~Madisen~

I haven't heard from Ignacio all day, which is unlike him.

In the single week we have known each other, anyway.

A pounding sensation like an oncoming migraine reverberates its threat of searing pain throughout my body, and it takes a full minute of deconstructing this unexpected physiological takeover to comprehend my own fears. An eerie instinct deep in my bones knows Ignacio is upset with me, and I feel in my gut and my throat and the pit of my chest that I can't handle it.

In between history (in which Noah tucked himself into the back corner of the room to avoid me) and Recreación, I text Ignacio to confirm our date tonight.

Hola hermosa.

I'm flooded with relief at his greeting, only to fling backwards off the emotional balance beam I'm straddling with his following message. Its English translation is:

I don't think I can take you out tonight, I'm super tired from the past week.

The statement is entirely reasonable, but this isn't how someone would word a date cancelation if they truly wanted to see you.

Hot tears pool in the corner of my eyes for the millionth time in the past day.

Are you mad?

The lake comes into view as I stride with hurried steps up the hill towards the sports stadium, realizing that texting has slowed my pace and caused me to be late for class.

Not with you, Caperucita Roja. It was surprising to learn you live with another guy you never mentioned.

Reaching the peak of the hill, I heave in air with a level of despair that is utterly disproportional to the current situation.

I'm so sorry! I didn't even remember to mention him because I've been having such a great time getting to know you. Is that why you don't want to see me?

Reaching the gym, the blaring noise clatters at my nervous system. I can't bring myself to go inside, leaving the conversation in limbo.

Hey, are you in class? I can meet you between shifts so we can talk in person.

A half-hour later, I've ditched class for the first time in my life and am seated, straight-spined as a ballerina, on a bench in the plaza by my house, tapping my tennis shoe anxiously into the dusty dirt.

"¡Holis!" The cute greeting (a playful version of hola) eases my tension half a degree.

I'm dying for him to melt away my worries with a sensual kiss, picking back up where we left off at dawn, but he pulls me into a warm hug instead.

"Hey, sporty," Ignacio says to me, eyeing me in the yoga pants and sweatshirt I'm wearing for the class I've just ditched. "You look cute like that. Very sexy."

When he brushes the area from my hips to upper thighs, fingertips tingling with desire, my relief manifests as small sobs sucked in like a baby awaiting its bottle, desperate for her primal needs to be met.

"What's wrong?"

"Do you not want to see me anymore?"

"Of course I do!" Ignacio wraps me up in his large arms, holding me as my spasms subside. "I'm so crazy about you."

"But you're mad at me over Noah."

"I like you, a lot. How long have we known each other?"

"A week, exactly," I answer, a small laugh escaping as I wipe my tears, the salty buildup scratchy in the corners of my eyelids.

"I've never felt like this about someone, let alone after a week. Have you?"

"Never." My thoughts flash to Noah, who is the only other boy I've ever felt strongly for (I don't count Gabe from high school, because I was literally a child then with no sense of rational judgment). The buildup towards my non-relationship with Noah, which evaporated into a thick air of twisted confusion, was unlike the past week with Ignacio in every way.

"That's why I had a strong reaction when I discovered you live with another guy you never told me about."

His words strike me like a forceful slap across the face; a whirlpool of despair over the injustice of his accusations stirs inside me. Yet I can't help but admit to myself that half of my obsessive thoughts this week have been consumed by Noah--worrying if our friendship is ruined, agonizing over the fact that he hurt me and I hurt him.

"We were paired to live together by the exchange agency," I offer in defense.

"The point is that I want you to be transparent with me."

"It never came up in conversation. We have been chatting about other things, tons of random conversations. I wasn't intentionally hiding anything. He's been out of town this whole week, so I was focused on you."

I'm aware of the desperation in my rambling explanation. My feelings for Ignacio have thrown my whole universe off kilter; I don't feel like myself. God, I'm falling so hard in love.

It's terrifying, but exhilarating. I want everything with this man standing in front of me.

"You," he begins, lowering his voice into a seductive, teasing tone and tapping my nose, "are so beautiful, so sexy, so sweet... that you are going to drive any guy you live with crazy like you drive me crazy."

I can't even deny what he is saying, because Noah literally declared his love to me this morning. This whole situation is so messed up!

"So forgive my jealousy," Ignacio continues with a smirk, reducing the proximity between us bit by bit.

"Sorry I didn't mention it. I wasn't thinking about it like that."

"It's okay, Caperucita Roja. Just tell me you guys don't have any history together?"

God, what the heck am I supposed to say to that? My heart is racing to the point I imagine beads of sweat flinging off of it as it sprouts legs and sprints through a hamster wheel.

My expression must betray the truth, because Ignacio's face flops from jocular to a horrifying mix of worried, hurt and angry.

