Exit Wounds | Noah Sebastian

E I G H T E E N

I get up early the next morning, take a long shower and make a good cup of coffee, full of sugar and creamer.  I feel better after a long day of wishing he would reach out, but of course he didn't and that was okay.  I was okay.

Once a month I volunteer at a local shelter, and that was where I was headed today.  I put on old shoes and an old sweatshirt, because there's nothing glamorous about cleaning kennels and playing with puppies.

Of course Noah is about to knock on my door as I'm leaving. His hand is poised mid air when I yank the door open, clearly not expecting him.

"Hey," Noah says awkwardly as he rubs the back of his neck with the hand he was going to knock with.

"Can't chat, I'm late," I tell him, my voice is firm, but butterflies dance in my stomach. His eyes are sleepy and he's wearing an oversized hoodie. He always looks so good.

"Don't be like that," he says, blocking my path.

"Like what? I really have to get to the shelter," I tell him. His eyebrow quirks up.

"Can I come?" He blurts and he looks just ask surprised as I do.

"You want to come help me clean dog shit?" I deadpan and cross my hands over my chest. His eyes flicker unceremoniously to my chest then back to my eyes.

"Yes," he says matter-of-factly, his signature smirk is playing on his lips.

"Whatever, come on," I tell him as I get into my car.

Noah slides in next to me and instantly starts fiddling with the touch screen of my radio.

"Stop it, you'll get finger prints on the display," I scold, changing the music on the steering wheel.

"You'll get finger prints on the display," Noah mocks in a high pitched voice, I'm sure an impression of my own.

He looks pensively out of the window while my music plays loudly between us. I keep waiting for him to tell me exactly what he had planned to say when he knocked on my door. What excuse he had for avoiding me for two days after our date, avoiding me when we lived in the same place.

He doesn't say another word though as we pull up to the shelter. Noah wordlessly follows me into the small building. It's loud instantly when we walk in, dogs are howling at each other from their kennels. Noah and I are greeted by a dear friend who runs the rescue.

"Delaney, I'm so glad you could make it," she pauses to appraise Noah, "and you brought an extra set of hands."

"Jennifer, this is my friend Noah, Noah meet Jennifer, she manages the rescue." Noah gives me an odd look, like I've said something wrong.

The pair shake hands and she leads us back to where overly energetic puppies are trying to get our attention. It breaks my heart that they're here instead of with a loving family.

Noah and I each pick dogs and take them both outside, we grab a couple of tennis balls and throw them for the pups. They bring them back eagerly a few times before they start chasing each other. Noah stays outside and watches the dogs while I clean their kennels.

We pick two more dogs and repeat the process, only this time Noah cleans while I watch the dogs. We go through this process over and over until we have thoroughly worn out all of the dogs here.

We spend time with the cats too, but soon it's time to go home. I hug Jennifer on our way out and slip her a check. It's expensive to keep up all these animals, and I try to help out when I can.

Once Noah and I are settled back in the car, he finally talks.

"I'm sorry about the last couple of days."