now?" Please, Nova. Please shut the fuck up.

I start flipping through movies, not being able to focus on anything but the conversation. Just listening to him makes my whole body buzz. Only an idiot would think that.

"Talking to you," he answers.

"You're annoying," I say, holding back my smile.

"You are one to talk," he retorts, earning a scoff from me. 

"Rude," I mutter.

"I'm reading, Scott," he answers my earlier question. "Some people do that."

"I read!" I retort. "Just not as much as I want to."

"How come," he asks, voice still raspy.

 "I never have time, energy, or motivation," I answer. "Plus, there's always something more important to do."

"What are you reading right now?" he asks.

"Looking for Alaska," I say. "It's my second time starting it. I couldn't get past the beginning the first time." Why do I keep saying more than I need to?

"Never read it," he says.

How does he just remember? "Do you remember everything right off the top of your head?" I ask, unable to help from saying it.

"Not everything, but books are easy to remember," he answers.

I laugh, "I can't remember anything. I always have to write things down."

"I know," he says. "You used to write your to-do list on my arm." Highschool. The topic always makes me nervous.

His words bring a smile to my lips. "Well, that's only because you'd remember to remind me. If I wrote it on my own arm, I'd forget that it was there." And it was fun writing on him. He'd never complain.

I tilt my head against the back of my couch, staring at my ceiling. I'm surprised that this is going so well. It always feels so natural talking to him, but I still get nervous because I'm an idiot and could very easily ruin everything with my words.

"What are you doing right now?" he asks, changing the topic to me.

"Trying to find a movie to watch," I answer, not looking away from the ceiling. "What's your favorite movie?" Sometimes we'd sit in his dorm and I'd force him to watch a movie with me, but he'd usually get bored and start playing with my hair.

"I don't like movies," he says after some time.

"Why?" I ask, curious. "I watch a lot." I can't imagine someone not watching movies. Reading and watching movies are very similar in the way that they both provide a distraction, but with books, you are required to visualize the images and with movies, you just have to process.

"They're a waste of time to me," he says. "I don't have the patience to sit through the whole thing."

I almost smile. "I feel that way about books and you feel that way about movies."

"Books are better," he says.

I shake my head even though he can't see. "Movies are better if you don't want to think."

"No," he disagrees. "Movies give you all the time in the world to think."

"Not if you're actually watching what's going on," I sigh. "Some of them are really entertaining."

"I have better shit to do. Do you know what I could get done in the time it takes to watch a movie?" he asks.

"You don't have anything better to do right now," I state.

"I think that's obvious. Considering I'm talking to you," I can hear the smile in his voice. I wish I could see it. Nevermind. I can't be thinking like that.

"You suck," I retort.

"So do you, Scott," he says. If I hadn't learned to decipher his tone, I'd probably be insulted. I think conversations are based on tone and emotions. Without either you have no grasp of what's going on.

I get an idea, and I don't know how to act on it, so I just say, "Waste time with me, then. We can watch a movie together."

He pauses and my stomach spins, "I don't know if you know this, but we're on the phone."

I laugh, "I'm not dumb. I mean putting on the same movie and watching it."

"What's the point?" he asks in his still sleepy voice.

"It's fun," I shrug.

After some time, he sighs. "Fine, but I swear to god make me watch some sappy shit, and I'm hanging up."

I laugh even harder this time, "Scary threat."

"What are we watching?" I can practically envision him rolling his eyes.

I flip through the movies, "Umm have you see Harry Potter?"

"No," he answers.

"You've never seen Harry Potter!?" I practically yell.

"I just said that I didn't watch movies," he sighs.

"I'm gonna force you to have a marathon with me one day," I state.

"So you plan on forcing me to watch movies over the phone in the future?" he sounds amused.

"You're my bitch," I grin. "Why not?"

"That's strike one," he warns.

"For what?" I scoff. Sensitive bitch. "Do you have popcorn?"

"You get three strikes until I hang up," he clarifies. "And, I'll check."

