The Waiting Game

The Fourth Letter

With the arrival of the fourth letter marked a day that would forever live in infamy in the lives of the Muellers, me, and all of the other souls that cared. It was August now.

He would never see this August.

I don’t want you to cry for me, angel.

I know that you’re hurting and that it doesn’t seem to be getting easier, but we still have so much work to do. Soon enough you’ll have school and volunteering and you might even have a job to get that internship that I know you wanted. Life will go on soon enough.

But for now, I still need you to do me favors.

You’re not going to like this one either.

I sighed.

I had a feeling I wouldn’t.

~*~

For the second time in too short of a time span, I was standing in Devon Mueller’s room.

“Get up,” I said, my voice flat. He grunted into his pillows, anything but pleased to hear my voice calling him from slumber, I was sure. I walked closer to the bed to lean in, calling out his name impatiently and louder. He still did not respond.

I went with the next best thing.

Just like my big brother taught me, I punched him directly in between the shoulder blades.

Devon let out a sharp curse as he pushed himself from the bed, glaring at me with so much heat I could nearly feel it burning at my skin. I sighed and shook my head at him, striding through the pig sty that was his room to yank open the blinds. He flinched away from the light, rubbing his eyes.

“What time is it?” he groaned, still not fully aware of my presence. I glanced at my phone.

“One thirty.”

“Too early,” he groaned, burying his head back into the pillow.

I started toward him again, pleased at the thought of another punch, but this time he heard my footfalls. One eye opened, peaking out at me. I could see the glare even with his face mostly obscured in the pillow, his eyes as tired as my entire body felt.

“Didn’t I tell you to stay out of my house?” he demanded huskily, still half-asleep. I delicately rolled my eyes.

“Your mother let me in,” I said. “I mentioned that I was here to drag you from the house and she gave me forty bucks and a phone number if I needed someone’s help to physically haul you from your bed.”

He groaned.

“I didn’t quite catch that.”

“You’re a bitch,” he told me. I shouldn’t have smiled, but I did.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” I snorted before patting his ankle, shaking him. “Get up. We’re leaving.”

“Where are we going?” he demanded, his eyes suddenly narrowing. Half of his hair was stuck to his face and there was dried drool on his face, but somehow he managed to look kind of sexy. He still looked like Devon, no matter the turmoil. His eyebrow arched, and I realized it was because I hadn’t answered him yet.

I shrugged. “Who knows?”

“You do.”

“Good point. Let’s go.”

He didn’t move for a moment, weighing his options. But eventually he started to move again with a heavy sigh, rolling out of bed with nothing but momentum, and I felt myself smile at the act.