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I put those thoughts aside and focus my attention on the app again. The picture of me in Colorado will work as a profile photo for the app, just as soon as Rigger makes a few changes to it. I’m sure as hell not going to use a public domain image, so I ask him to tweak this picture a little, make it look, I don’t know, modern’ish. And maybe slightly different from the real 12-year-old me.
I shut off the tablet after sending Rigger the email, then make a drink, heading off to my balcony to enjoy the overlook. In the distance, the downtown lights of Phoenix flicker. Early November is the best time of year because I can actually be outside without feeling like I’m battling heatstroke. I love the desert. It owns my heart. But summers are a sadistic bitch.
I don’t stay outside late. Fatigue wins. After getting on my pajamas, I get settled under the covers and pull the sheets over me, slipping into the eeriness of Devin’s absence. I’ve shared a bed with her for nine months. And we’ve only slept apart once when a kill took me to New Mexico for a few days. This is just … weird. I find myself missing her, but not enough that it keeps me awake.
And I’m not sure if it’s her that I miss, or just the presence of another warm body.
That’s a really shitty thought to have, I think as I drift to sleep.
Chapter 3
I wake up the next morning with Ritz standing on my chest and staring me dead in the eyes. I grunt and pat him on the head, prompting him to jump down. He does this two or three times a week. It sounds really cute until it happens to you.
When I see that I’ve overslept by an hour I jerk on some leggings and feed him, then jet to the elliptical in the fitness center, kicking myself for running late. There are already two other people here. I usually have the room to myself if I get here before 8:00, but no such luck today. Still, I knock out a 45-minute run and head back upstairs to check my email. Rigger has sent me something, a tiny paperclip next to his name.
Here’s what you requested. Let me know if it works.
I open the attachment and a slightly altered image of me when I was twelve fills half the screen. My face is a little narrower and Rigger has dotted my nose and chin with a few pimples for that whole preteen effect.
I upload the picture to my KidSafePact profile, wondering how long it will take King to notice me and strike up a conversation. I don’t know how he goes about doing his job but it’ll be interesting to find out.
After showering and making a protein shake, I decide that Devin’s boxes are staring at me pretty hard. The urge to shove them in the outer hallway is strong. Then I feel bad because I know I’ve let her down. I consider sending her a message to check on her and ask when she’ll be here to get her stuff. But she knows I’m usually gone in the morning, working at a coffee shop somewhere, so hopefully when I get home this afternoon it will all be taken care of.
I also remember the last thing she said to me before leaving last night. So it’s probably best that I just give her space. I feel so disconnected from this whole process. I know I should care that our relationship just ended, that I’ve actually hurt someone, but I don’t know where to tap into that part of me. It’s buried so deep and in an unknown place I wouldn’t even know where to search for it.
Ritz jumps on the kitchen counter to groom himself after eating but he pauses to look at me, tilting his head. I wonder if he’s reading my thoughts right now. I scratch the side of his face and his purr-engine starts up as he closes his eyes.
“Don’t worry, my little Ritzy pants. I’ll never send you packing. You’re the love of my life. The apple of my eye. The wind beneath—”
I stop talking, feeling the weight of another presence. I turn around and see Devin standing in the doorway, jaw hitched and eyes narrowed as she clutches the same duffel she had last night, only this time it’s empty.
“Well, there’s one pussy you like. Lucky him.”
“Dev,” I say in the most soothing voice I can muster. But I don’t know what else to say so I just let her name float in the air between us.
“I thought you’d make yourself scarce today,” she says, her face glittering with anger.
“I will. Was on my way out, just got a late start.”
When she rolls her eyes, I wonder where all this anger is coming from. Does she think I’m lying? That I’m here purposely to make shit difficult for her? Or is there a part of her that wanted me to have a completely different response. One in which I pronounce how wrong I was and beg her to stay.
I part my lips to ask if something happened to flip this switch in her but I think better of it. So, I slide my laptop and tablet inside the satchel and sling it over my shoulder. When I turn back around Devin is already in the bedroom, shoving more clothes in her duffel bag. I watch her from outside the room, something tugging at my gut. Remorse, maybe? An unidentifiable emotion? I’m experiencing one of those feelings there aren’t words for.
She stops with the packing and looks at me, holding my gaze for an uncomfortable length of time. I realize that she must be waiting for me to say something. But in actuality it’smewaiting forherto spew off with something. Maybe cuss me out, or tell me she wants to be friends, or some other lie that people tell their exes, not to ease the blow but to ease their conscience of doing the shitty act of breaking up.
“You want me to help you get some of these boxes downstairs?”
She rolls her eyes again, so hard I expect her to lose her balance.
“Fuck off a cliff, Tove. Seriously. Just fuck off and die.”
“Jesus,” I mutter, taking a step back. Her words cut through me, all the way to my marrow. I know I wasn’t the most attentive girlfriend. But there really isn’t any need for this level of hostility.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just …” Her eyes close, fists tighten. “I really need space right now.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
She can have all the space she needs. Really.