"Who the hell doesn't have popcorn?" I mutter, putting my own popcorn in the microwave. "Weirdo."

"Me," he says.

"Loser," I say, walking back to the floor- realizing I still have to finish my dinner.

"Just chose a movie," he says.

"Jeez, have patience," I say with a grin. "This is probably why you have no friends."

"Is that so?" he asks.

"Oh yeah," I nod solemnly at my t.v.

"It's funny, I could say the same thing for you?" he says, sounding very invested in anything but this conversation.

"I hate you," I frown.

"Feeling's mutual," He says.

I ignore him, "Have you ever seen 5-feet-apart?"

"No," he answers.

"Then we won't watch it," I state. "I want to see you cry in person."

"Great goals," he tells me.

"I know," I answer. "Oh, I know what we should watch. It's a movie called About Time."

"Is it sappy?" he asks.

"No," I state defensively. "We have to start it at the same time, otherwise it's dumb."

"Okay," he says.

I smile before counting down from 3, listening as the movies start playing. A few minutes of the movies go by and we both occasionally make comments- mostly me telling him to stop making fun of the characters.

"Have you ever been to London?" I ask when one of the characters says something about not liking London.

"Yeah," he says, sounding distracted. "I'm going to a conference there next week."

My heart sinks. I don't even know why. Considering we've gone multiple weeks without talking. The thought of him being even more distant than I already make him makes my whole body sink.

"Oh," I say, hoping I don't sound disappointed. "How long will you be gone?"

"Two weeks," he answers. "Not long."

"That is a long time," I state. It's a painfully long time.

"What?" he asks, clearly amused. "Are you gonna miss me?"

No. Maybe. "So much," I say sarcastically. "I'll be counting down the days."

I hear him hum, sounding amused. His whole presence feels like a rare thing to grasp and I'm always scared that something will push us apart again. Though, if anything, it will be me.

"Write letters," he tells me.

"Two every day," I falsely promise, continuing our charade.

"Good," he says. 

I laugh, feeling okay when we fall into silence. I love to overthink silence, but right now, it flutters around us like the soft autumn breeze that sounds against my windows.

My body knows every movement, but I'm still so prone to mistakes. My body will learn what my mind can't comprehend.

Then a scene comes on where they're on the subway. I have so many subway stories and I wonder if Theo has any. "Have you ever ridden the subway?" I ask.

"No," he answers. "Never needed to."

I pause, "Never?"

"Never," he confirms.

"But you've lived here for almost 4 years," I say. I know it isn't that big of a deal, but I think riding the subway is something everyone needs to do once. It's a weirdly important thing to me.

"I've had a car for all four years," he says.

"You need to ride the subway," I say.

"Mmm, do I," he asks.

"Yes you do," I insist.

"No. I don't feel like forcing myself into a crowded and dirty space when I could just drive my own car," he retorts.

"I hate it too sometimes, but it's also one of my favorite places," I say. I'm realizing how different we are in that sense.

Then, I get an idea and if he doesn't agree, I will be thoroughly embarrassed. However, if it does work, I'll have an excuse to not fall asleep for a long time tonight.

I'll have an excuse to live, and I really need that right now. I look at the clock. It's late, but it's not absurdly late.

"You are going to ride the subway with me," I tell him.

"Scott, I'll buy you a damn car if you need a ride that bad," he says. I know he's joking, but with him, you can never be too sure.

"Ha ha," I say. "Right now."

He's silent before saying, "No."

"Yes," I say.

"Do you understand what time it is right now?" he asks.

"It's midnight," I say. "Do you plan on sleeping anytime soon?"

Theo's POV

She's insane. Fucking crazy. Sometimes, I genuinely wonder if she runs on drugs. She's just told me to ride the subway with her. It's midnight. I can't decide if talking to her is a mistake or not anymore.

"I can't," I admit, not sure why it matters.

"You can't what?" she asks, her voice sounding anxious.

"Sleep," I answer. I turn off the T.V.

