Inseparable

by Siobhan Davis

  Dev nods, kissing my cheek before walking into the kitchen. Mom rocks me back and forth in her arms. My tears have dried up, and now I’m back to feeling numb and hollow on the inside. “Sweetheart, Nancy is grieving, and she needs to find someone to blame. She doesn’t mean it.”

  “She’s right,” I say as if on autopilot. “This is my fault.”

  She brushes damp strands of hair off my forehead. “It’s no one’s fault, honey. Least of all yours. I’ve come across this so many times in my line of work, and it never gets any easier to understand. No one knows exactly what triggers cause a person to take their own life.”

  “I. Know.” I look up at her. “He found me and Devin in bed together, and it broke his heart. I’m the trigger. I’m the reason Ayden snapped. I’m the reason he’s dead.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

  Ayden’s mom refuses to let me or Devin into the house to see him, and my depression reaches new lows. An autopsy is performed, and then his body is taken to the local funeral home. She blocks me from there too, and though I want to fight her on it, I can’t summon the strength to do it. Besides, Ayden would hate that, and though he’s not here to chastise me, I don’t want to do anything he would be unhappy about. I’ve done enough to dishonor his memory as it is.

  So, the first time I see him is at the funeral. I’m glad she didn’t try to ban me from attending because I would have screamed bloody murder. As it is, she refuses to let Devin speak at the ceremony, and that sticks in my throat. We were Ayden’s best friends, and it’s not right that we’re being shut out, even if I understand the reasons for it. Devin read me the speech he prepared on both our behalf last night and it was perfect. As perfect as anything could be in such difficult circumstances.

  Devin holds me close as we approach the casket to say goodbye. I wanted to do this, to see Ayden one final time, but now I’m here, I have to force myself to look. The only other time I’ve seen a dead body was when my grandpa died. He looked weird too—like a warped version of himself.

  Ayden is the same.

  It looks like him, but at the same time he’s different. I hate the horrible makeup they have on his face and how stretched and papery his skin looks. His beautiful blond hair is styled severely, brushed back off his face in a way he would never have worn it. He’s wearing the suit he wore to prom, and he looks stiff and uncomfortable in it. I’d rather he was wearing jeans and his favorite shirt, with no makeup, and his hair gelled and spiky like he wore it when he was alive. Yes, he would look pale and lifeless, and it would be harder to see, but he’d look more like himself. Like a person who used to live, and breathe, and laugh, and tease, and frown, and act all serious when he should have been carefree. Tentatively, I reach out, touching his cheek. It’s rubbery, and cold, and I snatch my hand away, not wanting to remember him like this. Tears roll down my face as hundreds of happy memories float through my mind. “Why?” I whisper, leaning over him. “Why did you do this? How could you do this?” My heart aches so badly, and I don’t know how I’m going to deal with the continuous pain. “I loved you so much. We both did. That would never have changed.”

  Devin grips my waist more firmly. “Don’t torture yourself,” he whispers.

  “He promised he’d never leave me,” I cry. “He promised he’d always be there for me. He promised, Devin. He promised.” I bury my head in his chest, sobbing profusely. Mom gently takes me in her arms, and we step aside while Devin says his goodbyes.

  The wake back at his house passes me by in a blur. I sit in an arm chair, just staring off into space, not hearing any of the murmured condolences, not feeling any of the handshakes, barely sensing the weight of Nancy’s disdain. Tears have dried on my face, leaving watery, mascara-laden streaks across my skin. Devin only leaves my side to get food and drink. When he returns, he holds the cup to my mouth, forcing me to take a few sips. He insists I need to eat, but I push his hand away after a few mouthfuls of food that taste like sandpaper in my mouth.

  The next eight days seem to blend together, until I’ve lost track of what day it even is. I can’t get up out of bed. Mom begs me. Mariah begs me. Devin refuses to leave my side. He seems to be handling this far better than me, although that could be a front. He lies beside me, holding me, kissing me, and whispering how much he loves me.

  But nothing works.

  Nothing eases the sharp ache in my chest. My eyes well up every time I look at the framed photo of the three of us by my bed.

