Inseparable

by Siobhan Davis

  She glares at me, folding her arms across her chest in a move that pushes her tits up higher. It takes colossal willpower to keep my eyes trained on her face. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Don’t test me. You haven’t seen me in a long time. You’ve no idea who I am today.”

  She shimmies sideways along the wall, swaying a little, but I reach for her elbow, holding on before she runs away again. “And there was a reason for that,” she spits out, glaring at my hand on her arm. “Let me go, Devin.”

  “No.”

  “What?”

  “No. I’m not letting you go. Not until we sit down and talk like civilized adults.”

  “In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m not all that civilized these days,” she retorts, laughing, as if she’s proud of her behavior.

  Rage simmers in my veins. I lean in close to her face, almost passing out from the strong smell of vodka on her breath, struggling to keep a leash on my anger. I’ve spent years searching for this woman, and if she thinks she’s getting away from me without at least talking to me, she has another thing coming. “In case you hadn’t realized, I’m so fucking mad at you right now, I’m about two seconds away from hauling your ass into a cell. You will talk to me, or you’re getting booked. Your choice.”

  A layer of armor drops to the floor. Her lower lip quivers as she faces me, and that one tiny gesture infuses me with hope. She’s still in there somewhere. All isn’t lost.

  “Why?” she whispers. “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?”

  Everything. “Answers.”

  She shakes her head sadly. “Then you’ll be disappointed.”

  Keeping a hold on her arm, I steer her down the corridor. “I just want to talk, Ange. You owe me that much.”

  All the fight leaves her as we maneuver a path out of the skeezy club. Danny has the engine running when we reach the parking lot. I open the back door, gesturing for her to get in first. Then I haul myself up beside her, nodding at my buddy.

  “Where to?” he asks, easing the car slowly out onto the road.

  “Stop at the nearest diner you can find.”

  He looks at me curiously, but I just stare out the window. My emotions are shot to pieces. I’ve spent what feels like eternity searching for her, but I never stopped to actually plan what I’d say when I found her. There is so much to be said, and I don’t know where to start.

  Her foot taps nervously off the floor, and she chews on the corner of her lip. The familiar gesture tears me up inside. This is the woman I love, but she’s almost a virtual stranger. I know nothing of her life these past years. Nothing of the woman she is today. Or the hardships she’s endured. “How did you find me?” she asks without looking at me. “How did you know I lived here?”

  “I didn’t know you lived here. We’re in town for the weekend for Rick’s bachelor party. Never in a million years did I expect to find you here.” I move a little closer, dismayed when she discernibly flinches. “I’ve searched all over for you, Ange. I never stopped looking. And the irony that I’d bump into you so coincidentally isn’t lost on me, trust me.” My laugh is sharp.

  Finally, she tilts her face up to look at me, and I’m falling all over again. I sit on my hands to stop myself touching her. I want to bundle her into my arms and never let her out of my sight again, but I can’t come on too heavy. I won’t scare her off. “You’re still so unbelievably beautiful, Ange,” I admit, my voice sounding all choked up.

  “You know what they say—beauty is only skin deep. I’m completely ugly on the inside.” She speaks without a trace of reticence, without any feeling. This isn’t self-deprecation, because she’s detached from any and all emotion; she’s merely stating a fact.

  “I can’t agree.”

  A flash of anger shimmers in her eyes. “You know nothing of the person I am now. Nothing.” This time I detect the bitter note in her tone. And she’s wrong, because I still remember the person I used to be, and, unless I’m sorely mistaken, Ange uses alcohol as a crutch. She’s clearly hammered, her eyes watering and bloodshot, slurring her words, and unsteady on her feet, but she’s functioning, and still capable of firing back retorts, and you only have that sliver of awareness with repeated abuse. I should know. I’ve walked in her shoes.

  “Maybe I know you more than you realize.”

  She barks out a laugh, her look lethal as she glares at me. “You know jack shit, Devin, and that’s the way I like it. I left you for a reason, and it wasn’t so you could chase halfway around the country looking for me. This is a waste of your time; I don’t want you here.”