"So you have no excuse," she says, still sounding unsure.

I sigh. I have nothing to do, and if giving her my night means being away from my own life for the night, then so be it. I have too many nights to spare. "Okay," I say with finality.

"I'll send you the address," her voice is laced with relief.

As I get up from my couch and grab my coat and shoes, I feel a foreign feeling enter me. I don't do shit like this.

I am anything but spontaneous, but tonight is no longer a night of my own. I'm giving it to her- the only way to get her to talk to me.

There's an excitement in doing shit you don't understand. I used to do things like this as a way to give myself everything life couldn't.

I'd get drunk and jump off the bridge at Donahue with Nova- even though she hated it. I liked it most because when we'd jump, she'd cling to me like she actually needed me.

This isn't the same, but the feeling is close. The excitement of feeling adrenaline entering your system just in time to mute the fear.

The way you can hear your own heartbeat afterward. It's a feeling I miss- something I forgot how to do.

Now, as I'm leaving my apartment in the dead of night to meet a girl at the subway station, I'm realizing just how little can make you feel so much.

How the thought of losing my night to do things I've never done with a person I hardly know anymore fills my body with a rush.

I lock my apartment door, finding myself on the sidewalk just a few minutes later. It's dark outside, and I'm passing stores that I don't ever pay enough attention to.

I've started doing that thing where I look at things the way Nova does. It's making me realize how much I don't comprehend my own surroundings.

The roads are still busy, some stores are still open, and people are still lingering on the streets. The world is a passing thing- something I don't deem important enough to reign my attention, but with that, I'm losing sight of what living means.

I have no choice but to walk to the address Nova sent me since I don't plan on taking my perfectly usable car for no reason.

Luckily it's close to where I live. My body is tired, but my mind is moving too fast. I'm thinking about nothing, but I'm also thinking about everything- but just like with everything else, it's dull.

I was told that you could find something in everything, but I don't want to. I can't.

Nova

I'm leaving my apartment. I changed into a black sweater and random jeans I found on the floor. I hate to admit that I spent five minutes on my hair.

Just because I want to look nice. I don't know why I want that. But I'd do it for everyone. That's how much I crave other people's validation. Or maybe you just crave his. Shut up.

Then, I'm grabbing my things, and the first coat I see before walking outside. I'm not certain he'll be there, which is the main reason for my fingers playing with the frayed ends of my sweater as I walk.

It's better to feel the silence and not just hear it. It's better to have a reason for feeling alone. It just feels better to know you aren't missing anything because life seems to stop when the sun sets.

I have to take a subway to get to the station I told him to meet at. The ride is quick and when I get there, I map the unfamiliar streets.

As I approach the second subway station, my heart rate picks up. My eyes frantically search the dark for the familiar face that I'm supposed to meet.

I know he can't be inside because he doesn't have a metro card. I walk to one of the cold brick walls, leaning my shoulder against it.

There are still people out on the streets, but not as much as there would be during the day. The air is cold- the kind that settles on your skin, freezes the tip of your nose and the peaks of your cheeks but is the harshest on your bare fingers.

I pull the sleeves of the sweater down enough to warm my fingers. I considered calling him, but if he didn't show up, I'd look like an idiot, so I chose to wait it out. I unravel my fingers to go on my phone.

The only source of light seems to be the streetlamp where a few moths fly around the yellow bulb.

Every few seconds, I look up to search. The third time, I look up and across the street is a tall figure who's standing.

I can't make out the face, but the curve of the shoulders, the messy hair in the wind, and the perfect posture make it impossible to not be certain. I watch as he crosses the street, I straighten as he gets closer.

I can't help but grin. When he's under the light of the lamp, I know for sure that it's him- solely because of the way that the yellow light makes his green eyes less vibrant.

His cheeks are kissed red, and the tip of his freckled nose is lingering with the same color.

He's in grey sweats and a black long-sleeved shirt that peeks out from under his jacket. He looks so nice and put together even in casual clothes.

"You made it!" I