  We were thirteen, and Grandpa had taken us out fishing on the lake. Between us, we’d caught a thirty-three-pound walleye. We’re holding the scaly, dead fish across our bodies, grinning wildly, as if we’d just taken gold at the Olympics. Our wide smiles are matching, meeting our eyes, and the moment captured our joy perfectly.

  I can’t look at that photo now without tormenting myself.

  Without asking how I let this happen.

  How we went from best friends forever to three people who hurt and disappointed one another.

  Ayden left no note, so no one really knows why he did it.

  And no matter how many times Mom and Devin tell me it’s not my fault, I can’t agree.

  I look back over the last year in particular, and all I see are the many ways I failed him.

  I knew something was troubling him, but I didn’t push enough.

  When he landed the marine bombshell on my lap, I wore a “woe is me” hat, never fully thinking about how difficult that decision must’ve been for him.

  While our phone calls were short, I didn’t probe enough. I didn’t ask him why—Why did he give up his football dream? Why the marines? Why did he leave me when he promised he wouldn’t? Why didn’t he want to repair things with Devin? When he told me things were tough in Afghanistan, and that the marines weren’t what he expected, I didn’t ask him to explain.

  Because I was too Goddamned selfish to think of anyone but myself.

  It’s been ten days since Ayden’s funeral, and I wish I died too. It’s Christmas Eve but you won’t find much holiday cheer around here. Devin knocks on my door before stepping inside. His eyes pop wide at the sight of me. I’m freshly showered and wearing clothes—instead of grubby pajamas—for the first time in a week. My bed is made, and my room is tidy. I can see the relief on his face, but it’s short-lived.

  I stand up, wanting to get this out before he draws me into his arms, making it harder. “We can’t be together anymore. We’re done, and you have to stop coming over here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere, Ange.” He folds his arms, standing his ground. “I know you’re hurting, and I know you blame yourself, but pushing me away won’t change those feelings.” He steps into me, tilting my chin up. “I love you, and I’m going to be here for you whether you want me or not.”

  “He’s dead because of us, Devin, and any notion of ‘us’ died with him. I can’t do this. It’s only adding to the pain.”

  He tries to hug me, but I sidestep his arms, crossing to the wall and wrapping my arms around myself. “Don’t make this worse. I can’t be with you. I can’t love you. It’s all ruined now.”

  He walks toward me with determination in his eyes. “It’s not. It only feels like that now because it feels like everything died with Ayden that night.” He plants a hand over his chest, and tears prick his eyes. “I’m feeling all those things too, but I’m trying to be strong for you, so if you think I’m not hurting, you’re wrong. I’m in pain, and I miss him so fucking much it’s hard to breathe some days, but he’s gone, and we’re still here, and I’m not going to let you sacrifice what we have out of guilt.”

  “You can’t tell me how to feel,” I yell. “Or compel me to do things I don’t want to do. I want to break up with you, not that we were ever really together. I can’t even look at you without guilt crippling me. While we were professing our love in the diner, he was back here killing himself!” I scrub a hand over m
y face. I’m so tired of this. I just want to retreat into my shell and be left alone. I don’t even have the strength to fight Devin about this, so I play my trump card now. “If you love me, really love me, you’ll do this for me. You’ll leave me because it’s what I want.”

  “That’s bullshit, Ange, and I’m not letting you blackmail me into this.” A glint of anger flashes in his green eyes before he controls it. His features soften as he takes a few steps forward, stopping a couple feet in front of me. “You need some space, and I can give you that. But don’t ask me to walk away indefinitely, because I can’t agree to that. And if you try to push me permanently away, I’ll just keep coming back. There is nothing you can say or do that will keep me away from you.” He touches my face before I can stop him. “Loving you means I stick by your side even when we’ve both hit our lowest points. Loving you means I understand that you need time to come to terms with this and being selfless enough to give it to you.” He kisses me softly. “I’m leaving now, but it’s not goodbye. This is me giving you your space.”

  He stops in the doorway. “Take as much time as you need. I’m going nowhere.”