  “I think I’ll be the judge of that.” It’s a miracle I sound so in control when it feels like I’m breaking apart inside.

  Danny sends me a sympathetic look through the mirror as he pulls up in front of The Roadhouse Diner and kills the engine. I get out, rounding the back of the car and opening the door for Ange. She glowers at me but slides out, shucking my hand away and trotting into the diner by herself.

  “Good luck, man,” Danny says through the half-open window. “I have a feeling you’ll need it.”

  We’re seated across from one another, and Ange is being petulant, refusing to give me any more than one-word clipped answers.

  “Goddamn it, Ange.” I slam my hand down on the table. “Just fucking talk to me. How difficult can that be?”

  “I told you already,” she hisses. “I’m not interested in talking to you. Period. I said everything that needed to be said before I left. You shouldn’t have come here. Whatever we had is in the past. A stupid childhood crush. We’re adults now, and it’s time you accept the truth.”

  “And what exactly is that?” I sneer. “What crap are you spouting as truth these days?”

  She strains across the table, her eyes narrowing in fury. “That you and I are in the past. That there’s absolutely no reason why you should still be searching for me after all this time. That I have a life, and it’s time you got one too. That I’ve moved on.” She gulps, digging her fingers into the edge of the Formica table. “You mean nothing to me anymore, Devin. Nothing.” She sits back in the seat, staring blankly at me. “Like I said, you’re wasting your time. I don’t want to have anything to do with you. In fact, I pretty much despise you and everything you stand for now.”

  Her words have the desired effect, slamming into me like a savage blow to the chest. I’m reeling from the impact, but I also recognize bluster when I see it. She wants to believe that’s the truth, but it’s not. I see behind the façade. She’s doing everything in her power to push me away, but the signs are there.

  The waitress sets two plates down in front of us, and I thank her. Ange starts wolfing her pancakes down, and it’s like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to my heart. Even though she’s whippet thin, and clearly not looking after herself properly, my girl still has one hell of an appetite, and I’m glad to see it. I need these little things to remind me why I’m here, why I’m doing this, when she’s trying everything in her power to turn me away.

  I wait until I’m completely calm before responding to her. “If you don’t want anything to do with me, why do you still wear my tattoo on your wrist, my locket around your neck, and why did you take my name?” Her fork clangs to the table, and surprise is splayed across her face. My mouth curls into a smug smile. Can’t help it. “I’m a detective, Ange. Did you really think I wouldn’t have looked up everything I could about you the minute you reappeared in my life?” I push my uneaten plate away, leaning my arm along the top of the booth. “I’ve got to hand it to you, baby doll. That was clever. Real clever. I did think about it, you know. I’ve run numerous nationwide searches for Angelina Morgan and Angelina Carter, but I’d never have thought to search for my own name.”

  I can’t describe my feelings in the moment I realized she’d assumed my name. “Roberta Devina Morgan.” I roll the name she goe
s by now over my tongue, loving how it sounds. “Or Ro to your friends, I believe. I like it. I like it a lot.”

  “It wasn’t for your benefit,” she says, pouting, “and there’s no need to act so smug. I was a fucking mess back then, and it was the only name that sprung to mind, so you can quit acting all sentimental over it. It means nothing. Just like you.” She stands up. “I’ve had enough of this. I’m leaving. My boyfriend will be wondering where I am.” That’s news to me, and I don’t hide my disappointment in time. She leans across the table, putting her face right in mine. Noxious fumes waft through the air, and I close my nostrils off for a few seconds. “And I still need to get off, seeing as someone”—she pokes a slender finger in my chest—“ruined my fun tonight.”

  “Does your boyfriend know you fuck random douchebags in public?”

  She straightens up, tilting her head to the side, wobbling unsteadily on her feet. Clutching the edge of the table, she smirks at me. “That’s for me to know and you to find out, de-tec-tive.”

