“Eat something, love.” She sits down on the edge of the bed next to me and stares at me until I sit up against the headboard. “Thank you.”
I know I should take the tray from her and just eat, but I’m not hungry and there is no strength left in me to care.
Amira spears a piece of apple with a fork and holds it up to my mouth, patiently waiting. I part my lips and eat the apple.
I don’t remember chewing having ever been so grueling and yet it drains the little amount of energy I still harbor.
“Dixon called,” she says, stabbing another piece of apple and feeding it to me. “He said you haven’t been answering your emails and texts. Your press conference is today.”
I sigh, slumping against the bed frame. “Mhm.”
I don’t want to go. I don’t want to see anyone, talk to anyone and be seen. I just want to rot in this bed forever and die. I just want to stop this agonizing chainsaw tearing my heart apart every time I get a second to think. I don’t want to keep rememberinghim.
“I know you’re not in the right mind to go but you’ll regret it if you don’t attend.” She pushes a strand of messy hair behind my ear and smiles. “I’ll come with you if you want.”
My gaze settles on her face, and I stare at her for a quiet moment. She continues feeding me, and I wait for her to ask me what happened. But she doesn’t and instead focuses on her task.
“Okay.”
She looks up from the tray and smiles. “I’m proud of you.”
You don’t mean that.
***
It ends up taking me three hours to get out of bed, shower, and get my ass to the Grand Air Hotel where the conference takes place.
I’m about to be late if I don’t get moving, but honestly I don’t even care anymore. The only thing keeping me walking is Amira holding my hand and making sure I attend the press conference.
Cameras start filming and flashing pictures of us the second we walk in. My eyes focus on the path ahead, stepping up to the stage. The loss of her comforting hand as she settles near the wall and watches me take a seat next to Mr. Williams is grueling.
My eyes remain stuck on her face until she smiles and nods as if she were saying, “It’s okay. I’m here. You got this.”
I sigh and ignore my publisher’s glare as he speaks up, “As you all may know already, we’re here today to reveal Devon Reid’s identity and the introduction to their new book.”
I glance at the microphone on the table and swallow the lump in my throat. “Thank you all for being here today,” I begin. “I havethought long and hard about the consequences of this decision–and how much my life will change once I go public. I’m Devon Reid but my real name is Aoi Holden.” My gaze flicks to Amira, standing at the edge of the crowd, her steady nod urging me on. “I’ve realized that change is necessary if I’m ever to follow my true purpose. And that’s why I’m here–to introduce my autobiography. The last book I’ll ever write.”
Gasps erupt in the room, and countless shocked whispers cloud the space, but I ignore them. “With this final book I put an end to Devon Reid’s life.”
And mine.
Amira’s smile drops as she gawks at me. I avert my gaze. I don’t want to imagine what she’s thinking about right now.
Did she have her suspicions? Is she disappointed? Angry?
“What the hell are you talking about?” Mr. Williams whispers furiously. “You never said anything of the sort!”
I tune his voice out and stare at the crowd of journalists, raising their hands to ask questions and flashing their cameras in my direction like I’m some animal in a zoo.
“What motivated your decision, Mr. Holden?” a middle aged journalist asks.
Another chimes in, “Mister, Holden! Will you really never write again?”
My hands tremble in my lap and nausea swirls in my stomach like a hurricane. Fuck, I just want to bolt out of here and hide in a hole for the rest of my pathetic existence.
Stop looking at me. Don’t ask me anything.
Leave me alone.
