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Back Devotion Save as PDF
Chapters (47)
  1. Cover
  2. Prologue
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. 40
  43. 41
  44. 42
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. About the Author
  47. About the Publisher

At first I slipped the ring off before I left my apartment. Then I started wearing it all the time, even in front of Lonnie. I did it because I was bored. Because watching a baby is so repetitive. Because it thrilled me. Because it made me feel sick with worry. Because feeling anything is better than feeling nothing. Because I didn’t feel guilty. Because they had so much stuff and I had no stuff. Because it meant nothing to her and a lot to me. Because I wanted to prove to myself this job didn’t mean anything to me. Because this job meant a lot to me. Because it was a test of trust. Because I wanted to know how far I could push her. Because I wanted to feel powerful. Because I wanted to feel powerful like Lonnie must have felt powerful, growing up, wearing this ring.

She grabbed my hand one day while I sliced honeydew melon for her breakfast. The green melon, the green ring, the metal knife, the metal band. I was still holding the knife, and the way she grabbed me was risky, the knife veering unexpectedly.

My whole body bloomed with sweat. She looked at the ring for what felt like a long time, her brow a little drawn.

“That’s so strange,” she muttered. “I used to have that same ring.”

“Really?” I said, my voice coming out a little too deep as I tried to make it sound natural.

“I lost it a long time ago,” she said. “It’s just bizarre because I thought it was such a funny weird thing, I’d never seen anything like it. I guess it makes sense that it would be mass produced though, it’s just a cheap charm.”

“Where did you get yours?” I said.

“This seaside trinket store.”

“I found this one,” I told her. I’d planned this part of the conversation. I knew exactly what to say. “I thought it was weird too. Maybe there’s not more than one, maybe this one is yours.”

She smiled and let go of my wrist. “I like that,” she said.

After she turned away I found she’d made me cut myself, a little slit in my left index finger, which I’d been using to hold down the melon. I didn’t say anything. I watched the blood rush to the tear, then put my finger in my mouth and sucked on it, a sweet sticky metallic taste.

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