𝑇𝐻𝑅𝐸𝐸 𝐷𝐸𝑀𝑂𝑁𝑆

x 38 x

x DIOR x

I felt myself escaping the depths of a dream between me and Synara. It felt inappropriate to dream about her the way I just did...when I knew she might be dying any day now. My boxers were wet, and my thighs slide against each other as I sat up in my bed. I picked up my phone underneath my pillow and checked the time. It was almost two something. I should be at school right now but here I am mourning someone I loved and having a wet dream about them.

I could hear my mother and father talking downstairs, too faraway for me to hear their words. I don't even know if they had realized I snuck out last night to go see Synara, but honestly some part of me is numb to caring anymore. A twisted part of me wonders if this how Khloe always feels.

She must not feel anything to be the way that she is.

I scroll through my IG a bit, trying not to grow sick at the alarming amount of posts regarding Synara and rumors that were being spread regarding her death. It took everything in me not to address each person that said something foul about her. That acted like they knew all of her secrets.

Just because she was dead didn't mean everyone got free range to dissect her life now. Somehow had broke into her locker and had ransacked her things. There was a picture floating around about it. People were exposing friendships they had with her in the past, secrets they had shared. Giving out how they truly felt about her.

I got so fed up that I logged out and powered off my phone, my eyes burning with the urge to cry. I crossed my arms tight, staring hard at the ceiling like the fabrics of my house had all the answers I needed. Hell if I know, maybe it did. I let myself smirk a little, but it faded away.

The urge to cry left with that, but a hollow feeling blossomed inside of me like a tired baby stretching. My heart cooed for Synara, but for some reason, I knew that she was now nowhere to be found.

I heard steps approaching my door, and I picked up my phone quickly, to look like I was doing something other than raking threw my depressing thoughts. I glanced down at my boxers as the door opened, grateful that they were black and the sheer wetness of them wasn't noticeable to the uncaring eye.

"Devana," my father said softly, his basketball hat on backwards. I saw everything he wanted to say in his eyes. "I know," I say, and he doesn't ask me how I know, but I had felt it. He wrapped me in a strong, papa bear hug.

I expected tears, but I was strong. I wasn't going to cry. Synara wouldn't have wanted that anyways...right? Did she even want me? Ever? It felt like my heart was chipping away, and I had always known it was one of those good Ring Pops, but everybody wanted to break me.

This. This was breaking me.

"It's gonna be okay, sweetheart," he whispered, "it's gonna be okay."

"If Khloe hadn't," I started speaking, fury in my tone.

"This isn't Khloe's fault," my father said slowly, pulling back and holding me by the shoulders. My sad eyes searched his face for some sort of joke. He couldn't be serious. If Khloe had just- If she had just-

My father shook his head, bringing me back into a hug. This time I couldn't cry if I wanted to. But I felt the tears inside. Slowly dampening out the fire of my soul. "Synara chose what she chose, at the end of the day. You can't stop a person on a mission, Devana."

And suddenly I felt ten times worse about everything I had accused Demon of. Because yes, some of this was her doing...but to say that she had killed Synara.

I had some apologizing to do.

I knocked on the beautiful front door of the Powell residence, seeing Demon's car in the driveway.