Page 75 of Devotion

Yes, things between us went way left, but no way Martinez was always this much of a dick. How the hell could I have missed that? How did I even let myself get entangled with a man like that?

An impulsive thought hits me, and I’m seated at my desk the next instant, ignoring my mascara-stained cheeks in the reflection of my computer monitor before I turn it on. In the short time it takes the screen to brighten, and to get to my messages, I consider that what I’m about to do might be wrong. But with my emotions running high, and seeing red like I am, I don’t even think about stopping myself.

Layla: Are you there?

My heart races while I wait, tapping my foot beneath the desk as rage spreads all over. When three dots start to bounce in the chat box, I draw in a relieved breath.

Unknown: Always.

With this being the first time I’ve spoken to Damien since our night together, when he revealed so many things about himself, our connection, I should be addressing far more important questions. However, my thoughts are singular, laser focused.

Layla: How do we do it? What’s the process?

Unknown: Process?

My fingers hesitate over the keys, knowing I’m crossing the line even entertaining the idea that’s taken over my thoughts.

Layla: How do we collaborate? How do we… make art together?

I haven’t come right out and said those dark, wicked words bleeding through this message, but he knows exactly what I mean. I’m certain of it long before he responds.

Unknown: Ah, I see. Last time, you relayed the details, but they were vague, which meant I was left to improvise. So, if you’re feeling bold, a name would be far better.

An unsolicited image flashes inside my head. It’s of Martinez lying cold on the ground, bleeding out as his unfocused eyes stay fixed on the ceiling. Again, my fingers hover over the keys. Several times, I type and erase the name Diego Martinez, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Not even if it feels like he absolutely deserves death and the emptiness that would soon follow.

Layla: This was a mistake.

Unknown: There’s no such thing as mistakes. Give me a name, Layla. It’s as simple as that. Give me a name, and I’ll take care of the rest.

I stare at the screen for nearly a minute, sorting through the mess of thoughts and emotions that have more tears streaming down my face.

Unknown: It’s him, isn’t it? Did he hurt you?

The question has a memory of Martinez’s threat echoing inside my head. His promise that I’ll eventually piss him off to the point that he’d deem the resulting jail time completely worth it.

The only thing I’m unsure of is whether he means he’d hurt me or…killme. Still,I’mno killer. Or whatever it would make me if I came straight out and asked Damien to do me this favor.

Layla: Just forget you heard from me. I’m not… this. I can’t be a part of what you do.

Unknown: You’re right. In every way, you’re better than me.

At first, I’m unsure whether the statement is meant in jest, teeming with sarcasm, but then I remember who I’m talking to. Damien is the most straightforward person I know, and sarcasm isn’t in his nature. A realization that has me lowering my head because… it means he actually believes he’s right. He actually believes I’m better than him. But if that were true, I wouldn’t have evenconsideredreaching out to ask for this favor.

Layla: You’re wrong. I’m damaged goods. You just haven’t realized it yet.

I hate that Martinez’s words are echoing inside my head, his declaration that Damien would one day see how fucked up I really am and want nothing to do with me.

Unknown: I already see you, Layla, and all the fucking scars on your soul. Scars you think you hide so well, but I see you. I’vealwaysseen you.

A tear slips down my cheek when he seems to be directly addressing my unspoken thought.

Unknown: There’s not a single thing wrong with you, and fuck anyone who thinks otherwise. And as far as our… art… is concerned, I get it. You’re conflicted because your goodness makes what you’re asking of me beneath you. But what you’re forgetting is… it isn’t beneathme.

My stomach twists reading his words, feeling their depth and sincerity pushing deeper into me like a blade.

Unknown: I’ll gladly be the one who walks into the darkness for you. Confirm it’s him, then let me take care of the rest.

His pressing has the knot in my stomach doubling in size, and I can’t do this.

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