Page 34 of The Devils Melody
I throw my hair up into a messy bun, swipe on just enough concealer to dull the evidence of the night, and put on my favorite sports bra and leggings set. It’s cute-ish. Not curated, but I feel human again. And right now, that’s enough.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand multiple times. Grabbing it, I swipe to unlock it and read the messages.
Rich: Are you okay?
Rich: I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.
Rich: Please Wren. We should talk.
Rich: About the other night, I didn’t mean to scare you.
Rich: Just let me explain.
I stare at the messages for a long second, jaw clenched tight. Healwayswants to explain. As if any words he spews at me could erase the marks of his hands. As if excuses could untangle the damage he’s done.
Fuck. That.
Honestly, I should block him. I don’t know why I haven’t yet. Maybe because part of me wants to see just how desperate he’ll get. Or maybe it’s because some sick little piece of me thinks I deserve it. But I don’t, IknowI don’t, and I’m not going to sit here and let his bullshit weigh me down. I’ve been through worse. I’vesurvivedworse, and I’m not that scared little girl anymore.
Pulling on my favorite oversized hoodie, I grab my keys and purse, tie on some sneakers, and shoot Olive a text.
Me: You free for coffee? I could use a distraction.
Her reply comes not even a second later.
Olive: Always, babe! Meet you at the shop in ten?
Me: See you there.
Our favorite coffeeshop is already buzzing when I pull into the parking lot. Sunlight spills across the front windows, making the inside glow soft and golden. It’s warm and inviting and exactly what I need. We found this coffee shop on one of our few best friend dates. Olive and I don’t have the opportunity to hang out as much as we used to now that we live on opposite sides of the city. However,Novel Groundsis the perfect centerpoint for both of us, so it’s usually our go-to. Plus, it doubles as a small bookstore. Who doesn’t love coffee and books?
I spot Olive immediately through the window. Bright pink hoodie, oversized sunglasses on top of her blonde head, and both hands dramatically wrapped around her iced coffee,clinging to it for dear life. She sees me and practically jumps out of her seat, waving me over as if I’m some kind of celebrity. God, I love her.
I can’t help the small smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth. That’s the thing about Olive, she feels like sunshine, even when I don’t want it. She doesn’t know everything, not the darkest pieces, not what my dadactuallydid to me. She just knows that he hurt my mom and I, and that was enough for her. Enough to see the shadows under my eyes and still treat me as if I’m not breakable, but still me.
She’s the kind of person who takes up space with light. The kind of friend who doesn’t ask if you need her, she just shows up. I didn’t know how much I needed her right now until I saw her face.
I slip inside, and she pulls me into a tight hug before I can say anything.
“You made it!” she chirps, practically vibrating as I settle across from her. “I already ordered for you. You never text me first, so I figured it was either a crisis or a caffeine craving.”
I force a smile. “A little bit of both. Thanks.” My fingers curl around the plastic cup, the chill grounding me for just a second.
Olive doesn’t push right away. She just sips from her straw, watching me, full of patience.
“So,” she finally says, setting her cup down. “What’s going on, and how hard do I need to fight someone?”
I let out a short laugh, the sound surprising, even to me. “You don’t need to fight anyone. You might break a nail or something.”
Olive gasps like I just insulted her lineage. “Excuse me! I have acrylic armor. I could gouge someone’s eyes out with these bad boys,” she says, bringing both her hands up like claws.
I shake my head, the smile lingering for a second before finally slipping. “It’s nothing, just a weird week.”
She narrows her eyes, not buying it for a second. “Weird how? Like you ordered something online at three in the morning and now a taxidermy squirrel holding pistols in a cowboy hat is on the way, or weird like you saw your nasty ex in public and had to hide in the freezer aisle?”
I snort. “Neither, just stress.”
“Wren.” Her voice dips, that playful edge softening just a touch. “You’re doing that thing again. The ‘I’m fine, but I’m absolutely not fine’ thing. You texted me out of nowhere. You never do that unless you’re spiraling or someone died.”
