Through the Screen

Chapter 104

tired, tired, tired. abel 's half open eyes are burning with the lack of sleep, his movements annoyingly

slow and lethargic and his face expressionless as he sits on the dining table, willing his ears to avoid

the conversation going on between noah and his mother in the kitchen. he hasn't looked at noah since

he walked out of their—noah's bedroom last night, and he wants to keep it that way. he could go a day

without the mental breakdown of watching noah's eyes go colourless as soon as they meet his, his

pretend smile falling and his sharp features turning morose at the reminder of their situation.

the smell of pancakes and pine needles fills his lungs in a bittersweet manner, his throat with bile and

his head with memories. he can't pretend that the air isn't unforgivingly drenched with arguments and

unsaid words, that it isn't choking him with every breath he takes, that this is just like any other

christmas morning.

"how many pancakes for you, adrian?" mrs. lester yells from the kitchen, and adrian's eyes visibly light

up at his grandmother's voice. abel watches fondly as his expression changes to something more

forgiving, something he can bear to look at and he is just so grateful for noah's mother's arrival. her

bubbly persona cuts through the tension every once in a while and her wit and humour never fails to

make abel 's smiles just a little less forced.

"twenty five please," adrian yells and abel smiles a little at the conjoined laughter of noah and his

mother's coming from the kitchen.

"coming right up! and you abel?"

"i'll pass actually, i had breakfast earlier this morning," his lost appetite lies for him. pancakes had

always symbolised the happiest of this moments, the lone category of food was such an important part

of all his celebrations and all the late night dinners and all the second breakfasts because the first one

wasn't fulfilling enough. he had probably eaten pancakes more than he had smiled, and even noah's

mother's delectable cooking can do nothing to fuel his appetite.

"since when are you not hungry for pancakes? i thought they were your favourite?" mrs. lester pokes

her head out of the kitchen, an apron tied around her thin waist and a scowl of confusion on her face.

"they are," abel smiles at her half heartedly. "i'm just not hungry, i'll have some later,"

"one?" she compensates and it takes everything in abel to refuse. refusing her right now would be

better than retching the food out as soon as he finishes it.

"you're here till new years, you'll probably be making pancakes everyday so let me pass this once," he Material © of NôvelDrama.Org.

attempts to make the atmosphere lighter and she gives him an unconvinced smile before nodding her

head.

abel taps his fingers distractedly on the table top, tilting head back and letting his eyes fall shut for a

moment, sleep wanting to fight away the consciousness and it wins after a while, the clinking of pots

and pans fading into white noise and darkness slowly pooling under his eyelids. the triumph of finally

getting rest is short-lived, because after five minutes a plate is clumsily settled in front of him and his

eyes fly open in a haste, his mouth already opening in rejection.

"noah made this one for you," katherine interrupts him before he can speak, and the ache in his chest

that he worked so hard on pushing away returns with full force, staining his cheeks with

embarrassment. when he looks at her, she has a small smile on her lips and an apologetic look in her

eyes and abel wants to say something, anything, but the lump has found it's spot back under his throat.

"thanks," he mumbles finally, staring at the imperfect shape and just by looking at it he can tell it has

been made by noah. he doesn't understand what this is, why noah breaks his heart again and again

and then spits out a light of false hope. abel knows everything is too far gone to be fixed, he was finally

trying accept the idea of space and divorce and alone but every time he feels like he has taken one

step forward he is being pushed back miles by the confusion.

it would be so much easier if he knew noah didn't care, it would be so much easier if noah just

pretended to not give a fuck. the initial heartbreak would be brutal but at least there would be scope of

making progress, but what is abel supposed to do now? one minute noah wants him to leave and the

next he is worried about him not eating. one minute noah is kissing him and next he says he can't do

this anymore. one minute he says he cares and the next minute he looks like he has fallen out of love.

abel 's weak emotional state can't comprehend the complexity of noah's actions, so in a moment of

pure frustration of failing to understand what he is supposed to do—he pushes the plate away from

himself and leaves the dining the table. he is aware that adrian is calling after him, asking him where he

is going, but his head aches miserably from the events that have piled up, the events that he refuses to

think about.

he doesn't know what to make of noah's behaviour, it's confusing and heartbreaking and comforting

and annoying all at once and all it does is make abel 's already scattered emotions into a more

widespread fire, igniting his lungs and hurting his brain and he can't put a finger on how he actually

feels.

he shakes his head, trying to take a few deep breaths to calm himself but it doesn't work. nothing works

except his already overworked mind that seems to be very keen on sorting out all his emotions this

very second. he can feel the heat of anger in his chest and he isn't sure who it is directed towards—

himself or noah or just this pathetic situation.

before he does something he regrets, he quickly grabs a towel and makes his way to the bathroom, his

fingers working clumsily on the temperature knob of the shower. as the pattering sound begins and the

sprinkling turns from ice cold to steaming hot, he discards his clothes and allows his skin to come in

contact with something that burns hotter than his anger.

somewhere along the angry red lines that paint his back he can feel himself becoming calmer, the

physical pain overruling his deranged mental state only for a moment but maybe a break from thinking

was what he needed to keep remotely sane.