Vendetta

ten

DEVON

I drop off her breakfast, and try to talk to her, but she ignores me. Hours later, when I bring her lunch, it’s the same thing again. She doesn't say anything to me at all, doesn't even spare me a glance. But at least she eats the food.

How much of a jerk was I, leaving her like that to go and see another woman? Even if I had done it, if I lost myself in Amber, it would never compare.

She's drawing, a lot. The first sketchpad is full, and when I first stole a glance at what she's been drawing, it caught me off guard. Why I deserve to be the focus of her drawings is beyond me. She shouldn’t waste her talent on me.

I'm the monster that brought her here. I'm the monster that's going to take everything away from her, until she's gone as well.

What the fuck was she doing in that parking lot, following George? She's not stupid; she should have known better.

My pocket beeps with a text message, snapping me out of my thoughts. I shift in the chair, pulling out my phone and glancing at it quickly to read Hayley’s message that she’s coming over tonight. My uncle clears his throat at the interruption, looking at me disapprovingly.

What is this, a fucking school? I'm so sick of this crap, the way he just silently disapproves of everything I do without actually telling me how much of a failure I am in his eyes.

I'm sitting in his office, discussing killing a whole family to prove I'm worthy enough. Sometimes I feel like I'm still that thirteen-year-old boy he picked up from the boarding school.

I never saw him much before that day. My dad never mentioned him, as if he didn't even exist, and I had better things to do than to ask. My mother used to travel a lot, always taking me with her, so it’s not like I even needed an uncle. Then the whole thing happened, and he appeared out of nowhere ready to claim his place as “the boss.”

Why did it never occur to me that he might have had a hand in what happened to my family? When I look at him, I don't see my uncle. I don't see my father's brother. I see a man of power, wanting more power. It's never enough.

“Devon,” he says, looking at me expectantly. When he sees he has my attention, he says, “Will you deal with George?”

“Yeah,” I answer, though I'd rather not be the one to talk to him. He just really pisses me off.

“Make sure to let him know how important it is he gives us the right info. We can't afford to make any mistakes right now.”

I nod, though I can't seem to ignore that this is all so convenient. Once the Moores are gone, we, or rather, he will get it all. Nothing to fight over. No more worrying if we're stepping on their turf. No one will speak up when he claims it.

But the proof doesn't lie. It was Keith who tried to hide the evidence of my parents' identities. And is my uncle really so power hungry that he'd kill his own brother? Why am I still alive, then? In theory, I'm the rightful heir.

I forget all about my suspicions later that day when I go to pick up a shipment. I pass one of their restaurants on the way there. I see Keith getting out of his car, surrounded by his men. Dominic Moore, his surrogate son, is standing beside him, all six feet of him, dressed in a fine suit, his dark hair slicked back. I hate the guy. He was always around Leighton, watching over her like a hawk.

Keith says something, slapping Dominic on the back, and he laughs, shaking his head. He looks back, and his bushy eyebrows knit together when he sees me, and then he nods at me. He fucking nods at me.

Dominic, to his credit, doesn’t acknowledge me, the way Keith shouldn’t have.

I nod back, though I have no respect for this man.

Hayley is already waiting for me in the library when I'm finally home. I'd say I dread this conversation, but I don't. I'm almost positive she's the one to blame for Leighton's behavior since yesterday morning.

I know I shouldn't care; it's for the better to keep our distance. I find myself trying to figure out a way out of this mess. I know I owe it to my parents and Joey to see this through, but I keep thinking at what cost? Would they even want me to do this?

And, truth be told, I don't want Leighton to hate me.

So, as Hayley smiles at me, and stands on her toes to give me a peck on the cheek, I move away and ask her, “What happened yesterday after I left?”

“What happened?” she asks, her eyes wide with pretend innocence. I recognize it so well.

“You tell me. When I left, she didn't hate me. When I came back, she couldn't stand to be near me. So something must have happened in between, and you were the only one with her.”

“I just explained some things to her, Devon,” she says, an air of arrogance around her, something she picked up from her father. This is the side of Hayley I never liked. She likes to meddle in things because she thinks she knows best. “Like, if she cared, she wouldn't put you in danger like she did yesterday morning. You both should have known better.”

I start to pace the room, frustrated, and then stop in front of her, looking down. “You have no fucking idea what's going on.”

