Page 87 of Inseparable
One part of me wants to lash out at him. To inflict pain. To make him feel even a sliver of what Mom felt living with an abusive spouse, but I’m not here for that. I have a purpose, and that purpose overrides everything else. So, as much as it frustrates me to push those sentiments aside, I do what I need to.
I’m quietly confident as I tell him why I’m there. He’s reluctant to agree, until I threaten to go to the press. To divulge all the secrets he’s hiding. He doesn’t ask why I want to change the terms of my trust fund. Why I want access to all the cash that has been earmarked for college or why I need him to put me in touch with someone who can change my identity.
He doesn’t question it; he just makes it happen, because I’m one of his dirty little secrets, and my father just wants to make me go away.
A week later, I open the front door to my new life. I’m halfway across the country. I’ve cut and dyed my hair, and I’m traveling under a new name.
Angelina Ward no longer exists. She died the same day Ayden Carter did.
I enter the small one-bedroomed second-floor apartment I now call home, hoping that the rigidity in my chest will someday loosen. As I look out the large window onto the bustling street below, I promise myself that today is the last day I’ll think about them: Devin, Mom, and Mariah. My cell is chock-full of texts, missed calls, and messages. All heartfelt, teary pleas, no doubt—I can’t confirm it because I refuse to read or listen.
Doing this was harder than I thought. On more than one occasion in the last week, I’ve almost turned around.
But that’s only my selfishness talking.
I was the very one who preached the message to Devin. “If you love me enough, you’ll leave me,” I’d told him.
He wasn’t strong enough to do what needed to be done.
But I am.
Or at least I’m pretending I am.
Dropping my cell on the floor, I smash it with the heel of my shoe until it’s crushed to pieces. Walking to the kitchen counter, I remove the bottle of vodka from my bag, unscrewing the cap as I flip off my shoes and collapse on the couch.
I tilt my head back and take a long swig from the bottle, grimacing at the burning taste in my throat.
I love them too much to drag them downwith me.
I swallow another glug, welcoming the sting.
One day, they’ll thank me for doing the right thing.
I guzzle from the bottle, relishing the acrid taste.
Because if I stayed, I’d only have ruined them too.
PART III
(Almost) Five Years Later
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Devin
“I’m not available,” I tell the good-looking woman sidling up alongside me at the bar. I’ve noticed her attentive gaze for the best part of the last hour, and I know from experience that it’s best to knock it on the head rather than let her waste any more of her time on me. Her mouth droops, and her eyes narrow with disappointment.
She doesn’t realize I’ve just done her a favor.
If she did, she’d be thanking me.
Over the years, I’ve had no shortage of offers from hot chicks, but the one woman I crave is still elusive.
Ange exists now only in my memory, but those memories are enough to keep me moving forward. To bolster my spirit, even on days where I lose it, when I think I can’t do this anymore.
I nod at the bartender, and he slides another Coke and three beers my way. I toss two twenties on the counter, telling him to look after the lady and keep the change. I make my way back to our table in the corner of the crowded club, handing Danny, Trev, and Matt their beers while I sip my soda.
“Ruined another woman’s night I see,” Danny teases, gesturing at the blonde I’ve just rejected.
