I know I should take the ring off before going to see Evan. I have to. But it feels like I might lose the Faceless Man forever if I take it off. He only contacted me after gifting the ring, what if I take it off and he goes away again? The ring was the only contact I’ve had from him in days. Does any of that matter if I’m just here to break up with Evan?
It’s been a long time coming. Hearing the same feminine giggle on the other side of the phone every time I spoke to him this week was what made me crack. He’s not happy with me, I’m not happy with him. We both have someone else who makes us feel alive while we just go back to each other to poison the well we share. Still, I owe it to him not to wear someone else’s ring. The fact that it’s on my promise finger is irrelevant right now.
With another ragged breath, I decide to keep it on—just on another finger. Not for any other reason but the fact that it brings me comfort. A reminder that there is someone out there who is looking out for me in their own twisted way. I admit that wearing this might make me a bad person, and no amount of shit Evan’s thrown my way makes it any better. If anything, this is a silent ‘Fuck you, Evan’. To add fuel to the fire, Letum will probably like knowing that I’m wearing his ring while breaking up with Evan.
It’s worrisome because that very thought makes me tuck my ringless hand into the pocket of my hoodie, while the other is glinting under the gray sky as I make my way inside.
The house is quiet, just as it was when I came here a week ago. I probably should have texted him to make sure that he was home. His truck is in the driveway, but that doesn’t really say much, he’s never been the type to volunteer to drive. Evan is the type of guy that would rather be in control of the music.
He doesn’t work nights like his other two flatmates, and lord knows what that obsidian-haired girl’s work hours are like when she seems to be there every time I’ve spoken to Evan. Well, at least I think that it’s her. Unless he has another friend that I don’t know about.
Nate looks up at me from his spot on the couch when I walk into the living room. He gives me the same pitiful look as last time. It makes me shrink into myself and I twist my new ring for some semblance of comfort.
I clear my throat, not sure if I should say goodbye to him or apologize in advance if I come out screaming.
“Is Evan home?” Can Nate see the fear on my face? Has he noticed that I’m wearing a new ring? Unlikely, but the gold band is at the forefront of my mind, right next to the five words I’m about to say to Evan.
Nate looks at his hands for a moment, a barely visible tremor goes through his jaw. “I heard him busy in his room at lunch. But he’s been napping for the whole afternoon.”
Busy. Right. Busy gaming? Busy talking to someone that isn’t me? Busy using a whole paycheck for drugs? Or busy finding himself in another woman?
I can’t get angry when I was dreaming about another man—only it turns out that it might not be a dream after all.
I nod and shuffle my feet over the worn carpet until I reach the first room on my left with the smudges around the handle from opening the door straight after working construction.
Dread sits heavy in my chest. There’s a nagging feeling at the back of my head that something bad is going to happen. You’re just working yourself up, I tell myself. The ring is giving me anxiety just as much as it’s giving me comfort.
I hang my head back and stare at the ceiling, trying to muster up all of my confidence and my energy while also mentally preparing myself for whatever venom might spill from his lips. I imagine my Faceless Man standing behind me while whispering words of encouragement, giving me the strength I need to go through with this.
I take a fortifying breath, then knock. When he doesn’t respond, I call, “Evan.”
Biting the bullet, I grasp the old-fashioned door handle and push the door open slowly, inch by inch. He doesn’t stir at the sound, still buried beneath the duvet. So I let myself in and close the door loudly behind me in the hopes that it will wake him.
I’m too anxious to go any further, so I press myself against the door. The idea that I could easily swing it open to run adds some calm to my dire situation.
His room is the same as always. Sort of. Hanging on the back of his chair is a baby blue cardigan, the one that the girl with the obsidian hair was wearing. A two seater green couch is squeezed between the door and his computer setup that’s littered with old take-out packets. I zero in on the tube of lipgloss hidden within the mix of rubbish, and the matching baby blue scrunchy hanging off the handle to the closet. I wonder what I’d find if I opened and looked inside. More things that belong to the obsidian girl, perhaps?
What little light that streams in makes the whole situation more gruesome. Like God knows what is about to happen and he’s filling the sky with gray clouds just for cinematic effect.
“Evan,” I whisper. Just wake up so we can get this over with, goddamnit.
He doesn’t even stir.
“Evan,” I say louder this time.
Nothing.
I force myself to move toward him, clearly needing to shake him awake. Why couldn’t this be easy? I’m going to wake him up and he’s going to be mad about it and it’ll make this whole thing so much worse. I just have to keep telling myself that I need to say those five words, and this can all be over.
When I near the bed, ice rains over my skin from the sight of a rolled-up brown parchment sitting innocently on top of a sleeping Evan.
Has the Faceless Man been sending Evan letters too? No, I doubt it. Evan thought I was insane when I kept saying that he was leaving me notes. Why would Letum leave me a letter at Evan’s? I shudder involuntarily from calling him something other than ‘the Faceless Man’.
I will my hands to stop shaking as I reach for the letter and try to get my breathing under control. I wouldn’t be surprised if Evan woke up just from the sound of my thundering heartbeat.
I can barely unroll the letter with how violently my fingers are shaking. The weight of the ring suddenly feels like it may as well be a boulder. Why did I think a band would bring me comfort when the man who gave it to me sends my anxiety skyrocketing?
Squeezing my eyes shut for a moment, I reopen it to read his note. Then I read it again. And again. All while everything around me comes crashing down. I keep hoping the words will say something different. Keep hoping that it is just my mind playing tricks on me. Each time I reread it, bile creeps higher and higher up my throat.
I slowly reach to move the duvet, hoping what the letter says isn’t real. I look up from the letter and stagger back.
“No,” I gasp, bringing my hands to my lips to stop from throwing up. “No, no, no, no.”
Evan’s vacant eyes stare straight at the ceiling, his blue lips are parted ever so slightly, like he’s still taking his last breath.
I read the letter one more time.
The fates have not yet called upon his soul. I decided that he lost it the second he laid his eyes on you.
My heart splinters and shatters and twists. Every atom, every cell, every bit of tissue in me feels like it combusts. My body seizes. And I scream.
Chapter seven
Lilith
No.
No, no, no, no, no.
This is all my fault. Everything that’s happened. He’s dead. Evan’s dead.