“Then what is going on? I thought I had it figured out, that she was playing some game with you to get herself out of this, but clearly I'm wrong. And you stopped talking to me ages ago,” she says, waving her hands in exasperation. “How can I know if you won't tell me?”

I turn my back to her, and look straight into my father's eyes above the fireplace. “You wouldn't understand,” I say to both of them.

“And then she started asking me all these questions, and I didn't know what to say, what I'm supposed to say. I don't know what to think of this, Devon.”

I turn back to her. “What questions?”

Hayley looks down at her hands and starts playing with the rings on her fingers.

“What did she ask, Hales?”

“She asked about you, and me. About us.”

I can't help myself. I lose it. “What the fuck, Hales?” I yell, striding toward her. “What did you tell her?”

She starts crying. Of course, she fucking starts crying.

Now, I've been friends with Hayley for a very, very long time. And the tears I see, they're not sad, or scared. I've seen her cry these tears whenever she knew she did something wrong. When she took my music player and lost it, she cried these tears. When she broke up with me, she cried these tears. These tears are guilty.

She knew exactly what she was doing.

“Hales,” I say, approaching her slowly and crouching in front of her. “This is important. What did she ask?”

“Just about us. When, how long—no, not how long, just when.” She finally looks up, but won't meet my eyes. “I may have over-shared.”

Her words fill me with icy dread. “What did you tell her?”

She sobs harder, covering her face with her palms. I thread my fingers behind my neck to keep myself from ripping her arms away so she would look at me. “Hayley, what the fuck did you tell her?”

“I told her the truth,” she yells. Finally, she looks at me, straight into my eyes. “She was ruining everything, I just wanted her—”

Fuck.

Hayley's voice fades completely in my ears, just background noise. She knows everything, is all I keep thinking. And I realize for the first time, I don't want her to know. It matters so little at this point, but I don't want her to know how much I fucked up.

I don't want her to hate me.

“Why the fuck would you do that, Hales? I thought we were over. You—” I find myself yelling at Hayley, my hands squeezing her shoulders. “—you were the one who broke up with me.”

I don't believe for a second she didn't know what she was doing.

“You're hurting me, Devon,” she whispers. I loosen the grip on her shoulders, and then let her go. She falls back into the sofa.

“It's not about you and me. I just wanted her to back off,” she says, through tears. “You're going to lose everything over her. I just wanted her to back off because I know you, and you've already made up your mind.”

I shake my head at her, so disappointed. First, that she assumes what's in my head. Second, I can't believe she thought it was her right to do something like this. Even though I get where she's coming from, I just don't get it.

“It's her, isn't it?” I hear her say, but I'm already out the door and on my way up, the keys to Leighton's room in my shaking hands.

LEIGHTON

The door opens but I don’t react; I just continue to draw. He approaches me hesitantly, walking slowly across the room. He looks down at what I’m drawing, and stills. I don’t acknowledge his presence.

He clears his throat. “Can we talk?”

I lift my head. “I really have nothing to say to you.”

“I spoke to Hayley,” he says quietly.

When I don’t reply, or show any reaction, he continues. “It wasn’t her place to say any of those things to you.”

I shrug like it doesn’t matter either way. I'm not going to show him just how much this hurts.

“Leighton,” he says, his voice pleading.

“What do you want from me, Devon?” I ask, putting the pencil down. I lay the sketch of my mother on the bed, and give him my full attention.

He sits down next to me. “Can I talk?”

“So talk,” I say, staring up at him, keeping my expression blank.

“She has no idea what she's talking about. She had no right.”

I sigh. “That sounds like an issue you need to take up with her, not me.”

“You know what I mean,” he says, running his hands through his hair in frustration.

“No, I don’t. If you and Hayley are having communication problems, then speak to her about them. Now, if you don’t mind, I have a drawing to finish,” I say, looking pointedly at the door.

“I never wanted her like that,” he says, moving closer so he’s right next to me. “I promise.”

I get up to move away from him, needing that space between us. I lift up my hands. “Again, Devon . . . ”

“No, just listen, please,” he says softly, following after me. “I want you more than I've ever wanted anyone. I've always wanted you,” he whispers.

And this is when I snap.

“You want me?” I ask, my voice gaining steel. “Because it sounds to me like just a short few months ago you wanted her more than anything. What did she say? Oh that’s right,” I say, rolling my eyes. “’He wanted us to work so bad.’” I make air quotes with my fingers, drawing out and exaggerating the last two words as much as I can to get my point across. Yes, I know that I’m jealous and feeling just a little bit sorry for myself right now, but I don’t give a fuck.

