The Infinite Noise (The Bright Sessions, #1)

by Lauren Shippen

It’s not that I don’t like Moses—it’s that Moses reminds me too much of myself, and that’s a real bummer to be around sometimes.

Quiet. Blue-green. Not sharp like red and orange, but deep. Endless. It fills me up, empties me out. Clears out the sludge, the pins and needles, but makes me tense. Restless. I open my eyes. Find his. Adam.

I do not excel at having feelings.

We don’t always have to love ourselves in order to receive love from others.

the random thought pops into my head of I want to make him smile again.

Adam’s emotions clear out everything; they quiet the infinite noise of the world and let me find

the yellow parts of me that hurt.

I’ve never wanted to kiss anyone more. Oh. Oh.

He’s looking at me fondly—like he missed me—and I feel like I need to sit down. I am sitting down. Jesus, get it together, Feelings Boy.

I don’t know what’s worse—feeling like the world is going to end or feeling like the world isn’t even worth ending.

We don’t have the liberty of telling each other, “Hey, I’m having a depressive episode so I’m sorry for being distant or weird or useless or making myself bleed. I wish I could say that this is a one-time thing and will never happen again, but it isn’t and it will. I don’t want to be around you right now or during those times at all, but I would love if you took care of me and sat silently in the corner of the room

for when I need someone to hug me. You will get nothing in return except for maybe my friendship when the cloud lifts and I can be human for two seconds. Hope that’s all good with you!”

But we don’t say that. We say, “I’m fine.” We say, “It’s nothing.” We make excuses that we know aren’t true and that they know aren’t true but we both pretend anyway like we’ve all agreed to have this col...

“I’m fine,” I lie on autopilot (it’s always a lie).

but what if he thinks playlist-making is some sort of overture? That I’m hitting on him with music? Oh god, that’s exactly what I’m doing.

Just something to keep you company on the bus—Adam

“It’s just you,” he breathes, “I like you.”

He’s out of breath, like he’s run here (oh my god, did he run here?), red-nosed and completely fucking beautiful.

And then. The cacophony inside of me transforms into a symphony. There’s no warmup, no build; just instant, intricate, immeasurably beautiful music. The icy weather is a distant memory—every part of me is drowned in the most comfortable fire. I’m more aware of my body than I ever have been but also my entire

world is narrowed down to Caleb’s lips on mine.

I’m not—” I stop, realizing that what I was about to say isn’t true. “Well, I mean, I guess I know what I’m not. I’m not straight. I guess. I mean, I like Adam. And that’s good. So. Yeah.”