  The next month rolls by in an agonizing slow fashion, and I hardly step foot outside the front door. I should be back at college by now, Devin too, but I can’t summon the strength to even care. Devin texts me every single day to tell me he loves me and he’s thinking of me, but he doesn’t come over, and the tightness in my chest eases a little.

  Now, I only have to pretend for Mom.

  She’s worried sick about me. She’s begged me to meet with a therapist, but I’m steadfastly refusing. I know what she wants. What Devin wants. To have someone neutral tell me the things they are repeating like a mantra: that it’s not my fault, that Ayden wouldn’t want me to throw my life away like this, and that it’s a tragedy no one could’ve predicted.

  But I don’t want to hear those things anymore.

  All I know is he’s dead, and it’s my fault, and I’m still here.

  And I’m beginning to really hate myself and my shallowness. Maybe if I hadn’t been so obsessed with Devin, I’d have seen Ayden. Like really seen him. If I was any use as a friend, as a girlfriend, I would have seen the extent of his despair. But I was too wrapped up in myself to notice.

  Why can’t they see what a horrible person I am?

  Why can’t Devin see that I’m the rotten apple in our pack? So many times, we pointed the finger at him, when I was the damaged one all along. I’m doing him a favor by pushing him away. He can do so much better than me. And who knows, if he stays with me, I may end up driving him to take his own life too.

  I can’t hurt anyone else I love, which is why I made the plan. Now I just need to execute it.

  Mom’s used up all her vacation time, so she has to return to work. I know she doesn’t want to leave me alone, so it’s no surprise when I come downstairs and discover Devin sprawled across the couch watching the TV on low.

  “I don’t need a babysitter,” I huff, yanking the refrigerator open. I pour a glass of juice, before slamming the refrigerator closed again.

  He gets up, sauntering into the kitchen, his eyes roaming my body in alarm. I’m in dirty yoga pants and Ayden’s old football sweater. The bird’s nest in my hair is matted and greasy, and I know I’ve got massive bags under my eyes. He looks as perfect as ever. Clearly, I’m the only one struggling to deal with this.

  “Jesus, Ange.” He sucks in a gasp. “You’re skin and bone. You need to eat.”

  “I repeat. I. Do. Not. Need. A. Babysitter. I don’t want you here. Go home.” I feel a tinge of guilt at the hurt look in his eyes but not enough to stop. “Better yet, go back to college where you belong.”

  “I’ll return when you do.”

  “Then I guess you’ll be waiting a while.” At this point, I’ve zero intention of ever returning.

  “I guess so.”

  “How long are you going to keep this up?”

  “For as long as I need to.”

  “That’s going to be a very long time indeed.”

  He shrugs. “I can wait.”

  His stubborn determination jars something loose inside me. I freak out, screaming from the pit of my lungs as I throw my half-empty glass at the wall. It shatters upon impact, spraying shards of glass and sticky liquid all over me and the floor.

  “Fuck.” Devin carefully lifts me up and onto a stool, inspecting my arms. Tiny streaks of blood pool in all the places where bits of glass have embedded in my arms. “Stay here.” He bounds up the stairs, three at a time, returning a minute later with the first aid kit. I’m like a mute statue as he tends to my cuts, sweeps up the glass, and mops the floor. He comes to stand in front of me. “Ange, you need to speak to someone. Please, I’m begging you.”

  I wet my dry lips, staring off into space as an idea comes to me. I keep my gaze averted, not wanting to lie to his face. “Actually, I think I want to return to college.”

  “You do?” I detect the skepticism in his tone.

  “Yes. Routine will be good for me, and there are less memories of him there.”

  He holds my head in his hands, forcing my eyes to lock on his. He carefully scrutinizes my face, probing for the truth. I keep my face impassive. I’ve spent years shielding my true emotions from him, so it’s a cakewalk. “That’s good, but you still need to speak to someone.”

  “I will. They’ve got counselors on campus, right?” I hop down off the stool. “I’ll make an appointment as soon as we get back.” He frowns and his eyes narrow. He knows something’s up, but he can’t figure out why. “I’m going to pack.”