“It wasn't like that—” he starts, but I continue my rant.

“Now, as much as I like hearing about you ‘making wild passionate love—’” My voice breaks on the last word. He squeezes his eyes shut. Hearing myself say it out loud, acknowledging it, and him not denying it, I can actually feel my heart rip in two. “—to a woman you want so badly but can’t have because she dumped you, I’d rather you all just left me the fuck alone.”

I turn away from him, hiding my expression. He steps up behind me and wraps his arms around me, holding me to his warm chest. I feel his frantic heart beating against my back. I break away from his embrace and turn to face him, my hand flying swinging before I even realize what I'm doing. He grabs my wrist mid-air, and I rip it out of his grasp and deliver that slap straight across his cheek.

“Don't you dare fucking touch me again! You wanted me? You had me, you bastard. You came and went as you pleased, you fucked me whenever you felt like it, then you ignored me, and it fucking hurt, but I let you do it because I knew you had to deal with your hang-ups but you wouldn't even speak to me and tell me what's going on.”

“Do you understand how fucked up that was? You used me and I let you, because I thought we had some cosmic love that could beat all your stupid demons, but you fucking threw me away to jump into a relationship with a woman who didn't even want you back."

At this point, I'm just flat out crying. I hate every tear that I spilled for this man. I fucking despise him for leading me on for so long, only to shatter me like this. Somewhere, deep down, I thought surely he had feelings for me. But it's all been a game, his personal vendetta just because of who I am.

“I gave you everything,” I spit out. “And you just took it out of revenge.”

He hangs his head, and I don’t like seeing him looking defeated, but I’m consumed by hurt. By the need to protect myself from this man who I thought was better than this.

“Oh, God, the laughs you must have gotten from the silly Moore girl, hopelessly pining after Devon Andre. I was so fucking stupid to think—”

“Shut up,” he cuts me off, his words icy. He rushes me until my back hits the wall. His hand lands on my waist, digging into my hip to keep me in place as I squirm to get away from him. “You are not the silly Moore girl. You are smart and beautiful and strong, and the most amazing woman I have ever met, and I fucking hate you for it because it still doesn't change who you are. I knew who you were the first time I laid my eyes on you,” he chokes the words out. “And I've wanted you regardless. I wanted you ever since I knew how to want a woman. You are the worst thing that's ever happened to me.”

His mouth slides down my throat, his warm breath tickling the sensitive skin of my neck, and a shiver runs through my body. That’s all it takes from him; he has such an effect on me, always has. Holding me tight against his body, he talks into my ear.

“I couldn't get you out of my fucking mind. Every living thought I had was stained by you, out there in the darkness, my hands all over your body, your fingers running through my hair, your moans and sighs. I fucking hate you for being my weakness.”

His mouth finds mine, and he bites on my lip, punishing me. “I needed to get you out of my head, out of my heart, out of my soul. You owned me, and I wanted myself back.” His hand tangles in my hair, and he pulls it back harshly, exposing my neck. “I just want myself back,” he ends on a whisper, and then his teeth skim my neck, making my breath hitch.

He trails his mouth up over my throat, his hand making its own way down my stomach, where he finds the button of my jeans and pops it open. He kisses along my jaw as he slides the zipper down, and reaches his hand into my panties. I gasp as his fingers slowly inch down and he slides first one, then two, and starts to explore, thrusting them in and out in a delicious rhythm. He pulls my head back gently and kisses my lips. His hand travels down the side of my face, over my collarbone, between my breasts and down to my stomach, finding its way under my shirt, cupping my breast. I moan as he rubs my clit with his thumb, making me quiver with his probing fingers, and his tongue delves into my mouth, stopping only to bite on my lips. I can feel his arousal pressing into my side, and it turns me on even more knowing that I have this effect on him. I hide my face in his neck, biting gently as the first wave of pleasure hits me. My thighs start shaking and Devon wraps his arm around my back to hold me up. I tear my mouth away from his neck and arch my back into the wall behind me, cursing as the pleasure starts to take over my body.

“Leighton,” Devon growls. I open my eyes and look into his as I ride the climax, his heavy-lidded, burning gaze making me lose myself even more.

