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Author: winebabe
Title: So Let Go
Story: The Gemini Occurrence
Rating: PG
Flavor(s): Blueberry Yogurt #28: for your own good; Coffee #10: vase; Sour Apple #2: it’s not you; it’s me
Extra(s)/Topping(s): Malt Prompt: lost_spook: “How would Genevieve/Devyn go (or not) in a non-Soulmate AU?”
Word Count: 5,251
Summary: Genevieve doesn’t hold out hope that there’s anything better, which somehow makes the situation that much more believable.
Notes: Genevieve Kessler-Downing/Devyn Lively, Adelina Garland. (A very super AU where Gen and Devyn meet on SoulMeet, a dating site. Also, I’m bitter about something that went down with a guy so, Gen’s misery is vaguely inspired by my own.)

“On that dumb website again?” Adelina asks, leaning over the back of the couch to look over Genevieve’s shoulder.

Instinctively, she holds her phone against her chest, blushing furiously. “Don’t tease me,” she says, pouting. “Just because you met the love of your life at a bar doesn’t mean I want to.”

“I’m only interested!” Adelina protests. She walks around the side of the couch to plop down on the cushion next to Genevieve. “Find anyone worthwhile?”

Genevieve freezes mid-swipe. “Um,” she says, curling her fingers around the sides of her phone. “Well, no--I’ve matched with a few but--I guess there’s this one guy I’ve been talking to…”

That gets a squeal out of Adelina, who nearly elbows Genevieve in her excitement as she leans over to look at the screen. “Show me!” she demands, and Genevieve blushes, ducking her head.

“Fine, but just--be nice.” Genevieve taps around on the screen before finally turning her phone to face Adelina. Devyn, 32 hovers underneath a picture of a man in glasses with dark frames, his feet kicked up on a desk, holding up two fingers in a peace sign gesture.

“Geek,” Adelina criticizes, but she pulls the phone from Genevieve’s hand before she can take it away.

The next picture is of him in a suit, holding a champagne flute, looking over his shoulder--clearly candid, but a nice shot nonetheless. There’s one of him sitting around a table at a restaurant or a nicer bar, in a button-down and tie, dark beer in boot-shaped glasses in front of him and each of the four men he’s sitting with. The last picture of him is in front of a large UMBC sign, giving two thumbs-up, wearing a ridiculously exaggerated grin. “UMBC: an honors university?” Adelina reads.

“Yeah, he’s a professor of biochemistry,” Genevieve says quietly, and when Adelina doesn’t respond, she looks up to find her friend grinning at her. “What?”

“Nothing,” Adelina laughs, “he just--he seems nice. Good for you, maybe. What have you two been talking about?”

“Just...getting to know each other,” she replies. “He’s nice. Likes to hear about my thoughts and opinions on things. Asks a lot of questions--but they’re fun, not weird personal stuff.”

“You think he’s cute?” Adelina asks, passing the phone back to Genevieve. “Doesn’t look a bit like Jude.”

“That’s the point.” Genevieve glances down at the picture Adelina had left up--Devyn in front of the UMBC sign--and sighs. Really, he doesn’t share any of the traits, physical or otherwise, that had attracted her to her soon-to-be-ex-husband in the first place. The chiseled jaw, piercing eyes, lean physique and effortlessly handsome look that had reeled her in with Jude, making her believe that somehow she was lucky, that she couldn’t have landed a man like him otherwise, were all lacking from the man in the photographs.

Everything about Devyn is soft, from his facial structure to the green of his eyes. His hair is tousled, messily falling over his forehead in one picture, always far from the perfectly combed way Jude wears his. He looks...normal. Human. Real. And he looks nice.

“He’s so far away, though,” Adelina mutters, glancing up from her own phone. “UMBC is in Maryland. What are you doing talking to a man on the other side of the damn country?”

“He’s not.” Genevieve holds out her phone again, showing Adelina the distance listed under his pictures--20 miles away. “He’s out here for a while--family stuff or something, he said. We’re getting coffee tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?!” Adelina screeches. She reaches out to shove Genevieve’s shoulder, whining, “Why didn’t you tell me? We’re supposed to be friends!”

“Relax!” she laughs. “We made plans this morning. It isn’t a big deal, Lina. It’s just coffee.”

“It’s just coffee with a man you’ve been talking to, on a dating website, while you’re still married. Of course it’s a big deal!” Adelina smiles, gently, and pats Genevieve on the knee. “And I want you to be happy, you know? So this is...exciting. I’m excited for you.”

“Thanks.” Genevieve looks back down at her phone, at Devyn’s smiling face on the screen, and smiles to herself. “I think it’ll be good.”


Genevieve meets with her attorney in the morning and spends an hour with him, responding to the outrageous claims in Jude’s latest petition. He makes her sound like such a horrible person, and she wonders if her attorney believes her or her husband; it wouldn’t surprise her if he believed Jude. Everyone always does.

She leaves the office feeling sick, on the verge of tears, but when she collapses into the driver’s seat of her car and checks her phone, she has a message waiting.

Devyn: I can’t wait to see you later. Have you decided on a place?

