Ishook my head against Trent’s chest, because where could I even begin? Theywouldn’t understand it. They wouldn’t understand the way seeing that jointbetween his fingers made me want to throw up. They wouldn’t understand that Iknew firsthand that sometimes that’s where it all starts. That I could see ithappening to him, with how easily he surrendered to it then. They wouldn’tunderstand my hatred toward Robbie for being everything I despised personified.
OnlyDevin understood, and he wasn’t there.
Hewas giving himself up in the way I always knew he could, for his music.
“Youwant us to call Devin?” Trent asked, reverting to old tricks.
“No,”I croaked, pushing away from him. I wiped at the tears, stopping them in theirtracks. “I’ll be fine. I just had a really rough couple of weeks, and …” Ichoked, sputtered, and said, “I miss him.”
“Oh,honey … it’s only been a day,” Brooke said gently, stroking the ends of myhair.
Inodded, not wanting to get into it yet. Not wanting to talk to them about how aday was going to turn into months, and who knows what would happen after that?
“Isthat all that’s wrong?” Trent asked skeptically. “I mean, I get being sad, butthis is kind of, um, extreme.”
Iknew they needed something more, so I added, “Robbie is a fucking dickhead. Iguess I just needed to get my frustrations out.”
Itwas the truth—not the whole truth, but the truth nonetheless—and they settledfor it, with small nods and smaller smiles. They touched my shoulders, gave mehugs and offered to give me a ride home, but I declined. I insisted I couldwalk and I did, entering the apartment for the first time since I returned toConnecticut.
Eddiepounced on me, purring enthusiastically with sandpaper kisses slathered over myjaw and cheeks. I managed a smile, grateful that I wasn’t coming home to anempty apartment. Emptiness would’ve been worse. Emptiness never provided adistraction.
“Heybuddy,” I said softly, clinging to the squirming cat. “I hope you were good forAunt Brooke and Uncle Trent.” He responded with a needy meow and I nuzzled mycheek against the top of his head. “I know, Eddie. I’ve missed you too.”
Iput him down and he scampered to the door, expecting Devin, and I shook myhead. “I’m sorry, baby. Daddy isn’t coming home yet,” and with thatyet,I wondered if he ever was. If he’d ever see Eddie again. I couldn’t imagineDevin abandoning him, but how would that even work? A custody battle over acat?
Withthe feline reunion behind me, I faced the apartment, taking a deep breath inthe hopes of securing the bravery I desperately needed.
Ifound none.
Devinwas everywhere I looked. His gym bag on the floor. His dirty socks under thecouch. His cherished guitar propped up next to the recliner.
Itwas the guitar that made me think of death. That the Devin I knew and loved wasgone from this world, and all that was left was this new man with a new guitar.I stared at the worn wood, the nicked fretboard and lengths of string danglingfrom the tuning knobs. I missed its sound, I missed the way he looked at it.
Fuckinghell,I thought as I turned toward the table,I misshim.
Andthere were the daisies. Dead and dry. Drooping sadly from stems of straw withcrunched up petals scattered over the table top. That fucking table. Hisgrandpa’s table. The place of so many memories for his grandparents, the memoryof our first date and dozens more after.
Thedaisies should have been my first giveaway that something wasn’t right.Of coursehehadn’t gotten me flowers in months. Itwas always Richard running out to buy them for him. They had always been asymbol that things were good, that they wereokay, so why the fuck didit have to take me so long to realize things hadn’t been okay in a while?
Ieyed the damn things for three hours, skirting around them like they were wildanimals, before I finally picked them up and threw them in the garbage. My eyeswatered at the sight of the empty circle imprinted on the table. The last timemy life had been without daisies, had been just before my father died. Devinhad never let me go without them after that, he made sure they were alwaysthere in my life. Now, once again, a man I loved had been stolen from me.
Exceptthis time, the man I loved wasn’t sick.
Ihurled the vase at the wall.
Itshattered.
Tinyshards sprinkled over the floor like glitter. Larger pieces scatteredhaphazardly throughout the mess and I recalled that night in my dorm room. Thebroken vase, the glass implanted in my skin. Devin, plucking each piece outwith a pair of tweezers and wrapping my hands up.
Iwiped at my eyes and shooed Eddie away, locking him in the bedroom, before Igrabbed the broom and swept up my mess. When the floor was clear, I retired tothe bedroom, deciding to skip a shower despite how grungy I felt. I neededsleep more and I collapsed on the bed, onto Devin’s side. I inhaled thefamiliar scent of his earthy shampoo—not that shit we got from hotel rooms. Iwrapped my arms around it and I thought about him, sleeping alone in a cold,empty bed. Thought about him missing me, needing me, wanting me.
Andthen, I thought about him forgetting me and smoking weed with Robbie. Doinglines of coke with Robbie. Getting wasted with Robbie. Falling down the rabbithole with Robbie. Dying with Robbie.
Andwith the pain of grief clouding my mind, I cried myself to sleep.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
Devin
