Page 84 of Ink Deep Devotion

I just need to keep breaking him until he realizes it’s not a sin to say he loves me. I need him to stop worrying about the future when we’re fortunate enough to have the present.

Am I strong enough? I honestly don’t know.

“You okay?” Blaze asks as he joins me at the sink to clean his paintbrushes.

I nod, glancing up to see paint splattered on his face.“Thanks for the shirt,” I reply. I was in such a daze that I walked right into a wet canvas, soaking my shirt with paint. He had an extra shirt in his bag and offered it to me. It fits me like a dress, but it’s clean and won’t leave paint marks on everything I lean against.

He flashes me a smirk laced with concern as if I’m a pie he over-baked and is trying to salvage.“You love him, don’t you?”

I grab my brushes and submerge them under the water. This sink represents Dash and me. Dirty, but also trying to clean a part of ourselves with that filthy water. Colorful, but also diminishing and evaporating, slowly desaturating as the water mixes with the paint, diluting it just like our fears of the future are tearing us down; pretty in an abstract way, but also gritty and ugly from a different point of view.

I clean a few more brushes before I reply.“I do,” I admit with a whisper.

“You should have a love that allows you to shout it to the world, not whisper it in fear, Mila.”

Salty wetness coats my eyes.“I’m not scared of him,”

“I know. I see the way he looks at you, but I also see how he treats you.”

“I’m trying to change him.” I shouldn’t admit that to Blaze. To anyone. After all, Blaze is my friend, but in our world, that word is fleeting, like a rare comet painting the night sky.

Did it really even appear?

One day, Blaze could be my enemy.

“Just,” he splashes the water around like he’s trying to paint out what is so hard to speak,“be careful. I know you’re forced to marry him, Mila, but you’re not obligated to give him your heart. Save that until he earns it.”

My hand stills under the water.“How did you get so wise?”Why do you never show the world this side of you, Blaze? You’ve fooled us into believing you are a goofball who can’t take his responsibility seriously. That’s your cover, isn’t it? Your way to escape your duties until they are force fed down your throat.

“I have enough brothers to start an orphanage. I’ve seen them break plenty of lassie’s hearts, and I don’t want to see your heart break again, Mila.” Worry thickens his voice as he answers.

We grab soap and apply it to the bristles of our brushes to keep them from losing their shape.“I’m going to miss you when we graduate.” I tell him.

“Don’t remind me. That’s when I’ll have to fall in line with Dad’s orders.” His face hardens as he looks at his paint brushes with longing, like he’s a creature that is outgrowing his shell. He knows they will be separated, he will have to give up art and go into his family’s business. He’s helpless to stop it so he’s trying to enjoy every second in the shell that can no longer house him.

We grab another set of brushes and begin to clean them slowly, enjoying our fleeting time.“Have you ever told someone you love them?” I ask. He’s open about his sexuality, dating both men and women, and his father accepts that. Blaze doesn’t judge. Instead of making others fear him, he always tries to make them laugh. He’s an enigma.

Blaze laughs.“I tell too many people that. My mother said if I bring home another person I say is the love of my life, she’s going to deny me entry to the house.”

We both laugh, but then our eyes meet.“You’re a very special person, Mila. You’re not like the other chicks in our world, and that makes me worry about you.”

Hidden under the water, I find his hand and grip it so no one else can see,“I’ve survived this long.”

“Have you?” He squeezes my hand back, eyes lingering, before he slips his hand free.

“Is numbing surviving?” His brow lifts.“I’m not judging,” he quickly adds.“I’m numbing myself, too. Painting, partying, fucking — that keeps me nice and numb.”

He lets out a bitter, snorting laugh.“Surviving is harsher, more raw, and more arduous. I’m not ready to endure that. Make sure you know the difference between the two because when survival comes knocking at our door, it’s not going to be a friendly guest we invite in for tea and cakes. Survival takes everything, Mila. I don’t want to see you lose everything it is that myself and others love about you.”

The water hiding my hands feels colder to the touch.

He’s right. Surviving would be denying Dash, forcing him to choose, and pushing me to accept that. You can numb yourself with love and hate, but can you survive just one?

Only love? Only hate?

“I’m here if you need me,” Blaze mutters before he turns, hands dripping wet as he leaves me.

I get a terrible image of his future, of those hands that make such pretty art, dripping with blood. I trudge to the door, exhausted and ready to go back to my dorm to sleep, but then my face falls when Titan is standing at the door and not Dash.

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