He pulls his hand out of my panties and pins me against the wall, sliding my jeans and underwear in one go down my legs and taking my lips in a rough kiss. I wrap my arms around his neck and pull myself up. He grips my ass and lifts me up so I can wrap my legs around him. My hands reach down to work on his pants without breaking our kiss, his lips against mine urgent, as I slide his boxers down with my feet, and then wrap my hand around his thick cock. I start stroking, loving the feel of him. I quicken my pace, feeling his fingers dig into my back, his kisses losing their rhythm. His cock is hard as steel, as I need him inside of me.

He steps back, slipping out of my hand. My feet hit the floor as he grabs for the hem of my shirt and takes it off, letting it fall. Unbuttoning his shirt, he leans down and grabs his wallet from his pant pocket. I lean back against the cool wall, watching as he rips the little foil packet with his white teeth and then uses his hands to sheath his erection.

My stomach flutters and I bite my lip in anticipation, glancing up in time to see him flash me a devilish smile, the first real one since I've been here. My own lips curve into a smile in response, and slowly, he leans in and takes them into another kiss, this time slow and torturous, taking his time to explore every inch of my mouth with his. His tongue tentatively touches mine before he pulls back and pays attention to my lower lip. This man can kiss.

He hooks my knee over his arm and lifts it up to secure it on his hip, looking straight into my eyes, using his other hand to guide his cock, teasing my opening and clit in turn until I whimper in frustration. We both suck in a breath as he enters me in one long thrust, and it's a mixture of pleasure and pain and absolute fucking completeness.

I arch my back as he starts moving, controlled thrusts that leave me frantic for more. I squeeze his biceps with my hands as his mouth trails kisses down my neck, his movements becoming faster, harder, until he's just plain fucking me, giving me everything he has and taking everything I have to give.

The first wave hits me so hard I whimper his name, which he drowns with his mouth. I feel my whole body tremble, the pleasure spreading all the way to my toes. I know he’s close when his breathing becoming heavier, his thrusts less controlled and wilder, frenzied. He slams into me once more, and grunts into my hair, his hand pressing into my back, connecting every inch of our bodies. He lifts his head from the hollow of my neck, searching my eyes with his as we both reach that climax, our breaths mingling, our bodies speaking without words.

DEVON

I find myself awake in the middle on the night again, staring at the ceiling. Leighton's back is curled into my side, her breathing even, and my possessive hand is on her waist.

And, as it usually does after I fuck her senseless, guilt eats at me.

I look at her and all I think is failure. Weak. Pathetic.

I know I'm a prick. No one made me do it. I've blamed it on her and her seductive ways, but if I'm honest, she didn't seduce me.

By the time I was seventeen, I could pick her out in a room full of women. The way she walked, the way she laughed, the way she would flip her black hair, her scent. I wouldn't have to think twice about it.

It consumed me, this obsession I had.

I hated every boy, then every man that glanced her way. I hated her boyfriends enough to want to hurt them, and her girlfriends just because they could be around her and not have to ignore her like I did.

I stalked her; I'm not ashamed to admit it. I always knew where she was, and whom she was with, even during her little disappearing acts. More than once, I caught myself looking at her, begging her to acknowledge me, and she always did, holding my gaze for just a second longer than she did other strangers', and for that, I was grateful. The crumbs of her attention I got every now and then were enough to feed my addiction.

Until they weren't. As with every drug, I craved more. It's the forbidden fruit; I know that now. I resisted her for so long, and so stubbornly, and it was bound to happen, one way or another. And when it did, I couldn't get enough of it.

It wasn't premeditated. I don't think she planned on it, either, but I like to think she did to excuse my failure. I saw her standing on the opposite side of the street during one night out. I could say she never looked more beautiful, but she always looked beautiful to me. We made eye contact, and suddenly, time stood still. The look she gave me was so suggestive, I did a double take to make sure I saw it right, then glanced around to check if everyone else saw what I did. By the time my eyes found her again, she was walking off into a dark alley.

Take it or leave it. That's all it came down to.

I found myself all but running after her. Just to make sure she's okay, I fooled myself.

And, in that dark alley, against a dirty brick wall, I knew I was doomed.

It went on, for a whole year. She never sought me out, it was always me running to wherever she was, and she gave whatever I wanted without a word. I didn't speak to her for fear of crumbling the walls of my perfect delusion that we were just two people who found each other in the dark.

