Secrets

43 | hadley

I knew agreeing to this was a bad idea the second I said yes.

I know my friends are only trying to make me feel better, which is why I agreed in the first place. This is the sort of thing you do after a break up, right? You let your friends drag you out of bed, let them make you look presentable, you don't put up a fight when they take you to a party, and you listen when they say have fun, okay?

I don't want to have fun. I want to curl up in my bed–which is where I've been living the last week–with my phone in hand, hoping and hoping that Devon will call even though I know she won't. But what do I have to lose, right? Devon is gone and Devon is not coming back. At least, not for me.

So I make myself pretty. And I go to the party. And I listen to my friends.

Mason tugs me along as we wander through some stranger's house, making sure not to lose sight of me. Bianca stands at my other side, shooting me glances of pity whenever she thinks I'm not looking. I'm getting used to all of my friends treating me like I'm made of porcelain–like I'll break if they're not careful enough with me.

Loud music blares. Unknown smoke wafts in the air. I'm surrounded by strangers. The smell of booze burns my nostrils. I don't know how my friends thought this was supposed to make me feel any better, but I force a smile and nod when they ask if I'm having fun anyway. After all, it's the thought that counts, right?

On the inside, I'm falling apart. Devon and I started dating because of a party just like this one. I can't escape her, she's everywhere around me. There we are on the couch, a tangle of intertwined limbs and frenzied kisses. She's by the cup pong table, playing with our friends back when I knew nothing about what we would become. She's standing in the corner, watching me from afar with a knowing smile.

Except she's not here at all, and I don't know what hurts worse. Delusion or reality.

I know I should refuse when Bianca offers me a shot, but part of me longs to have an excuse to be as out of my mind as I feel. So I accept the offer. Then another. And another. I drink until my vision and feet are as unstable as my mind. Then I drink some more.

The alcohol coursing through my veins almost makes the night fun. The smiles come easier, the laughter less forced. My limbs are jelly as I dance with Mason and Bianca, our bodies pressed together as we swim through the crowd. I don't think about Devon, but not thinking about Devon seems to make me think of her more, so I tell myself that Devon is gone. Gone gone gone. She didn't run after me and she's not going to so I need to stop running, I need to stop looking over my shoulder hoping she'll be following after me. There she is on the couch. There she is in the corner. There she is by the bar. She's not here. She's not here.

But she is.

I don't know how I'm able to recognize her, not in this state of mind. But I do. Maybe because I can never forget. Devon is never here, but she is everywhere. I absorb the chestnut hair, the hazel eyes, the freckles. I drink her silhouette like a shot of vodka. Her presence has the same effect as the alcohol coursing through my veins.