Devil You Know(34)

“Please.” My heart hangs about in my throat, waiting to see if I can get her back from the personal hell she’s banishing herself to.

“Take me home,” she murmurs.

Three little words which make me want to lie at her feet in defeat.

“You are home,” I say.

“I can’t do this again with someone I don’t know yet. I can’t go through all the pain right from the start, go through all it takes to learn how to survive. I can’t.”

“You wouldn’t be.”

“How can I be sure? How can you promise me that, when I saw how quickly you lost control?”

My head hurts from the pressure I put my brain under. I have to figure out what to say. Ask me where Jane and I stand, and I can’t tell you. But what I can say is no way in fucking hell is she going back to that asshole.

No. Fucking. Way.

“Jane, I don’t know what you need to hear. You’re right; we don’t know each other. All I can tell you is I’m committed to sharing all there is to know about me if you can tell me you’ll stay.” I play my best, and last card.

“I don’t know.” She draws her knees to her chest, and hides behind the physical barrier.

Rocco gets up from where he’s been watching beside the front door, and walks over to sit beside her. I watch as her fingers absently find his fur, and stroke an even rhythm.

“Please. Stay.” I reach out and place my palm against her jaw. She recoils, and a heavy nausea settles in my gut.

Jane screws her eyes tight as tears fall, one after the other, landing on her knees. I’m fixated on the spots of moisture on her jeans, the dark patches of fabric. They glare back, reminding me I did this. I upset her.

“You need time to think about it.” I don’t want to offer her the space, but being like we are isn’t getting anywhere. She needs the time to think it through, and hopefully, come to the right conclusion. “I’ll go get the groceries on my own. You stay here and think it over. You can tell me what you decide when I get back. If you still want to go home, I’ll drive you. I won’t be happy to do it, but I’ll drive you.”

She nods, still petting Rocco.

There’s no more I can do. I’ve fucked this afternoon up good and proper. Nothing I can do is going to remotely erase the jackass I made of myself, and the damage I did to her in the process.

As painful as it is, I stand and walk away. The feeling of loss has become so foreign until now, and I haven’t missed it at all. My doubts about living in my self-imposed exile from love and relationships are abolished. This, right here, right now, is the reason why I don’t get attached.

This is the reason why I live alone.

Why I don’t get involved.

Why I shouldn’t have jumped that fence.

And why I definitely shouldn’t have kissed her.





THE DOOR shuts behind him with a resounding thud. The echo in my head intensifies the longer I stay sitting with my arms banded around my legs. When it reaches a painful roar, like an angry ocean crashing inside my skull, I stand. To go where, to do what, I have no idea. I need to move—that’s all there is to it.

Rocco watches me, panting with his pink tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. I smile down at the ever-loving ball of fur, and tap my thigh. He follows me through to the bedroom Malice placed my things in yesterday.

I can’t complain about the décor. It’s plain, yet soothing: all pastels, and whites. Any given day I’d be dreaming of lying in the sun that streams over the bed, and reading until my eyes grow heavy. Today though, the soothing surrounding makes me more anxious.

Nothing like feeling you don’t belong in a place to make your skin crawl.

This is his house—even if it is a rental. It’s Malice’s. Nothing here is mine. I’m standing in the middle of a stranger’s house, without a singular thing to call my own other than the clothes on my back, and the dog at my feet. I couldn’t be more isolated if I tried. And the most disgusting thing is, I’ve felt this before; this loss of identity.

Restless, yet undecided on what to do with my misplaced energy, I fall onto the mattress, and stare at the ceiling. Rocco nudges my knee with his muzzle, and I reach down to tickle his chin while I ponder the meaning of life.

Is it worth the risk to stay? I’m not totally screwed in the head—I can see that Malice can’t be anywhere near as bad as Dylan. Yet the need to feel safe, secure, even if that’s in the confines of an oppressive routine, wins. Going back gives me the knowledge of how the day works. I know what to do when I get up, I know what’s expected of me, and I know how to keep my head down.