Page 104 of My Dark Divine
A tremor runs through me, a silent earthquake triggered by her words. While I don’t think I will ever stop feeling like this, right now, her words push my father’s voice to the back of my mind, letting me—even for a moment—feel I’m not so bad after all.
Seizing the moment while I’m distracted, she quickly moves to the other side of the bed. I shake off my confusion, trying to make sense of what she’s looking for in the dark when she comes back, something in her hands.
“We never celebrated your birthday,” she whispers, propping herself up on her elbow beside me.
A frown creases my brow. “What?”
“Your birthday. It was seven days ago.”
Was it? “I don’t remember such things,” I reply, realizing how foolish I sound. What kind of person forgets their fucking birthday?
I can feel her gaze on me before she jabs her elbow into my side, an awkward chuckle rumbling in her chest. “Oh, really? Isn’t that because you’re an old man already?”
My brows shoot up in amusement. “Old? Who are you calling old, baby girl? I may be older, but I’m not too old.”
“You’re thirty already.” She leans closer, dragging out the word,‘Thir-ty,’in a mocking tone, and I can’t help but burst into uncontrollable laughter that shakes my chest.
“I didn’t have the money to buy you something nice,” she says, a hint of worry wrapping around her voice, which pulls a smile from me for reasons I can’t quite grasp. “And it won’t be exactly a gift, but—” she trails off, fidgeting with something in her hands.
It’s too dark to see what it is, and no matter how much I squint, I can’t make it out. But when she turns it on and the screen flashes bright white, I stop breathing.
“I wanted to show it to you earlier, but you were sleeping so deeply that I didn’t want to wake you,” she explains, her fingers navigating the buttons on the old, worn-out music player as she opens the folder with the songs.
I had the exact same one when I was younger, though it was black, and hers is white. “Sometimes, when everything gets to betoo much, I fall asleep with my music on. There are mostly old songs here—some classic late ‘90s and early 2000s hits... I don’t know. It probably seems stupid, but I thought maybe we could fall asleep to music? Because I feel that?—”
I can’t help myself as I lean in and silence her with a kiss. She’s momentarily stunned, but after a second, she meets me in the middle. I weave my fingers through her hair and tilt her head back, pouring every ounce of my strength and passion into this kiss, as if my life depends on it.
Well, in a way, it does right now.
Her body tenses, a coiled spring ready to snap. I recognize the signal and reluctantly pull back, resting my forehead against hers for a brief moment before breaking away.
“Is that a yes?” she asks breathlessly, and I can’t help but chuckle at the innocence in her voice.
I settle onto my elbow, mirroring her posture as I grab one of the headphones, plug it into my ear, and then plop my head onto the pillow. “That’s a yes, fucking please.”
She giggles as she plugs in her piece and selects the first song on her playlist. Then, she shuts off the player, plunging us back into darkness, and lies her head on the pillow.
The opening notes of the song begin to play, and I close my eyes, feeling a sense of peace I haven’t experienced in years.
When West told me he wanted to take me somewhere special to him, I considered many possibilities. But nothing could have prepared me for this.
As we walk down the corridor of the nursing home, a flood of questions fills my mind. I didn’t even know he had a grandmother. For some reason, I feel nervous about meeting her. I’m worried she might not like me. West mentioned that she watches TV all the time, so she’s likely seen me, and now, I’m pretty fucking different from the image everyone is used to. My sweatpants and sweatshirt are marked with mysterious stains, my hair is greasy and stuffed awkwardly under a baseball cap, and my face is completely devoid of makeup.
What if she thinks I’m ugly?
Meanwhile, West looks as magnificent as ever. Despite having survived the toughest withdrawal and being in the same mental state as me, he appears even more perfect and fresh than before, as if he’s just come back from vacation instead of spending time in a dirty motel with me.
It doesn’t seem fair.
I don’t have time to dwell on my thoughts as we step into a room full of elderly people. They sit around a table, cards scattered across it, chattering about something we can’t quite make out, all appearing truly engrossed in their conversation.
“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me,” West groans, squeezing my hand like his life depends on it. I glance over at him, confusion evident in my gaze, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. “I thought we talked about this enough.”
When I turn my attention back to the group, I notice they’re all staring at us. It doesn’t take long for my eyes to find his grandmother, who peeks her head over her friend’s shoulder with an amused expression.
My throat constricts as she turns to face me, and a wave of dread sweeps over me. Her silver hair is styled with a few red extensions, secured in a low ponytail. She wears gloves, and as she stands up, revealing the dress she’s wearing, I feel like I might collapse.
She’s fucking stunning. And she doesn’t look like a typical grandma. I don’t have any grandparents of my own, but I have the conventional image of one, and this woman is anything but ordinary.
