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It echoes in the silence, starkly outlining how little I mean to him. Nothing more than his paid toy. A game to play and no more.
Everything we had was fake.
I was so stupid to believe this cynical asshole could love a broken, beat down girl from the wrong side of town. Naive to forget how little I can trust men—in the end, they’re all alike.
Releasing a watery breath, I go to the closet panels along the wall, opening the one where I found our contract when I was stealing one of Devlin’s shirts to wear. I take out the magazine page with our deal written on it and spin to face Devlin. I knew when I discovered he still had it, in his bedroom no less, that things hadn’t changed.
Devlin’s eyes widen a fraction. He must have thought I wouldn’t find the contract. It was bound to happen—I’m always stealing his clothes.
“This is over.”
The sound of the tearing page grates on my ears as I shred it in front of him. My chest heaves with my agitated breathing, hoarse sounds slipping past my lips as I try to hold my emotions back. I’m in survival mode, there’s no time for tears. Not yet. I can’t crack until I’m in a safe space, where I can let go and bleed myself dry of this bleak feeling swallowing me whole.
Devlin watches with a detached disinterest, eyes hooded. The torn scraps of the magazine page fall to the floor in a flutter.
Part of me wants to storm out, but I’m not leaving my books behind. I have more clothes I left at the trailer, the ones here can stay. I gather the paperbacks from the nightstand into my arms and go into my room. Devlin follows, hands buried in his pockets. He doesn’t say anything to stop me as I grab my duffel bag and stack my books inside.
It stabs like needles into my nerve endings. He says nothing.
Doesn’t that drive the truth home? If he cared, he’d say something to stop me from self-destructing.
The tears I’m holding back leak free, but I can’t break down yet. I finish gathering the books from the bedrooms, pull on shoes, and pause at the top of the stairs with the heavy bag weighing me down.
There are more books I’ve left all over the house. The one unaccounted for that hurts worst of all is my favorite book, the one I read with Mom. I can’t find Stardust anywhere and I’m out of time. Devlin is breathing down the back of my neck.
I need to get out of here, far away from him, before I give into the weak rattle in my chest begging me to stay.
Shoving it down, I start for the steps.
A hand on my arm stops me. I glance down at Devlin’s iron grip squeezing my bicep too hard. There’s a tremor in his hand.
“You can’t force me to stay here against my will like I’m your captive.” My voice is cold. It’s the only way I know to stay strong so I can leave. “Let me go.”
Devlin releases a derisive scoff, dropping my arm. It throbs, the echo of his fingers lingering. My pale skin will probably carry his bruises.
“This arrangement is over then.”
I hesitate at the top of the stairs, looking back. He could call the cops. It was the threat that kept me under his thumb at first, before I thought it changed.
It’s a consequence I’ll have to face later.
Devlin’s stare is piercing, giving away nothing. Even when I hated him, I could read between the lines of his carefully constructed mask.
Gripping the strap of my patched up duffel bag, I make my escape. Every step makes my heart snap, the shattered pieces falling away. I don’t reach my car before the tears bash through the thin wall keeping them at bay.
Thirty-Nine
Devlin
Everyone leaves. That’s my universal truth. I was an idiot to forget it or think this time would be different.
My body moved without my permission, holding her arm in a last-ditch effort, the instinct to stop her an innate thing I couldn’t control.
No matter how much I prepared myself for it, Blair leaving hurts worse than anyone who’s abandoned me before.
And I’ve never deserved it more.
Forty