Ironically, it was exactly what made me step away from her. A year is a long-ass time to keep silent when all you want to do is talk. It suffocated me, knowing that I couldn't tell her everything I wanted to. I wanted to tell her that every moment she let me spend with her was like heaven. Every time she tangled her hands in my hair and let me touch her in every way I wanted, I felt unworthy of it.

That if she were anyone else, I would have loved her until the day I died.

But she was exactly who she was. Leighton Moore, the daughter of Keith Moore—the man who took everything away from me. And one day, sooner or later, she'd be just another casualty of that crime.

Her fingers entwine with mine on her hip, and she squeezes my hand. “Stop thinking so loud. You woke me up.”

I smile into the black hair draped over her shoulder, then move it away and place a kiss in its place. She snuggles deeper into my chest, her ass pressing into my erection. “Mmm.”

This is a first for us. I've never stayed the night after we hooked up. She never came home with me, and I never went to hers. We never did it in an actual bed.

She trails our threaded fingers down her stomach, then lower between her legs, and I won't lie, the second my fingers reach her wetness and she arches her back into my chest, I'm harder than I've ever been in my entire life.

Her sighs turn into moans as she slides both our fingers inside her and positions my thumb over her clit with hers, my hips jerking involuntarily into her naked backside with her movements as she fucks my fingers.

This is, by far, the sexiest thing I have ever seen in my entire life. She is so beautiful, so sensual. I love seeing her in the daylight.

I can feel her control slipping as she writhes, and I'm about to take over when her hand stops mine just as I feel her muscles squeeze around us.

I watch, dumbfounded, as she gets up, squealing when her feet touch the cold floor while she walks across the room, and then she bends down, giving me a majestic view of her ass. If I weren't already hard, that would definitely do the trick. She runs back toward me with my wallet in her hand, already rummaging through it. I laugh at her shaky hands when she tries to rip the condom package open with her slippery fingers.

“Shut up, you ass,” she says, but she smiles too, then rips the package with her teeth, and puts it over my erection.

She straddles my hips, and I watch her, amused, and fucking turned on, as she takes my cock into her hand, gives it a few urgent pumps that make me suck in a sudden breath, and then she guides it to her entrance and sinks down on it.

“Fuck,” I mutter, as my head falls back on the pillow, my palms grabbing for the sheets underneath me. She takes my hands and places them on her hips and then she lifts herself up, ever so slowly, throwing her head back, and sinks back down.

Then she doesn't move.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask her through clenched teeth, trying not to move either, but it's really, really hard.

Pun intended.

“Savoring,” she says, looking at me through her lashes. She leans over, her hair creating a curtain around our heads and kisses a trail from my chin to my lips, and I kiss her back, drowning the moan I expected when I thrust my hips upwards because I'm positive she'd never have moved otherwise.

“Again,” she whispers into my mouth so I do it again, then again when she asks for more, making her bite on my shoulder to keep from calling out. She alternates between moans and sighs every time I sink her down my length. She's holding onto me so tight, clutching onto my shoulders harder with each thrust. I flip us over, capturing her wrists in my hand and stretching her arms above her head, my hips still thrusting, changing rhythm every time I feel like I'm about to explode. My other hand travels up her stomach, over her breast and ends up at her collarbone, my fingers digging into the smooth skin on her neck.

She opens her eyes because she knows I love it when she looks at me as she comes. The intensity in her eyes just about does me in. It’s always like this with her.

She trusts me. I've been keeping her in here, locked up, I've threatened her, I've used her and I've abandoned her. She's suffered more than I care to admit at my hands, and she still trusts me. She knows where this will end, and she trusts me.

I relax my fingers around her throat as she falls apart beneath me. A couple of moments later, I slide one final time deep inside her and then collapse on top of her, burying my head in the crook of her neck. She runs her fingers through my hair, pulling just lightly, then releasing, our chests heaving against each other, our bodies still connected.

“I've never made love to another woman,” I tell her, because I want her to know that. She was never supposed to think she meant nothing, or that anyone could replace her. This fucked up situation is all on me.

“Because you love me.” She says it like it is: a fact. Then she sighs, still trembling underneath me. “And it's not enough.”

I wish it were.

I pull out from her, missing her already as I head to the bathroom to clean up, and then walk around the room picking up my clothes. Thankfully, she drapes the sheet over her body, hiding the temptation from my eyes.