  “You want to leave now?”

  I look over my shoulder. “First thing in the morning. I need to say goodbye to Mom first.”

  We are both dressed, with our bags packed, and waiting in the kitchen when Mom arrives home from her shift very early the next morning. I’ve showered, styled my hair, put on some makeup, and I’m wearing clean clothes. I look together, and that’s all that counts. She’s uneasy when I tell her the plan, refusing at first, clearly uncomfortable with the speed at which I’m moving, but Devin assures her he’ll take care of me, and I promise faithfully that I’ll make a therapist appointment as soon as I can.

  I hug her for much longer than usual, squeezing her tight, closing my eyes against the stab of tears, committing her smell to memory, silently begging her forgiveness.

  I wave to her from Devin’s SUV, forcing the messy ball of emotion in my throat to back the hell down. I’m lost in thought the whole trip. Devin tries to engage me in conversation, but he gives up after a while—it’s hard to have a conversation all by yourself. Every few minutes, I feel his eyes on me, and he almost gives himself whiplash alternating his gaze between me and the road.

  “Are you sure you’re ready to do this?” he asks, once we’re parked outside the residence hall. “I can turn around and take you back if it’s too much.”

  I send him an incredulous look. “You want me to go home and hide in my room like a recluse again?”

  His gaze dips for a fraction of a second. “Of course not. I want the girl I love back, but I don’t want you to feel pushed into doing this if you aren’t ready yet.”

  “I’m taking it one day at time,” I reply, jumping out of the car. Devin carries my bag up to my room.

  “Thanks,” I say, dumping it on the floor. “I’m going to go through my emails and try to get a handle on the stuff I missed.”

  “I can stay here with you.”

  I shake my head. “I need to be by myself.” He doesn’t trust me; I see it in his eyes—I need to do better. For the first time in weeks, I wrap my arms around his neck and nuzzle into him, trying to ignore how good it feels to be back in his safe embrace. He relaxes against me. “I’m sorry I’ve been so hard on you,” I whisper. “Thank you for being so patient.”

  He tip
s my chin up. “I love you so much, Ange. Seeing you like this has been killing me.” His Adam’s apple jumps in his throat, and he’s on the verge of tears.

  Oh, God, I hate myself. I hate myself so much.

  I lean up on tiptoes and plant my lips on his. He kisses me softly at first, but then need takes over, for both of us. He carries me to the bedroom, and we silently undress one another. I whimper when he enters me, peppering his face with kisses, remembering how incredible it felt to love him with no restraints. Burying my head in his shoulder, I cling to him while soft, silent tears stream down my face as he makes tender love to me.

  He shoots a lazy, satisfied grin my way as he gets redressed. I’m in the bed, with the covers under my arms, drinking in the sight of him. As long as I live, I’ll never forget how utterly magnificent Devin Morgan is. There is no finer male specimen on the planet. He sits on the edge of the bed while he pulls his boots on. Leaning in, he kisses me passionately. “We’re going to be okay, Ange.”

  I thread my hands through his hair. “I love you, Devin. I’ll love you my whole life.”

  He leans his forehead on mine. “I love you too, baby doll. You’re my everything.”

  I try not to lose it as he’s leaving, keeping a fake smile plastered across my face. He frowns a little. “You okay? I don’t have to go to class. I can—”

  I cut him off with a passionate kiss. “I’m good,” I whisper in a breathless tone against his mouth. “Now get your delectable ass to class, and I’ll see you tonight.”

  He steps out into the corridor, blowing me a kiss, and I mentally record the moment, capturing his happy smile, the love glistening in his eyes, his gorgeous dark hair heading in all directions—totally messed up from my fingers—and his firm ass in the low-hanging jeans as he walks away. I memorize the way his shirt stretches across his chest and biceps as he spins around, blowing me another kiss and shouting out “I love you.”

  The horrid pain in my chest worsens the farther away he moves, until it feels like I’m suffocating. I slam my door shut before I run after him, sagging to the floor amid a flurry of tears.