Page 77 of Inseparable
Danny and Devin. I chuckle to myself. With matching names, and their scorching-hot good looks, they belong in a boy band or modeling on the front cover of magazines.
I enter their building, bounding up the stairs to the third floor, bubbling with excitement. As I approach the right apartment door, Danny emerges, all wrapped up snuggly for the cold weather in a parka and thick woolen scarf. “Hey, Ange. What’s up? You looking for Dev?”
“Yeah. Is he here?”
“He’s just stepped out. We needed a few things at the store, but he should be back shortly. I’m running late to meet my tutor, but you can wait, if you like.” He opens the door, gesturing me inside.
“You’re sure he won’t mind?” I’ve gotten the distinct impression that Devin doesn’t want me visiting him here. Wealwayshang out at my place.
Danny’s eyes widen as if he’s just realized something. “Nah. Course he won’t. Make yourself at home.Explore.” He enunciates the word, his eyes dancing with merriment, and a tinge of apprehension creeps up my spine as I step foot over the threshold.
The door shuts behind me, and I stand awkwardly in the middle of their living space. It’s a large, bright, airy room and a total mancave. A ginormous three-seater black leather couch rests in front of the bay window. The small coffee table houses a multitude of men’s magazines. Two black leather recliners face a large TV, and there’s a game console and a myriad of gaming equipment on the floor underneath the TV. Posters of topless girls hang on the walls, and I roll my eyes. How cliché. The small kitchen and dining area is neat and tidy, and I know that’s pure Devin.
A corridor leads to two bedrooms and a bathroom. I poke my head into the rooms—Danny said I could nose around so I don’t feel too guilty. I know I’ve found Devin’s bedroom the instant I open the door. I stand rooted to the hardwood floor in shock as the door swings fully open, exposing what Devin clearly didn’t want me to see.
Danny knows it too. The little sneak.
I walk into the room slowly, my eyes bugging out of my head. Every spare inch of wall is covered.
With pictures and photos of me.
It’s like a shrine, and I don’t know what to make of it. My fingers trace over Devin’s drawings. There are so many of them! He’s signed and dated them all and they span years. He’s captured me in all manner of poses and activities. Playing baseball with Ayden in my backyard. Swinging off the trees in the woods near our hideout. Sunbathing on the wooden deck out by the lake. Throwing snowballs with Mom on the road outside our house one Christmas. He’s even drawn my ballet recitals, capturing me mid-flow during school plays, and racing around the running track at school, trailing my classmates like the slowpoke I am.
Devin always had a pad in hand when we were younger. He wasalwaysdrawing, but he rarely showed us his work, and after a while Ayden and I gave up asking.
Now I know what he was doing.
He was immortalizing me on canvas, and I. Had. No. Idea.
Tears cascade down my cheeks as I walk around the room, my fingers tracing the drawings, my eyes struggling to take it all in. An errant sob slips out of my mouth as I zone in on the photos of me at prom. These ones aren’t drawings. They are actual photographs, clearly taken at the event. Either someone took them and sent them to him or… he was actually there.
I drop to the ground on my butt, surrounded by evidence of Devin’s love. Some might call it obsession.
I’m calling it a miracle.
How many nights did I cry myself to sleep begging God to make him love me?Wishing it was me he was kissing and taking to his bed and not some skank he picked up at a party.
More nights than I care to admit.
Now I’m in the midst of the confirmation my heart has sought.
And I’m confused.
Or scared.
Probably a bit of both.
I don’t know what to do with this knowledge, and he was keeping it from me for a reason.
Do I let him know I know or keep quiet about it?
One part of me wants to fling myself into his arms and never let go.
Another part of me wants to flee. Afraid to confront the magnitude of both our feelings and what it might mean.
This room is the physical manifestation of all my dreams come true.
But I’m terrified.