The worst part? She watches me, resigned, as I get dressed and walk to the door. I can actually feel her gaze following me around, but she says nothing. I want her to say something so bad. Just tell me to stay. I pause after I unlock the door, giving her one final chance. Nothing. I get out of the room without looking back, the sound of the lock click piercing my eardrums.

It still rings in my head on the way downstairs. I head into the kitchen, and take out a beer from the fridge and open it. I slump in the chair at the dining room table, and take a swig from the bottle. I can still feel her wrapped around me, begging me to fuck her again, and again, and again.

I sit there, staring at nothing, I don't know for how long. I always hated the look of indifference on her face when I left without a word, making me feel like I was just a pawn, playing by her rules. Tonight, I'd have welcomed it.

Tonight, I feel like I betrayed her.

Betraying my family, betraying myself, and, now, betraying her. I'm a fucking traitor to everything and everyone.

And Hayley? What a fucking mess. Rationally, I know I can't blame her. I used her, she knows that, and she still stood by me. And I know she meant well, but telling Leighton God knows what . . .

I throw the beer bottle across the room, smashing it against the wall.

“Fuck,” I mutter, watching it shatter, the sound piercing the silence. Beer splashes everywhere.

I rub my palm over my face, forehead to chin. It's for the best, I decide. So fucking complicated.

I get up and head to my room. A figure stands at the top landing, watching me climb the stairs. My uncle takes me in from head to toe, my hair disheveled, my shirt unbuttoned, and my feet bare.

“Devon,” he says when I reach him, and puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezing. It pisses me off. I don't know why. It's . . . so fucking manipulative.

I continue climbing the stairs to the third floor.

LEIGHTON

A soft sigh escaping my lips, I roll onto my stomach. The sheets still smell like him, hours after he's been gone. I’ve barely moved from this bed, except to have a shower and dress in an oversized T-shirt.

I keep replaying Devon's words over and over in my head. I had no idea. I’ve had a crush on Devon for as long as I can remember. I don't even recall the first time I saw him, he was just always there. I'd see him around now and again, and he was the most handsome man I'd ever laid eyes on. And, I'll admit it; I fell for the enigma.

Devon had a presence about him. He exuded power, confidence and capability. But sometimes, when he thought no one was watching, I caught the brokenness in his eyes. I wanted to wipe away that look, to fix everything that was wrong.

He made me feel things no one else could. I've had boyfriends, but none of them could compare. Every time his eyes found me I felt like I was on fire.

So, when I saw him that night standing across the street, his intent gaze on me, I knew it was my chance, and I took it. I wanted him badly, I always have. I didn't expect him to follow me; he never had before.

One taste had me wanting more. The things that man could do to me . . . I was ruined for every other guy. Our secret continued, and we would have sex any chance we could, in any place we could without getting caught. The whole time I was with Devon I didn’t even look at another man. I just wasn’t interested. What I had with him wasn’t ideal, but I took what I could, and waited for him to give me more. I was that desperate for him.

I was sure he felt the same. And when he stopped showing up, I was confused.

Two weeks later, I was devastated because I realized that this . . . thing we had? He didn't want it anymore. And I didn't even expect I'd miss his silence.

After a month I was just pissed.

I knew we didn’t have the kind of relationship where I could expect an explanation, but I didn’t give a shit. I deserved an explanation; I needed one. After a while, I blamed myself. Essentially, I propositioned him. I was available to him anytime he wanted me. Anytime he came to me, I gave him whatever he wanted. My body, and, unknown to him, my heart.

I love Devon. I’ve always loved him, and I probably always will, for as little time as I have left to live.

And it doesn’t even matter. My love is inconsequential. It doesn’t change a thing.

In fact, it only makes everything worse.

I run my fingers through my hair, and tug on it. Devon’s leaving after what just happened speaks volumes. We might not be able to stay away from each other, but at the end of the day, it’s business as usual. The most fucked up thing about this whole mess? I keep staring at the door, willing him to come back to me, to hold me in his arms. He thinks I’m his weakness? He is more than my weakness.

And he holds my life in his hands, and he's going to just take it. I won't be a fool again to think this changes anything.

I wipe away the tear streaking my cheek, my eyes still fixated on the door. And then he's standing in front of me, an undecipherable look on his face. Wordlessly, Devon slips back into bed with me. He slides his arm under my neck, and pulls me into his body, spooning me from behind.

It hurts so much, melting into his embrace like everything is normal. But it's not real. And I still turn around and nuzzle his cheek, and then I let his warmth lull me to sleep.