sweeter with you

|2|Secrets|

     I woke up the next day to a damp pillow and a broken heart. At first, I was convinced I had dreamed our falling out before I accepted it had been all too real.

     I threw on a flowy, ruffled shirt and paired it with cropped skinnies. I slipped into some comfy shoes and continued my morning routine. I was going to get through this, I reassured myself in the mirror while brushing my teeth. He doesn't deserve my tears, I thought. Yet I couldn't shake the imprint he left on me. I thought of his strong arms holding me and sighed as I recalled how electric his touch was. I brushed through the knots in my dark curls and weaved it into an intricate braid, all the while feeling his gentle embrace. I searched and searched for an answer.

     It was the last day of school before spring break and Devon was rambling on about all the plans he had for us, describing utterly impossible adventures to me as I just laughed. Our hands brushed each other over and over. We both noticed and Devon's demure nature seemed to melt away. He took my hand in his, lacing his fingers with mine and squeezed gently. I just stared, obviously in shock and it sure showed. "What?" he laughed, "Did you never hold hands with your friends in kindergarten?"

     " You're not a friend," I said, "and this isn't kindergarten." His shoulders slumped and his grip loosened. I leaned into his shoulder and whispered, "You're a best friend." His smile lit up our quaint, southern small town. I knew no greater satisfaction than being the reason behind it.

     We finished the walk to his house and he fumbled with his key. Mom worked nights, so I spent the afternoons with Devon and his older sister, Dahlia. Our mothers were good friends so we spent a lot of time together outside of school. I definitely wasn't complaining. Any extra time with him was heaven to me and I was sure he felt the same. His advancements were becoming increasingly obvious.

     "Okay, first things first, we've got to try out this new recipe for pancakes. Breakfast for dinner, the meal of champions, I say," he said, earning a nod of approval from me. "Hey, do you mind getting my recipe book from my room?" Devon asked me. He was an avid cook and a damn good one at that. He never went out to restaurants because he always felt he could top the dish at home. Another consequence of his perfectionist complex. I shot him a thumbs up and hurried down the hallway. The sooner I fetched this book, the sooner I would be chowing down on his gourmet shit. Gosh, that stuff could reduce a food critic to tears.

     I opened the door to his room and I was immediately greeted by a minty scent that I recognized as his. His room was flawless, his bed made and surfaces clutter-free. I scoffed. Sooo typical. He was the complete opposite of me and Dahlia; on a good day, our beds were barely visible under the mountains of laundry piles strewn everywhere. I found his desk and on it: two identical notebooks. Given his OCD status, I figured he'd at least label his stuff but hey, even the best of us are wrong sometime. I reached for the one on the left, starting towards the door then stopping in my tracks.

     This bundle of paper contained all of Devon's extensive culinary know-how and I really wanted to know how. I opened the little treasure and furrowed my brows, confused as to what I was reading. It was page after page of grievances and poems and pencil art. It was hauntingly beautiful but sent chills down my spine. He wrote certain lines over and over and at first I didn't register the severity of the situation but it became clear by the next few pieces. There was a hollowed out spot of the thick book. After pulling off the protective layer of tape, I found a single blade. My eyes widened and I didn't understand. Devon was always so happy. He never dared utter a single negative comment...at least around me. I wanted to cry for him. It must be so hard hiding all that pain behind such a beautiful persona.

     I sniffed and shut the book, immediately feeling guilty for invading his privacy like that. I hastily snatched the other notebook from his dust-free desk and headed towards the kitchen. I reviewed the idea of confronting him, but quickly shot it down. Devon would get defensive, and nothing would hurt me more than losing my best friend.

     As I walked in, he was tying his apron behind himself then wrapped the strings around to meet in his middle. The strings were too long against his lean, toned torso. It wasn't a mystery to how he kept in such good shape. Even though we spent most of our free time together, I knew as soon as I left, practiced a ritual of strenuous series of workouts, one after the other, often exceeding three hours and going on late into the night. Dahlia described his activities to me once, stating that he went running both early in the morning and right after I left each evening. He also lifted heavy weights and spent most of the weekends swimming in the large pool they kept in the backyard. Devon's house was a full thousand square feet larger than mine, so I preferred staying here than basking in solitude at my house.

     I noticed for the first time then how he lived in long-sleeve shirts. Even on the warmer spring days, he always managed to throw on a cardigan, layered over a long button up shirt. He rolled up his sleeves, then glanced over at me, noticing his mistake and tugging them back down over his defined forearms. He wasn't quick enough, revealing a series of criss-crossed marks all along his wrists and up to the crease of his elbows. All of them were in various stages of healing, some barely-there scars and others nearly fresh. I hid the look of concern on my face and smiled genuinely, pretending as if I had seen nothing. Devon needed help and I was determined to save him.

"Need any help?" I asked cheerfully. "I'm good doing this by myself, if you don't mind," he replied. "Suit yourself," I scoffed with a shrug.

    Plopping down on the sinking couch, I flipped through the channels, finding nothing interesting. I sighed and breathed in the wondrous scent of the pancakes, different flavors wafting through the air. Blueberry and chocolate dissipated around the room. I smiled, my trust in Devon's abilities increasing by the minute. My smile faded as I recalled my gruesome discovery. I knew I had to do something about it.

     Not many people knew this about me, but self-harm and eating disorders haunted me for years. Throughout middle school, I was addicted to the rush gliding the blade across my arms provided. I became invested in making sure I ate less than 500 calories each day. After that no longer remained an pressing issue, I turned into a monster, devouring everything in sight. My mother had to go grocery shopping every few days. It got bad.I gained 45 lbs. and was miserable. As soon as 8th grade ended, my mom sent me to an inpatient center at a rehabilitation center. My weight evened out but my self hatred remained, convincing me I was still 15 lbs. overweight. I was, but my mom always reassured me that it gave me curves. My last cut was six months ago. I knew how dangerous these things could be. I was sure Devon cut and most likely, was addicted to exercise. From that day on, I made sure to emphasize to him how important he was to me. I would save Devon Brooks, if it was the last thing I did.

okay please vote and comment and tell me what you think bc i feel like its shitty idk but chapter 2 thooo ayyy ok I'll stop omg