Page 31 of Inseparable
Devin hangs his head, his thick, dark hair falling in sleek waves over his forehead. “I’m so sorry.”
“It’s too little too late,” Ayden adds. “If we ever meant anything to you, you’ll stay away. It’s what we both want.”
The crowd is straining to hear our conversation, and judging by the unhappy frowns and confused scowls, I’d say we’ve disappointed them. News of Ayden and Devin’s fight in my bedroom has spread like wildfire—according to Mariah—so no doubt everyone was hoping for round two to kick off this morning. Maybe now they’ll leave us alone. Find something more salacious to gossip over.
“What about what I want?” Devin asks.
Ayden harrumphs. “Do you think either one of us is willing to put your needs over our own? You’ve left us no choice but to do this, and it’s best for everyone.” Ayden steers me away from Devin. “Just stay out of our way and we’ll stay out of yours.”
Except, as the days pass by, it’s almost impossible. Where once I’d hardly see Devin in school, now he’s everywhere. We pass each other in the corridor pretending we don’t notice one another. He always seems to be at his locker, across the way, whenever I’m at mine. We arrive and leave the cafeteria within seconds of each other, as if we’ve planned it.
Where once I spent hours holed up in my bedroom, with my nose pressed to the window, hoping for a glimpse of him, now I can’t avoid him. When I come out of my house each morning, he’s climbing into his truck. When I get home after school, ballet, or work, he’s arriving home at the same time. Turns out, ignoring your neighbor when you desperately want and need the space is a virtual impossibility.
And it’s not that he’s staging it. I know him well enough to know he wouldn’t do that. While it’s obvious by the covert glances he sends my way that he’s hurting, and missing me as much as I miss him, he’s respecting my wishes,ourwishes, and steering clear.
The inevitable confrontation with Becky never materialized, but I’m not naïve enough to think she’s letting it go. No, Becky is a strategist and she’s taking her time, planning it meticulously to swoop in and strike at the most opportune moment. The longer she goes without acknowledging me, the more on edge I feel, and I hate that she’s getting to me. Even the sight of her sours my stomach, and I can’t get the vision of her naked rocking on top of Devin out of my head.
During week two of my post-Devin new life, Lucas decides to begin a none-too-subtle pro-Devin campaign. While I know he means well, his intervention is both unwelcome and in vain. “I’ve never seen him like this. Like I think he’s clinically depressed,” Lucas says as we’re cleaning the kitchen after dinner on Wednesday night. Mom has already departed for her shift at the hospital.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Come on, Ange. I know you don’t mean that. I know you love him.”
I glare at him, putting all my hurt, anger, and frustration behind it, even though it’s unfair to take it out on the wrong Morgan brother. “I don’t want anything to do with your brother, and that includes discussing him. Please, drop it.”
“You haven’t denied it. Go on, just admit it. You still love him.”
His lips curve up, and except for the fact he’s fourteen and clueless, I’d probably swing for him. Instead, I lose it, throwing my hands into the air. “What the hell do you want me to say, Lucas? Did I love him? Yes,” I hiss, blood flowing angrily through my veins. “I loved him, and he rejected me and humiliated me and threw our entire history in my face, and it fucking killed me. You have no idea how much he hurt me, and not just for Becky. Imagine you had to watch the boy you love screw his way around town while barely giving you the time of day. Imagine you had to watch while he got into fights, got high and drunk, barely even knowing his own name. Imagine how many nights you stayed up sick with worry in case he drove his truck into a ditch. Then imagine you go to school and have to listen to every skank relay in minute detail what he’s like in bed knowing you’ll never get to experience it because he just doesn’t think of you like that! That’s what I’ve had to endure, and I can’t take it anymore.”
A strangled sob erupts from the very core of my soul, and I double over, clutching my stomach as hot tears slide down my cheeks. Damn Lucas for dragging all this to the surface again. I’m so sick of feeling like this, and I want it to stop.
He takes a step toward me, compassion and sorrow etched across his face. I hold up a hand to stall him. “I think you should go now, Lucas. I need to be alone.”
“I’m sorry, Ange. I really am. He’s an idiot, but if it’s any consolation, he’s miserable too.”
“It isn’t, and I meant what I said. I don’t want to talk about your brother, and if you can’t abide by my wishes, then we’ll have to stop hanging out.”
He nods his head sadly. “I hear you loud and clear. I won’t bring him up again.”
And, mercifully, he doesn’t.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It’s week three post-Devin, and the pain is still like a constant, knotty, twisty ache in my chest. My appetite has all but vanished, and I’ve actually lost weight. Madisyn is disgusted at how effortlessly I’ve shed the pounds, but I can’t summon the energy to banter with her about it. Ayden and I spend practically every spare minute together. His dad is still frothing at the mouth over his arm and Devin, so he’s avoiding his house like the plague and he spends most nights at mine. Mom gave me a stern talking to before leaving for work this evening. She has somehow found out he’s sleeping in my bed most nights she’s away, and she made it abundantly clear it’s not to continue.
“Was she pissed?” Ayden asks, while we are sprawled on the couch watchingGossip Girl—I’ve converted him to the dark side as well. He keeps his injured arm propped on the arm of the couch as I snuggle into his other side.
“Mom doesn’t get pissed, and she rarely raises her voice. You know that—she’s the epitome of cool, calm, and collected.” And I know it’s because of the abuse she was subjected to while married to my dad. She doesn’t ever want to lose control and lash out with her tongue or her fists, because then, in her mind, she’s no better than him. “She just doesn’t think it’s a good idea with my emotions all over the place. I think she thinks we’re going to screw each other’s brains out and regret it or something.”
Ayden stiffens imperceptibly underneath me, and I worry that I’ve just offended him.
“Anyone home?” Mariah calls out, staging an unplanned timely intervention.
“In here,” I shout back and she comes bounding into the living room.
“Am I interrupting?” she asks with a saucy grin on her face.
“Don’t be silly.” I lift my head off Ayden’s chest, pulling myself into a more respectable upright position. “We were just watching TV.”
