Page 75 of My Dark Divine

“And,” she starts, her head thrown back to enjoy the warmth of the sun, “about these scars of yours. What’s up with them? They look a little strange, and—” She pauses, and I feel my throat tighten. She’d avoided the subject until this moment, pretending not to notice, and her tone now makes me uncomfortable. “They’re not pretty by any means, but it’s notyour fault. I just, in general, don’t like things like that. Maybe you could cover?—”

“I love you, Amelia,” I blurt out, the confession slipping from my lips despite my hesitation. My anxiety skyrockets at her words, and I feel the familiar sting of my scars beneath my hoodie, as if they’re reacting to her voice. It makes me uncomfortable. I don’t want her to go any further. I keep thinking about how disgusting I am all the time, and she makes it worse for me now.

She looks at me with an indescribable emotion in her eyes before laughing again. Warmth floods my body, igniting every nerve ending. I can feel my cheeks burning crimson from the way she laughs at my confession, realizing there’s no way to take the moment back.

Why is she laughing? Maybe she’s nervous because she feels the same way, and that’s her defensive mechanism? Laughter in serious situations often means uncontrollable self-defense.

Yeah, that must be it. Otherwise, she wouldn’t be laughing at me now.

Amelia nods at my half-opened backpack. “What about this cheap mini player and headphones?” she asks, abruptly changing the subject. “I thought your family was rich.”

I try to swallow the new wave of unease lodged in my throat—a ball of emotion that only grows. My father’s voice echoes in my head, repeating the words he would say.

Man up, man up, man up.

Right now, I’m letting my emotions take over my rationality, blocking out logic. I need to man up and stop allowing my feelings to hijack my thoughts so easily.

But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to prevent myself from feeling something so pure and confusing when I’m with her. She completely alters the chemistry in my brain, redirecting my thoughts in ways I never anticipated.

“I was in a rush when I bought them,” I finally reply, my voice coming out as a rasp. It’s a lie, but I can’t bring myself to admit that there’s no point in buying something good when my dad could walk in at any moment and break it. “I didn’t think much about it.” I sniff, sensing something wet in my nose.

Am I about to fucking cry?

Blinking away the blur gathering at the edges of my vision, I reach into my backpack and pull out my two most treasured possessions. They may look worn-out and cheap, but that doesn’t stop me from cherishing them like priceless diamonds. “Despite their appearance, they have great sound,” I say, waving the wired headphones for emphasis before plugging them into the player. “I have some good songs here.”

“I don’t like music,” she interrupts, and my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. I knew that, yet for some reason, I had hoped she’d change her mind. It’s strange to realize that music is my only escape to a place with no beginning and no end—a void where I can feel safe—while she doesn’t understand how I can love it.

“There are some rumors going around at school,” she says, turning her head to focus on the trees around us. She keeps looking anywhere but at me, and I take that as a cue to tuck away my obsession, biting back my frustration. “Look, if this gets out… I don’t want people thinking I’m dating some homeless guy.”

Confusion tightens around me. “I’m not homeless.”

She purses her lips and looks down, clearly uncomfortable with the topic. “I know. But that’s what others think. The way you look… Always beat-up, torn clothes, and these barely working headphones,” she counts off. “The point is, you need to take better care of yourself. Okay?”

A strange swirl of emotions churns inside me, and for some reason, it feels as though she doesn’t care about me—only aboutthe image I project and how it looks to others that she’s with me.

Still, I nod in agreement. “Okay. I’ll do that.”

At the very least, I’ll try. I’ll do anything for her.

I’m drunk. Completely, irrevocably wasted.

This wasn’t part of my plan. Tonight, I had intended to push my emotions and thoughts aside for a little self-care. I prepared a face mask, brewed some tea, and even picked out a movie for a calm, quiet evening.

But my dad had other plans. I didn’t pay much attention to the details he shared—all I know is that West and his father would be stopping by to discuss a minor financial issue in one of the projects. I wouldn’t have minded if it were just Lucas. But with West coming over, my attempt at peace evaporates as quickly as it appeared. And with the little escape I pulled a couple of days ago, I have no choice but to accept it.

Just as I feel the urge to scream into a pillow from sheer helplessness,hestorms into my room. He acts like he owns the place, barging into my personal space whenever he pleases. Though, to be fair, it’s a bit hypocritical of me to think that way, considering I mindlessly sought refuge in his room during that charity event.

“I’m surrounded by fucking idiots who don’t understand how to get the job done!” he snaps, slamming the door behind him. Tension radiates from his body like poison, and if I weren’t drunk, it would affect me. But in my current state, I’m as calm as a monk before meditation, watching him in silence with my knees pulled to my chest on the couch. “I mean, backing out of agreements a week early, and I’m only finding out about it now. Why? Because they forgot to tell me? Or because they didn’t think it was fucking important?!”

He runs his shaky hands through his hair, creating a messy arrangement of short strands. His tie is knotted haphazardly, and the buttons of his white shirt are only half-done at the top, as if he tried to undress in a moment of frustration, to rid himself of the suffocating fabric. I can relate to that feeling—when you get so overstimulated that you just want to crawl out of your skin, and the layers of clothing only amplify the discomfort.

“Because they’re afraid of you,” I say lazily, and he snaps his wild eyes to mine. “Afraid of your reaction.”

He stares at me in silence, and I can’t tell if he wants to agree or if he’s about to scream at me to go fuck myself. “I’m their boss,” he finally replies, a slight tremor in his voice. The weight of the job hangs heavily on him, and I can sense he’s torn between fulfilling multiple obligations and preserving the remnants of his sanity. “What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to fucking?—”

I rise from the couch and close the distance between us in a few strides. He stills, finally stopping his frantic handmovements, leaving a disheveled mess of hair to fall onto his forehead. West opens his mouth to say something, but no words come out. Instead, he exhales a shaky breath as I reach for his tie and slowly untie the knot he managed to create.

“You are their boss,” I agree, and a flicker of confusion crosses his tired features. Yeah, it’s not often I willingly agree with what he says. “A big, scary boss they’d rather avoid and hide things from. You’re impulsive,” I count, letting his tie fall to the ground. “Angry most of the time, always unleashing your madness on them.”

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