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“You do it. I’ll do it on Monday.”
“Ally, maybe we could—”
“I can’t do this, Devon. Not in any way. I can’t be here anymore or…I won’t beanywhereanymore…at all. Do you get that? Do you hear what I’m saying?”
“What are you talking about?”
“You don’t have to feel bad for hurting me. I don’t want you to. You don’t have to be sorry because I forgive you. Is that what you want?”
“Well…yes. But—”
“I’m always going to forgive you because…it’s us. Okay? I have to go.”
I watch her leave, then head back inside the gym to clean up the paint and return it to the art supply closet. I’m still folding the drop cloth when the basketball players begin filing in for practice.
“I mean, shepractically said we were going to hook up,” Trevor says.
I know he’s talking about Ally. I feel his eyes on me, waiting for a reaction, and sadly, I can’t resist. I laugh just a little and shake my head.
“Is that okay with you, Devon? If I fuck your girlfriend?”
“It’s kind of weird that you’d want to fuck your mom, but I guess, man. As long as it’s consensual.”
A couple of the other guys laugh, and I feel the rage dripping off him.
“Dude, Ally was never with him,” Luke says.
Isaac comes out of the locker room, dribbling a ball. He looks over at me, and I roll my eyes, tuck the drop cloth under my arm, and pick up the paint caddy with the other hand.
“Hey,” he says, jogging over to me, “are you okay, man?”
“Your friends are douchebags. Are you going to the party tomorrow with these idiots?”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” he says. “And you shouldn’t either.”
“He said Ally is going to be there,” I tell him. “I hurt her—with the picture. It was too much; you were right.”
“Well, isn’t that what you wanted?”
“I thought so, but…I don’t anymore.”
His coach blows the whistle. “Nguyen! Get over here!”
Isaac glances over his shoulder before turning back to me and saying, “Don’t go to that party, dude. Ally probably won’t even bethere. You guys need to give each other space. Focus on yourself; get your fucking head right.”
“Yeah, okay.”
“I’m serious,” he says, then jogs over to meet his teammates.
I walk back to the supply closet and take Isaac’s words to heart only for a minute before deciding I’m not going to listen to him. Ally and I are different. He doesn’t get that. He doesn’t get how we work.
Once home, I go straight to my room, ready to spend another evening getting drunk alone and doomscrolling Reddit until night comes. I open the app and prepare to start dumpster diving, but I surprise myself. I set my phone aside and grab a pencil and some paper from the nightstand. I start to draw Ally again—myAlly, the way I’ve always seen her. Beautiful and resilient, fierce but vulnerable, introspective and passionate. I don’t expect it to fix everything, but she always loved it when I’d draw for her, so maybe that’s a good place to start. At the very least, maybe it’ll get the other one out of her head. Even if we do both forget and move on, she needs to know that I don’t see her like that.
It occurs to me as I start to sketch her hair that this is the first thing I’ve done since I got out that wasn’t motivated by some kind of spite and it’s the stillest my underlying anger has been in months. I wouldn’t say that I feel good or better even, but it’s a start.
Iwait until Grace passes out on Saturday to leave through the window, not bothering to try and be quiet. She hasn’t left her room much over the past week except to go to work. Sometimes, I wonder if she’s planning something. I wonder if maybe she’s just satisfied now that she’s won or if she’s less satisfied knowing that I’ve all but lost the will to live, and she can see in my eyes that nothing hurts anymore.
Luke’s house is only a few blocks away, so I decided to walk. Trick-or-treating ended a couple of hours ago, but there are still a few older kids out walking the neighborhood—enough that I’m not worried about being alone or looking out of place. Toilet paper adorns some of the trees and sidewalks, likely having been picked up by the icy late October breeze.
