Page 85 of Inseparable
“That’s bullshit, Ange, and I’m not letting you blackmail me into this.” A glint of anger flashes in his green eyes before he controls it. His features soften as he takes a few steps forward, stopping a couple feet in front of me. “You need some space, and I can give you that. But don’t ask me to walk away indefinitely, because I can’t agree to that. And if you try to push me permanently away, I’ll just keep coming back. There is nothing you can say or do that will keep me away from you.” He touches my face before I can stop him. “Loving you means I stick by your side even when we’ve both hit our lowest points. Loving you means I understand that you need time to come to terms with this and being selfless enough to give it to you.” He kisses me softly. “I’m leaving now, but it’s not goodbye. This is me giving you your space.”
He stops in the doorway. “Take as much time as you need. I’m going nowhere.”
The next month rolls by in an agonizing slow fashion, and I hardly step foot outside the front door. I should be back at college by now, Devin too, but I can’t summon the strength to even care. Devin texts me every single day to tell me he loves me and he’s thinking of me, but he doesn’t come over, and the tightness in my chest eases a little.
Now, I only have to pretend for Mom.
She’s worried sick about me. She’s begged me to meet with a therapist, but I’m steadfastly refusing. I know what she wants. What Devin wants. To have someoneneutraltell me the things they are repeating like a mantra: that it’s not my fault, that Ayden wouldn’t want me to throw my life away like this, and that it’s a tragedy no one could’ve predicted.
But I don’t want to hear those things anymore.
All I know is he’s dead, and it’s my fault, and I’m still here.
And I’m beginning to really hate myself and my shallowness. Maybe if I hadn’t been so obsessed with Devin, I’d have seen Ayden. Likereallyseen him. If I was any use as a friend, as a girlfriend, I would have seen the extent of his despair. But I was too wrapped up in myself to notice.
Why can’t they see what a horrible person I am?
Why can’t Devin see that I’m the rotten apple in our pack?So many times, we pointed the finger at him, when I was the damaged one all along. I’m doing him a favor by pushing him away. He can do so much better than me. And who knows, if he stays with me, I may end up driving him to take his own life too.
I can’t hurt anyone else I love, which is why I made the plan. Now I just need to execute it.
Mom’s used up all her vacation time, so she has to return to work. I know she doesn’t want to leave me alone, so it’s no surprise when I come downstairs and discover Devin sprawled across the couch watching the TV on low.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I huff, yanking the refrigerator open. I pour a glass of juice, before slamming the refrigerator closed again.
He gets up, sauntering into the kitchen, his eyes roaming my body in alarm. I’m in dirty yoga pants and Ayden’s old football sweater. The bird’s nest in my hair is matted and greasy, and I know I’ve got massive bags under my eyes. He looks as perfect as ever. Clearly, I’m the only one struggling to deal with this.
“Jesus, Ange.” He sucks in a gasp. “You’re skin and bone. You need to eat.”
“I repeat. I. Do. Not. Need. A. Babysitter. I don’t want you here. Go home.” I feel a tinge of guilt at the hurt look in his eyes but not enough to stop. “Better yet, go back to college where you belong.”
“I’ll return when you do.”
“Then I guess you’ll be waiting a while.” At this point, I’ve zero intention of ever returning.
“I guess so.”
“How long are you going to keep this up?”
“For as long as I need to.”
“That’s going to be a very long time indeed.”
He shrugs. “I can wait.”
His stubborn determination jars something loose inside me. I freak out, screaming from the pit of my lungs as I throw my half-empty glass at the wall. It shatters upon impact, spraying shards of glass and sticky liquid all over me and the floor.
“Fuck.” Devin carefully lifts me up and onto a stool, inspecting my arms. Tiny streaks of blood pool in all the places where bits of glass have embedded in my arms. “Stay here.” He bounds up the stairs, three at a time, returning a minute later with the first aid kit. I’m like a mute statue as he tends to my cuts, sweeps up the glass, and mops the floor. He comes to stand in front of me. “Ange, you need to speak to someone. Please, I’m begging you.”
I wet my dry lips, staring off into space as an idea comes to me. I keep my gaze averted, not wanting to lie to his face. “Actually, I think I want to return to college.”
“You do?” I detect the skepticism in his tone.
“Yes. Routine will be good for me, and there are less memories of him there.”
He holds my head in his hands, forcing my eyes to lock on his. He carefully scrutinizes my face, probing for the truth. I keep my face impassive. I’ve spent years shielding my true emotions from him, so it’s a cakewalk. “That’s good, but you still need to speak to someone.”
“I will. They’ve got counselors on campus, right?” I hop down off the stool. “I’ll make an appointment as soon as we get back.” He frowns and his eyes narrow. He knows something’s up, but he can’t figure out why. “I’m going to pack.”
