Page 35 of Vendetta

He’s sorry.

I know he is, but it doesn’t change anything. If I’m going to die no matter what, at least Devon will be okay. If anyone finds out about the two of us... why didn't the possibility of that ever cross my mind?

I think about how he lost his whole family. He shouldn't have to suffer any more than he already has. That doesn’t mean I want to die, or that I’m going to stop fighting or accept my fate. If Iget the chance to escape, I’m sure as hell going to take it. If only there was a way for both of us to win, but I just can’t see it.

Oh, God, I can't even imagine what that must have been like; to have your world torn away from you in the blink of an eye.

I stare at all the beautiful art supplies on the bed while rubbing the back of my neck. Hayley is right. She’s a bitch, but she’s right. Devon is loyal, almost to a fault, and if he decides to go all in with me I can't even imagine the outcome.

I may have nothing left to lose, but he has everything. I can’t do that to him.

What happened, all those years ago? Whydidmy dad do this? I rack my brain for any piece of memory, but I was just a kid. I don't remember anything significant at all.

Maybe I'm better off not knowing. I'm on the verge of begging Devon for their lives, as it is. I understand what he has to do, but it's my whole world.

Not that it will matter. I'll be gone as well.

I run my fingers along the charcoals. I know that I need to warn my father about this. They're my blood. It's not like I thought they planted trees for a living.

I eat first, knowing once I start drawing I’ll probably never stop.

For some reason, I feel lonelier than usual. I think it’s because Devon could be here right now, but I’m the one who pulled away. It would be so easy to give in.

So easy. And selfish.

And to be honest, I'm hurt. I'm trying not to let it get to me, but I'm so damn hurt by what he did.

I pick up the pencils and open the sketchpad, and then make myself comfortable on the bed. Then I draw.

“Leighton,” I hear Devon say. I look up to see him standing right in front of me.

I put the pencil down. “Hey.”

“You didn’t even hear me come in,” he says, frowning.

“Sorry, I kind of get lost in the zone.”

“I can see that. I called your name twice before you looked up.”

“Thanks for the art supplies,” I say quietly.

His eyes soften. “You’re welcome. You didn’t eat much,” he says, looking at the donuts, disapproval etched on his face. I only ate one, and even that I forced down.

I shrug. “Not very hungry.”

He leans in closer to me, and I flinch when his finger touches my cheek. He instantly pulls it back, scowling.

“What, you seriously won't let me touch you now?” he asks, taking a seat next to me on the bed.

“It’s better if you don’t,” I reply, my voice sounding hollow.

“You don’t mean that.” His eyes bore into mine, studying me, making me squirm.

“Yeah, it’s exactly what I mean.” I stand up from the bed and move toward the chair where he usually sits, feeling trapped by his gaze all of a sudden.

“You’re so fucking stubborn,” he says under his breath.

“No one is forcing you to be here right now,” I say, my tone emotionless. Except, I don’t want him to go. Devon doesn’t reply. Instead, he lies on the bed with a frustrated growl.

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