"He... he liked me... before. But we never ended up in a relationship." The stuttering, sputtering Spanish crumbling out of my mouth like the broken remnants of trail mix at the end of a bag reveals guilt and turmoil. I'm ruining things with every word I speak!

Even amidst my panic over the hammer I'm taking to the opal glass wall of perfection I've built around Ignacio and myself, my heart is squeezing inside my chest for Noah. I despise myself for hurting him.

"Did you like him back?"

"No!" I blurt out, lying. "I like you!"

I guess the burst of raw emotion, as my eyes digging at his explode with sharp crystal tears, rips through his jealousy; the next thing I know, Ignacio's soft lips are locked in mine, wriggling into me with need, receding back with that pulsing tension of it all being too much. Too much.

His teeth clamp down on my bottom lip as hard as possible while remaining gentle, his breath rasping, heat filling the space of my mouth; we need each other even as we have each other.

Ignacio breaks away with the sound of a whimper that's somehow strong and masculine.

"God, you drive me so crazy."

I hear my own whimpery gasp draw in sharply.

"Don't break my heart, Madisen." The childhood trauma oozing from his eyes, pain layered in fossilized browns of grief, tugs my heart in directions I've never known. I want my love to flood over whatever memories have him gazing into my face this way, a landslide of goodness and pureness and joy replacing his past.

"I have to go to work." Ignacio releases a chain of breathy curse words across my forehead as he laments leaving me so soon. "I'll see you tonight."

"I thought we weren't going out tonight?"

"We are. I'll drink some coffee. I have to see you." His words are dark chocolate syrup swirling along every inch of my skin, provoking goosebumps.

Tears sting my eyes with relief. The misunderstanding seems patched up, and now that I have heard his side of things, I understand where the jealousy was coming from.

Muddled into my relief is recognition that his earlier excuse of being too tired to go out was, indeed, a cover up. I'm outright distressed over the notion of him being upset with me... and the way my emotions have become embedded into him is startling.

* * *

~Noah~

After Madisen leaves with Ignacio that night, I pace my room for fifteen minutes before finally calling my mom.

I pretend everything is normal for a few minutes. Mom's mood is chipper; Dad is home for the next two weeks and has taken my sisters out for frozen yogurt. She rambles on about an exhibition she's organizing with a group of artist friends.

"You had a good trip, then?" she asks, turning the conversation towards me when she senses my lack of engagement in the dialogue.

"Mom?" My throat tangles up in a dreamcatcher of bright red yarn.

"Sweetie?"

"I didn't want to burden you with this, but I'm just going to tell you."

Releasing a heavy sigh from deep inside my chest, I tilt my head towards the ceiling. I fucking hate opening up to my parents about my feelings.

"Go ahead, Noah Bear."

"Just... it's that... I've gotten my heart broken, and I know I'm going to be fine, but it fucking sucks so much."

I'm forced to stop there because another word would tug out a sob along with it, and I have no intention of completely falling apart over the phone with my mother right now.

"Oh, Noah." Mom's tone is warm and fluffy. "Madisen?"

I have taken great care to barely mention her to my family, because the four women I grew up with have a knack for picking up the tiniest of emotional clues and spinning, folding, cutting and painting them into fantastical, rainbow pop-up fairy tale books.

"Yeah, Madisen." My chest aches like I've caught the flu.

Mom's empathetic breathing fills the other line from across the equator.

"Ugh," I whine, flopping back onto the bed.

"Do you want to talk about what happened?"

"No."

"It's okay not to be fine for a while, Noah Bear. It's supposed to hurt."

"I know." Still prostrate on the bed, I massage my temples aggressively and release a dramatic groan. "Stupid, freaking cheesy thing I can't believe I'm about to say..."

"Go ahead, sweetie. I love cheesy."

"I know you do, Mom," I deadpan with feigned annoyance. "Blech. Thanks for... ugh... modeling what it's like to have your heart broken and eventually rallying. I feel, like... one degree less devastated because I've watched you go through losing what you love and handling it."

I hear a spasm of a sob as Mom stifles her sniffles on the other side.

"Noah," she croons. "God. I don't think I was modeling anything. I always felt like I all but gave up during those years. I couldn't make it to your guys' events or even get it together enough to leave the house most days."

"Yeah, exactly. You showed what it was like to really feel the pain, to let it affect you. Not over-pushing yourself or pretending everything was fine, because it wasn't. But you survived those years, and now you're putting together your own art show."

"Hm." She pauses, pensive, allowing the silence to sit in calm between us. "Wow."

I hear Mom gently blowing her nose from across the equator.

"Okay, can we move on," I state. "My soul is shriveling in all this sentimentality."

Mom laughs.

"So, what's your coping plan, sweetheart? Your emotional outlet."

