Inseparable

by Siobhan Davis

For as long as I can remember, it had always been the three of us. Best friends to the end. The awesome-threesome. Forever infinity. It was a friendship more akin to family. A meeting of minds and hearts and promises. A connection so deep that we swore nothing or no one would ever come between us. We committed ourselves in a secret bond when we were twelve, and the commitment was imprinted on my heart in the same way it was inked on my skin.

I’m in an exclusive ten percent club—that minuscule pool of girls in senior year who have yet to sample the Devin experience. Although I know all about it. The girls at school can’t keep their legs or their mouths shut.

“You’re the most important person in my world. For all time. Even when you think you aren’t, know that you are. Even when I can’t show you or say all I want to say, know that you are. Even if I leave, I’m still with you, in here.” He places his hand on top of my chest, where my heart is beating so erratically it threatens to escape my ribcage. “Like you’re in here.” He pats my hand, the one still being held protectively against his chest. “You’ll always be in here,” he whispers.

We stare at one another, neither backing down, both trying to work out what the other knows, and it’s creating tension where tension shouldn’t exist. That’s the problem with secrets—they drive a stake right through the heart of relationships, invoking all kinds of imaginary inventions, all manner of protective protestations.

It’s only in the middle of the night, when I can’t sleep, when the pain in my heart cripples me, that I allow myself to indulge my grief. To remember my loss. To miss the two boys who mean the world to me.

He peers intensely into my eyes. “I’m going to fight him for you this time. He knows how I feel about you, and he didn’t hold back in taking what was mine.” He climbs to his feet. “I know you want to talk to him properly, and I can respect that. If you don’t want me to kiss you again, I won’t. But when he’s back, when it’s an even playing field, I’m going to fight with everything I’ve got. You belong with me. You always have, and I’m not giving up this time.”

I don’t sleep. Even the suggestion that I could, at a time like this, is preposterous. I can’t switch my brain off, even though I wish I could because the crap in my head is making it difficult to breathe. Eventually, my tears subside, giving way to a strangely comatose state. I’m here, but not here. Alive, but not alive. Breathing, but only barely.