Page 33 of Inseparable
I can’t continue to allow him to hurt me.
He hands me the package. It’s wrapped in pale pink wrapping with tiny little hearts on it. I look from the package to him. “What is it?”
“It’s a present for you.” Before I can protest, he has placed it in my hands, curling my fingers around the edges. Blissful tremors zip up and down my arms from his touch, confirming what I already know.
I’m still attracted to him, still in love with him—I think I always will be.
I open my mouth to speak, but he covers my mouth with his fingers. “Don’t say it. Just open the present and think about it, and if you still feel the same way, I’ll keep my distance. I promise.”
I nod, hating how tears are bubbling under the surface, just waiting for an opportunity to let loose. In an ultra-smooth movement, he reels me into his arms, resting his chin on my head. He sighs, and I close my eyes, tears trickling down my face.Why does it feel so natural to be in his arms like this? Like his body was sculpted to fit perfectly against mine? Like his arms were carved to hold me in the exact right way?
An image of Becky riding his cock surges to the forefront of my mind and I pull out of his embrace, confused, upset, and horrified all at once. “Why, Devin? Why her? Of all the girls, why did it have to be her?” I sob, and Mariah comes rushing into the room.
“You need to leave.” Her tone is ice-cold. “Right now, or I’m calling Ayden.”
His mouth pulls into a severe line. “I’m leaving.” His eyes pin me in place, and they burn fiercely. “I don’t know, and I wish I could undo it, but I can’t, so all I can promise is to make it up to you. Open the present and, when you’re ready, call me and we can talk.” He turns around, and walks away, stopping abruptly in the doorframe. I’m clinging to Mariah’s arm, tears streaming down my face. He looks over his shoulder, and his expression softens. “I know you probably don’t believe this, but I hate that I’ve hurt you, and I’d give anything for a do-over.” His chest visibly inflates, and tears pool in his eyes. He stares at me in that magnetic way of his, and the air changes, simmering with dark intensity. I lose the ability to breathe as our gazes remain locked on one another. Mariah and I are both momentarily frozen in place while we wait for him to speak. “Never forget, Ange.” His voice is soft, reverential, sincere. “You promised.”
Then he walks out, taking another piece of my heart with him.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“Good God,” Mariah exclaims, holding a hand to her chest as I stand rooted to the spot. “That was crazy intense, and so freaking hot, and he wasn’t even speaking to me. I need a drink.”
“Excellent idea,” I hear myself saying, watching in a daze as she crosses to Mom’s liquor cabinet and swipes a bottle of vodka. I’m tempted to guzzle straight from the bottle, but waking up lovesick, heartbroken, and hungover holds zero appeal.
She pours two shots, handing one to me. I knock it back, relishing the burn as it coats the lining of my throat. “I think he means that,” she admits. “And he’s been telling everyone in school he was wasted at the party and he didn’t mean a word of what he said to you, that he cares about you.”
I just shrug, because actions speak louder than words, and Ayden was right; it is too little too late.
“And he beat Brandon to within an inch of his life for badmouthing you at Mona’s the other night.”
Guess I know how he got that bruise now. I should feel something hearing that, but I’m still numb. Numb over everything that’s happened. And numb over Devin’s words. I remember what he said. How I promised never to forget that we are in each other’s hearts. But I don’t want to be reminded of it now. Not when I’m broken, and we’re apart, and there’s no likely development that changes either of those scenarios.
“I see it every time I close my eyes at night,” I admit, staring off into space. My voice is devoid of any emotion. “Her riding him. I don’t think I’ll be able to forget.”
Mariah sighs, leaning her head on my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ange. I should’ve stopped you from going into that room.”
“You tried, and I wouldn’t listen, and you were right. I can’t un-see it. I can’t forget it. And I can’t forgive him.”
We’re both silent as Mariah pours two more shots, and we drain them in one go. “I don’t know if this makes any difference, but Cody knows Becky’s older brother, and he said she’s practically spewing blood because Devin’s ignoring her and rejecting her advances.”
That should make me happy, but it only reinforces my view that she’s planning something. Becky is not the type to give up until she gets what she wants, and she wants Devin. She has this figured out, and, whatever is going down, I doubt it’s anything I’ll benefit from.
I don’t know how long I sit on my bed staring at the pretty pink wrapping while I rotate Devin’s package over and over in my hands. Ayden stayed for a few minutes after Mariah left, and I told him about Devin showing up and giving me the present. A funny expression came over his face, but he wouldn’t elaborate when I questioned him, and he went home just after that.
The house feels desolate without him, although it suits my mood perfectly.
I toss the package on the bed and take a steaming-hot shower, trying to empty my mind of all thoughts of boys, but it’s a pretty futile exercise.
When I’m in my pajamas and snuggled up under the covers, I run my finger under the edge of the pink paper, slowly peeling it back. My heart is jackhammering in my chest, and I’m almost too afraid to look. I remove the wrapping and stare at the black rectangular object in my hand. When I flip it over, I gasp, and my stomach is tied in knots.
It’s a framed drawing of me sitting under Old Man Willow. I’m wearing jean shorts and a white tank top with my purple hoodie knotted at my waist. My Converse are neatly placed at my side, and there’s a soda can and a half-eaten apple on a plate in front of me. I’m engrossed in a book, and there’s the biggest smile on my face. My hair is brushed to one side, resting on my left shoulder, with strands falling softly across my forehead. The detail in the drawing is exquisite, and Devin hasn’t missed a single thing. The edge of the infinity tattoo on my wrist is visible, and he’s even colored the bright blue nail polish I was wearing. The tiny smattering of freckles across my nose seem more pronounced under the rays of sunlight washing over me. The likeness is incredible, and I’d challenge anyone to look at this and not instantly recognize it as me. He’s even drawn the right tones in my hair and the faint blush on my cheeks.
I don’t know when he drew me like this, only that it was one day this past summer, most likely early July because my Converse still look shiny and new.
I had no idea he was watching me, let alone sketching me. He’s so talented, and it’s a damn shame he isn’t planning on doing anything with it.
A messy ball of emotion lodges in my throat, and tears spill out of my eyes unbidden. Squinting through damp, blurry eyes, I read the inscription at the bottom, sobbing openly as the familiar words imprint indelibly on my heart.