"Getting drunk and making out with girls at the club," I answer without hesitation. There's a moment of visceral silence in which the heat of my mom's worry radiates into my eardrums from 8000 miles away. "Relax mom, I'm joking! I've  only done that once so far."

She releases a guttural scoff before chuckling. I can hear her rolling her eyes through the phone.

In reality, my coping mechanisms that evening wind up being extremely uninteresting. I pull out my texts for Greek Mythology and begin reading. After skipping a week of classes with my buddies in Santiago, I'm way behind on schoolwork.

My eyes are burning by the time I've finished last week's chapters and created an outline for the essay due Monday. I remove my glasses and rub my palms over my eyelids. I pretend I'm not keenly aware of the fact that Madisen has yet to return from her date. It's definitely time for me to sleep off the emotional tidal wave of today.

Instead, a speck of recklessness has me picking up the phone and dialing Clara.

"Hey, Noah." Her greeting is upbeat, and I'm relieved because I just realized how late it is.

"Hey, you weren't sleeping, were you?" Our conversation defaults to English. I'm too fucking exhausted to speak another language right now.

"Not anymore." She allows me to cringe for a moment before adding: "Just kidding. I was awake, doom-scrolling."

"Don't do that, Clara. It's not healthy." I state the obvious with an even tone, hoping she'll catch my sarcasm over the phone.

"Yes, thank you for that sound advice, Noah." She's right in sync with my feeble attempt at humor.

I'm aware that she's dating somebody, but there's this little spark of rebellious satisfaction in bonding with Madisen's best friend behind her back while she's out with Ignacio that's egging me on. It's fucking petty as hell, I know.

"What are you doing up so late--pining for Madisen?" I hear her working on something chewy in her mouth.

"Ouch, cut straight to the chase."

"Well." The word conveys a shrug.

"I was studying Greek mythology."

"Is that a... very strange euphemism?" Whatever she was chewing up goes down her throat with a loud and lumpy swallow.

"God! No." I laugh, and it feels good. "I was studying. What are you eating?"

"Jesus. I freaking hate that class."

"I like it."

"And that's why you and Madisen are perfect for each other." She sighs slightly. "Seriously, how are you holding up? She's pretty into that other guy."

"I'm fine."

"Liar."

"Yep, I am. It fucking sucks. Let's talk about something else. How's the boyfriend?"

"Emiliano." She utters his name like a Disney princess gazing longingly after her prince charming. "I love him already. But I'm not getting attached to someone here. Seriously, what the hell is Madisen thinking, going out with that guy every night?"

"It's only been a week, right?" My whole body tenses up, heat rushing to my head.

"Exactly, it's only been a week, and she's already let herself completely fall for him. I've never really seen her like this before. She skipped class today to meet up with him."

"Madisen never cuts class."

I guess all the hesitancy around guys was bullshit code for: I'm just not that into you.

Or perhaps she has simply found the love of her life.

"Oh, shit! You said you don't want to talk about this. Sorry, Noah!"

I chuckle. She really can be funny.

"It's cool. Seriously, what are you eating over there?"

"Frugelé. They're fruity candies. I'm obsessed." The smacking sound of the jelly substance hits my eardrums again, and I can't help sniggering at Clara.

After a pause, a sort of sardonic laughter billows out of me like poisonous smoke. "I'm so fucking stupid. I really thought that our friendship was turning romantic, that I could just allow the flirting to develop naturally without some kind of formal proclamation. Then she just slipped from my hands."

"In all fairness, it was pretty obvious how you felt towards her. She could have seen you more."

I'm about to ask Clara why she didn't meddle or push Madisen to open up to me, in the way that Armani has been nudging me all this time to make my move, but the logical answer surfaces on its own. Perhaps she was hoping we wouldn't happen. Now, she's got a Chilean lover of her own.

Whatever.

I take a risk in broaching the next topic, confidence bolstered by the openness and vulnerability in our conversation so far.

"How's the anxiety and eating stuff going?"

"Jesus, did Madisen tell you?"

"Well, yeah, but I've also noticed."

"Oh, oka-ay." There's a beat of silence. "Well, don't worry, Doctor Noah, I'm talking to a professional about it."

I can't tell whether she's irritated at me for prying or merely using sarcasm to cover her own feelings of awkwardness.

"That's good. Let me know if you need a friend to talk to ever."

"Thanks, Noah." Her tone has turned soft and smiley. "We should get to sleep."

"We should. Actually get to sleep, though, yeah? Turn your phone off--no more scrolling." I wink, even though she can't see me.

"Okie dokie, Dad."

I chuckle; her sass over the past ten minutes has unexpectedly lifted my mood. "G'night."

"Night, night. Hey Noah, keep your head up. You're a catch."