Die In California

28

Rook's POV:

I don't know why I ignored Devyn - most likely because of my pride - but I instantly regretted it. All she wanted was an answer, but I couldn't provide her with that without exposing myself, letting my own image take importance over Devyn's feelings. It wasn't right, and I knew that, yet I still did it. But not without deep guilt and regret.

After I'd been so cold towards her, and yet again failed to give her a reason, Devyn turned to face the window, silent for the next few hours. It was no surprise, really, and I knew it shouldn't have stung as much as it did - I deserved to be treated that way. But it still hurt all the same. All she wanted was a fucking answer as to why I'd been behaving so weirdly, but I couldn't give her that. It was a dick move, I knew that, but there was no going back. What was done, was done.

But after a while, I began to notice the signs. Dr Holloway had taught me them, but I had yet to put it into practice, until about halfway through our flight. She was silent, staring out of the window. But I noticed her leg lightly bouncing, and the way she was fidgeting, occasionally jolting in what seemed to be paranoia. I saw the signs, and I knew what was wrong.

"Devyn." I gently spoke - a voice now so foreign to me, after the abrupt distance I put between us. But the moment I saw her begin to lightly tremble, I knew I needed to drop all my walls and be there for her, putting my ego and pride aside for the minute. "Devyn, what's up?" I lightly placed my hand on her shoulder, making her jump as she whipped her head round to stare at me - almost as if she didn't know that I was there, despite having talked to me a few hours earlier.

Her ocean eyes were distant, as though a hazy film was across them - she wasn't exactly looking at me, like it would appear to anyone else who didn't know her. She occasionally jolted as though someone was touching her, when nobody else but us two were at the back of the plane. "What's happening, Devy?" I softly asked as I slowly reached my hand up to her head, making sure that she could anticipate my movements as I brushed the stray hairs behind her ear.

Devyn just shook her head and curled up in her seat, her knees pulled to her chest as she leaned against my arm. It was like she wanted comfort, but didn't know how to go about getting it. So, I shifted in my seat and pulled her across to sit sideways on my lap, her feet on her chair as she leaned her side against my chest. I wrapped her blanket around us, then held her securely in my arms, hoping that I was helping her.

"I di'n' take my meds, an'- the voices are tryna come back, but I don' know what t'do. I mean, d'-I still have my job at the tattoo studio, or am I sponging off you guys all my life? I don' really care, but dad will. Dad hates, what's-it, 'moocher's? But we hate dad, so- we're goin' tour, how cool is that? Please jus' shut the fuck up, in there."

I let Devyn ramble to herself. Her speech was a little slurred, and faster than usual. She seemed to be having multiple conversations at once, and I'd never once heard her speak so openly about her father - it was never 'dad', it was always 'father', or 'asshole' or some other derogatory term for him which showed she hated him. But I let her get it all out, occasionally nodding along to show my support and to reassure her that I was listening.

After a while, she'd talked herself into silence, her head leaning against my shoulder and gradually beginning to nuzzle into the crook of my neck. I only held her closer, my arms tight around her body as a promise that I'd always look after her - even if I hadn't shown it enough recently. But all that seemed to have been forgotten the moment I saw her eyes dissociate. All that mattered was that she was okay.

Devyn hadn't quite been as bad as when we found her in the dressing room of the Denver show, that was for sure, but there was nothing to prevent her from accelerating. She continued to occasionally mumble to herself - incoherent phrases, and snippets of words - and clutched onto me as if I was her only grip on reality. I most likely was. And I wasn't ever going to leave.