Secrets

44 | devon

I'm just barely managing to keep myself together upon returning to California. Somehow, I'm able to survive the long flight home without breaking down. I even suffer through the night once I land, tossing and turning in my uncomfortable bed unable to settle into a peaceful slumber–though I don't shed a single tear. I drag myself through classes and push myself on the field. I'm taking all that has happened significantly well, despite how much I'm aching on the inside.

I'm finding it bearable to pretend that I'm fine. That is, until I enter my shared room with Audrey and her amber eyes find mine.

My roommate studies me with furrowed eyebrows and a thoughtful frown, and somehow she just . . . knows. I see it in her face, concern and suspicion, clear as day.

"Devon?" she asks gently. "What's wrong?"

That's when I lose it.

I'm bawling within seconds–the embarrassing kind of crying, all rattling breaths and rivers of tears on top of uncontrollable snot. I shake my head as Audrey rushes to my side, trying her best to console me amidst all of my blubbering.

"Devon?" she asks almost frantically, rubbing my back soothingly. "What happened? Didn't you get to see Hadley? Did it not go well?"

I exhale a horrid sound, something between a humorless snort and a sob. "No," I manage to choke out. "It went terribly."

Audrey stiffens. I sense that she is itching to ask me questions, to interrogate me on all that happened, yet doesn't want to pry. So I clear my throat and inhale a deep breath, trying to calm down enough to share the answers to all of her unspoken questions.

"We fought," I share. Recalling the night of homecoming in my memory, I can't resist expelling dry laughter. It all seems so stupid now, the topic of our argument. In all honesty, I can hardly even remember why I had been so angry in the first place. Now all I feel is sadness–vast, empty sadness that consumes all of the holes in my heart.

"I was so angry," I continue, shaking my head at my own ridiculousness. "Because of something so dumb. And I just . . . I ended it."

Audrey raises her eyebrows. Shock is written all over her features, and her mouth opens before quickly closing like she wants to comment though isn't sure if it is safe to do so.

"I don't think I was even really all that upset about what we were arguing about," I press on, unable to stop myself from oversharing now. "I just . . . this whole long distance thing has been so hard." My voice cracks, though I force myself to keep speaking. It's nice–getting everything I'm feeling out into the open. Having someone at my side just listening–someone who only knows me for being Devon, not a part of Devon and Hadley.

"I've been struggling to let go of the fact that I'm not physically there anymore," I admit weakly. "And its been killing me–seeing everything at home go on without me. I've felt so . . . excluded? I don't know. Everything is different now, and I just . . . don't fit. And Hadley isn't here to be a part of all the things changing in my life, the same as I'm not there to witness hers. I chose Stanford–I've dreamed of playing for Stanford practically since I was born. And I've been refusing to let myself find any happiness here because all I can do is stress and worry about everything going on back home that I'm not a part of . . . and it's just become too unhealthy to bear."