  She enunciates the word, her voice dripping with sarcasm, and I’m done. It’s almost three a.m. and I can’t do this anymore tonight. Disappointment, hurt, and regret wage a vicious war inside me. “Have it your way,” I say, fishing out my wallet and slapping some cash on the table. “But we’re not done talking. I’ll drop you home and then you and I are making plans to meet tomorrow.”

  A laugh bursts out of her. “Eh, yeah, don’t think so.”

  “I can still arrest you.”

  She holds out her wrists. “Arrest me then.”

  She’s calling my bluff, and I’m tempted to follow through, if only to ensure I know exactly where she is, but I’m not walking her into a police station and booking her for indecent exposure. She doesn’t need that on her record. Shocked me that she had one. Two counts of drunk and disorderly in the last three years. She’s lucky her lawyer knew what he was doing, and managed to get her off with a fine. If she’s not careful, she could end up doing time.

  “Don’t. Push. Me.” I try to take her arm, but she shoves me away, almost falling on her butt in the process. I wrap my arm around her shoulders. “You will let me escort you out of here or I will throw your butt in jail. I’m warning you, Ange, you’ve tested me enough for one night.”

  “Asshole,” she mumbles under her breath, but she gives up trying to wriggle out of my hold. The instant we step foot outside, she slams to a halt. “You’re not driving me home. I’ll call a cab.”

  “Get in the car, Ange.”

  “I don’t want you knowing where I live.”

  I roll my eyes. “I already know where you live. Detective, remember?”

  She scowls as she clambers into the car, muttering more obscenities under her breath. Danny quirks a brow, and I just shake my head.

  The journey is undertaken in complete silence. My eyes are closed as I rest my head back. My chest is tight with pain.

  When we reach the building where Ange lives, she can’t get out of the car quick enough. The heel of her shoe catches in the rim of the door in her haste to get away from me, and she falls headfirst onto the sidewalk.

  I hop out of the car the same time Danny does, and we both race around to her side. She’s groaning, clutching her head, and trying to sit up. “Let me see.” I push her hair back, inspecting the nasty gash in her forehead. “Shit. You might need stitches.”

  “I’m fine.”

  She swats my hand away, attempting to stand up. Danny helps her to her feet, and she doesn’t mount any protest at his touch, which fucking messes with my head. She leaves her shoes on the sidewalk as she stumbles toward the door in her bare feet, staggering all over the place. Blood drips down her face, and I reach my limit, storming after her. “You need to go to the hospital.”

  “The fuck I do.”

  I start dragging her back to the car. “You could have a concussion.”

  “Get the hell away from me,” she screams, trying to pry my hand off her arm.

  I strengthen my grip, hauling her to the car. She’s remarkably strong for a drunk, fighting me the entire time. When her nails dig into my flesh, piercing skin, and drawing blood, I roar out in pain, but I don’t let go. We’re at the car now, and she’s struggling as I’m trying to get her in the back seat. “Ange, stop. Please. Just let me take you to the emergency room to get checked out.”

  She leans back, making a grating sound at the back of her throat, and then she lets a loogie loose from her mouth. Her saliva hits me square in the face, and I jump back, disgusted, staring at the woman I love with abject horror.

  She laughs hysterically, doubling over and clutching her stomach. Blood is still oozing out of the cut on her forehead, trickling into her eyes. Pain slices across my chest. My heart actually fucking hurts. I don’t know what to do there. How to help her.

  Danny steps forward, subtly shaking his head in my direction. “Let me try,” he mouths, and I nod. Then I rest my head on the hood of the car, all out of ammo. Tonight has drained me in more ways than one.

  “Ange,” I hear Danny say. “Will you let me take you inside and clean your cuts?”

  Her manic laughter trails off. She sniffs. “Yeah, once he stays out here.”

  I don’t even look at her as I walk around the front of the car and get in the passenger seat. With mechanical movements, I open the glove box and remove a pack of tissues, wiping the spittle off my face. Balling the tissue in my hand, I slam my palms down hard on the dash, repeatedly, roaring as frustration gets the better of me. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” I rock my head in my hands as despair blankets me.

