Chapter Forty-Nine
JENSEN
PRESENT DAY—THREE DAYS LATER
She left.
She really left.
I don’t blame her, though. I’d leave me too.
I lean back into the sofa, the pillows swallowing me up. My eyes are heavy, breathing slow—relaxed.
I stare at the candle and the foil on the coffee table, my thumb rolling over the lighter switch, flicking it again and again.
Football’s on in the background.
But I’m not watching.
I can’t watch it. It reminds me too much of her. It makes me think.
And I don’t want to think.
Thinking always leads to the same thing: There’s nothing left for me.
No Alley.
No hope.
Nothing.
I take a swig from the beer in my left hand, trying to numb the pain, to erase it completely.
It won’t work. She’s everywhere. Her presence lingers in every room—in the furniture, the art. Fuck, even the air still smells like her.
I take a slow, broken breath, my attention drifting back to the candle on the table.
I have nothing left to lose.
I lean forward.
Rip the foil with shaking hands.
Flick the lighter.
And give what’s left of my fucking soul to the devil.