that I was a person, that I had a heart, that later they’d see me as I did and know I was a big, fat fake.
Mia was brilliant, though, and she should be praised. Plus, I still felt like a complete ass about the whole “reading” thing when we had first met. God, I practically acted rabid when she asked me if I read books. Another thing about myself I hated: assuming people thought I was stupid just because of what I did for a living, or lack thereof.
I sighed. I needed a drink. “Hey! I have an idea. Let’s go get a drink downtown.” I handed her back her phone, noticing the dark sky outside from the windows across the room. It was going on nighttime, the sun having set a while ago.
When I turned my gaze back to her to hear her response, I stopped in my tracks. She was white as a ghost, her fingers clenched tightly around her mug.
“Mia? What is it?” I asked her, totally confused.
She didn’t say anything, just put her cup down. “Um… I’m sorry. I’m not feeling good. Maybe some other time for drinks? Plus, it’s late.” She wouldn’t look at me, just stared ahead.
Something was off. Maybe she was a recovering alcoholic and didn’t go out?
Was it me she didn’t want to be seen with? That was probably it.
Foolish Devon, thinking that someone like Mia would go for fucking drinks with a whore.
“I get it. Well. Right, so. Tomorrow then? What time?” I stood up and walked over to the counter to get my stuff but stopped when I felt Mia’s touch on my arm.
“It’s not you,” she whispered. “It’s not you, Devon.”
I shrugged off her hand with a little too much force than I intended and grabbed my bag, pulling the strap over my shoulder. I didn’t turn to look at her, I was too pissed. Too ashamed for the first time in my life. I was who I was. This was my life.
And it hurt like a bitch.
“Whatever, Mia. I’ll see you around.”
She called me back as I clicked the button that would let me out the front floor, but I ignored her and stepped out into the cold night, shutting the door softly behind me.
Chapter Five
Mia
I liked her. I was attracted to her. She meant something to me. And I lost her. I messed up. Bigtime.
After Devon left, I curled up on the sofa and cried so hard, I thought I’d choke. I was sick of myself, the fear, the dread. I hated it. If only I could be normal. If only I could function like everybody else in this world. But I just. Couldn’t. Do. It.
About an hour after feeling sorry for myself, I grabbed my phone and opened up my messenger, finding Devon’s number and re-reading our texts. I stayed like that, frozen in place and staring at her name for a good five minutes before I typed a message.
Mia: I’m sorry. I want to talk. Can you come by? There are things… I would like you to know.
I pressed send and waited. No response.
I made some more tea. Checked again.
No response.
I took a shower, letting the water flush away all my misery. I checked my phone.
No response.
Finally, around midnight, she messaged me. I was in bed, with Mittens on my stomach curled into a tight ball, her warmth anchoring me to the now.
The phone was in my hand in seconds as I read Devon’s text.
Devon: I’m a block away.
Relief washed over me, joy threatening to send me over the edge, an edge I hadn’t seen since high school. Along in its wake came the nerves and the fear of rejection. But for the first time in my life, I was willing to stand on that edge with my heart on my sleeve, no matter the result.
I didn’t bother changing out of my pajamas, just grabbed a pair of fluffy socks and called it good. My hair was down, probably a rat’s nest of bed-head from not drying it when I washed it earlier. But I didn’t care.
By the time I added water to the kettle and set the burner on, the door buzzed, signaling Devon’s arrival.
I took a deep breath and went to the door, letting her in. We stared at one another for a moment in silence. She looked different. Harder. Serious. Fiery.
She was gorgeous.
“Hi,” I offered.
“Hey.” She sighed and crossed her arms. “Nice socks.”
My toes wiggled as I looked down at my fuzzy,