  It feels like I’m losing her all over again.

  And I have to wonder if she was ever mine to begin with.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Angelina

  My head is thumping like a million bongo players are testing a new rhythm out in my skull. My mouth is dry and icky, and my chest burns with a combo of acid reflux and heartache. After Danny patched me up last night, I collapsed in a heap on the couch, passing out almost instantly. I woke a couple hours after that, in bed beside a snoring Scott. Pushing his leg off mine, I managed to race to the bathroom before I spewed up my guts. Vodka seeped out my nose and my mouth, mixing with course tears as they slid down my face. When I had nothing left to expel, I lay on the cold tile floor, sobbing.

  Devin’s reappearance in my life has brought everything to the surface again, and I’m no more equipped to deal with the maelstrom of emotions than I was back then.

  I roll over in the bed, wondering how I got here a second time because I’m pretty sure I cried myself to sleep on the floor in the bathroom. I move my hand across the bed, but the sheets are cold and empty. Scott must have decided to go into the dealership today. His dad owns the place, and he reluctantly gave him a position a couple years ago when he’d been fired from his job again. Only family can put up with his shit.

  I shuffle out of bed, dragging my achy body to the kitchen. Rummaging in the cupboards near the sink, I find a couple of pain pills and swallow them with a mouthful of vodka, ignoring the ache in my throat as the liquid goes down. I open the other cupboards, hoping there’s even a dry cracker or some breakfast cereal, but the cupboards are bare. I take another swig from the vodka bottle, grateful I still have my priorities in order. Who needs food when you’ve got booze, right? Bending down to open our small refrigerator, I wince as a dart of pain shoots up my spine. Lifting my shirt, I prod at the blossoming bruise that stretches from my left hipbone around my back. Shit. I strip off my shirt, standing in my undies in the kitchen as I inspect every inch of my body.

  More bruising is evident on my shins, and I saunter into the bathroom to examine my reflection in the mirror. Christ, I look like shit. Mascara has clumped my lashes together, and smeared makeup across my cheeks makes me look like a scary extra from a horror movie. I scrub my face clean, washing carefully around the Band-A
id on my forehead. A large purplish bruise covers my chin and my left cheek, and I sigh. At least I can cover it with makeup and avoid having to cancel any gigs. I desperately need the cash.

  I walk back into the kitchen and slam to a halt. Devin is standing in the middle of the space, scanning the room with a look of absolute horror on his face.

  “What the hell are you doing here, and how did you get in?”

  He lifts his head in my direction. “Another resident let me into the building, and your door was unlocked.”

  “Fucking idiot, Scott,” I murmur.

  “Jesus Christ, Ange. You’re covered in cuts and bruises.” His eyes roam my undie-clad body, and then he quickly looks away.

  “See something you like, Devin,” I taunt in a singsong voice, tossing my tangled hair over one shoulder.

  “Stop, Ange. Please.” He bends down, picking up my shirt and throwing it to me. “Put some clothes on.”

  I take the shirt, sauntering toward him holding it in my hands. “What if I don’t want to?”

  He places his hands on the dirty kitchen counter, leaning his head forward as he draws a sharp breath. Then he seems to think better of it, yanking his hands away and crossing to the sink to wash them.

  “Still a clean freak,” I tease.

  “Wouldn’t be hard in a place like this.” He dries his hands on the front of his jeans, scowling as he spots the open vodka bottle. I snatch it before he picks it up, hugging it to my chest possessively. He swallows hard, and I detest the look of pity in his eyes. “I can’t believe you’re living like this. Your mother would be so upset if she knew.”

  All teasing evaporates at the mention of her name. The vodka bottle drops, smashing into smithereens, but I barely notice. Stepping around the broken glass, as if on auto-pilot, I walk to his side, and grab his arm, attempting to pull him toward the door. “Get out. Get out and stay out. I mean it.”

  “No.” He holds me by the shoulders. “I’m not leaving until this place is clean and you’ve eaten something.”