She doesn’t have to decide; Genevieve only ever frequents one cafe, and she wants to be in her comfort zone.

Genevieve: Sweet’s. It’s downtown & you can’t miss it. It has one of those old timey movie signs.

Devyn: Sounds perfect. See you soon!

Genevieve stares at the message screen for a long time, unable to move. She’s absolutely terrified; she hasn’t dated anyone since Jude, and even then, she and Jude never really dated. They were together before they ever really were together, and every time they went out on what could be considered dates, it was with the understanding that they were already a couple. It didn’t matter if Genevieve got to know him and didn’t like him, she was already promised to him.

Devyn, though, is completely new territory. She might meet him and hate him. She might fall in love with him instantly. There was never anyone besides Jude, and so her experience with relationships is hanging in limbo, back at age 15 when Jude Downing came to her and said he was going to marry her one day. Now, nearly a decade later, she’s back at that starting point--alone, afraid of the future, unsure of where she’ll end up.

Genevieve scrolls back through their messages, hoping she can find something that’ll calm her nerves. They’ve sent so many back and forth, talked about everything under the sun, and she should feel comfortable. It’s what she wanted, anyway--to meet him in person, after so many days of talking. But what if he doesn’t like her? What if, after Jude, she’s damaged goods and no one will ever want her again?

Genevieve: I have to tell you, I’m in the middle of a divorce. This is just...a distraction, kind of.

Devyn: Perfect, I need a distraction, too. We don’t have to pretend this is anything more than it is.


Anything more than it is, Genevieve reads slowly, wondering just what exactly it is. It’s nothing, at least not yet; just a distraction, just like they’d said.

Devyn: Everyone’s a little fucked up, you know that, right? Don’t be so hard on yourself. Talking to you has been incredible, which probably also makes you incredible.

Genevieve: You always say the right things. Is this a con? I know men like to say nice things so they’ll get nice things.

Devyn: Luck of the draw, I guess. Usually everything I say is shit. I’m not trying to get anything from you, promise. Except maybe your company. Coffee this week? Maybe Wednesday?


Still, she worries. He can say he’s not trying to trick her, but Jude seemed honest and genuine once, didn’t he? He used to say sweet things and mean them--or at least she thought he did.

“Don’t do this,” she whispers to herself, setting her phone back down in the cupholder. “It’s fine. He’s not Jude. He’ll never be Jude.”

She only has a few hours until she’s supposed to meet Devyn. All she can think about is the way Jude looks at her, like he’s broken her completely and she’ll never be able to repair herself.


Genevieve gets to Sweet’s Cafe fifteen minutes early, hoping she’ll be able to find a nice table near a window so she can sit and wait for Devyn, but she spots him immediately through the glass. He’s sitting with his head down, reading a book, but she’d recognize him anywhere; she’s spent so long staring at pictures of him, worrying and wondering about how their first meeting will go.

Devyn raises his head when the door jingles, and his face lights up with the brightest and most unrestrained grin Genevieve has ever seen on another person. Her cheeks burn as she tries to calmly walk over to him, and when he stands up, she awkwardly sticks out her hand. “I’m Genevieve,” she says, and Devyn laughs.

“Nice to meet you,” he tells her, giving her hand a gentle shake. “Devyn Lively.”

“Oh,” she says, embarrassed. She hadn’t thought about formal introductions, forgetting he didn’t know her last name, and then hesitates, unsure whether she should use her hyphenated married name, or her maiden name. “Um. Technically, I’m Genevieve Kessler-Downing, but--the divorce--”

Devyn smiles so sweetly at her and shakes his head. “It’s okay. Genevieve is fine enough. Why don’t you sit down and I’ll go get our drinks?”

Genevieve nods and nearly collapses into her chair, shaking and mortified. She would have to make a fool of herself first thing, wouldn’t she?

“What do you want?” he asks, and when she doesn’t respond, he places a hand on her shoulder. “Genevieve?”

“Oh, um--I don’t know. Something sweet. Please.” She sinks down into her chair as Devyn walks up to the counter. He talks animatedly with the barista, and Genevieve watches them both smile and laugh. Devyn doesn’t possess any of the glittering charm that Jude had, able to talk his way out of anything, but he’s charming in his own way. She’s jealous, actually. To be so easy with another person, just talking and laughing like nothing in the world matters--she would love that, for even a day.

Then Genevieve is horrified to realize she’s jealous of the barista, that she gets to laugh with Devyn when it’s her date and she’s supposed to be making him laugh. Disgusted with herself, she buries her face in her hands and considers just running out. Maybe she’s not ready to date. Maybe she’ll never be ready.

“Genevieve?” She looks up to see Devyn standing beside the table, holding a mug of black coffee in his hands and staring down at her, worried. “Are you alright?”

Her face is burning; God, she’s awful! “I’m fine!” Genevieve tells him, smiling a little too forcefully, hoping she can fake her way out of it. He doesn’t look convinced, though, and when he drops into the chair across from her, still looking concerned, she sighs and gives up. “I’m terrified. I haven’t dated anyone ever, not even my husband, and I don’t know what I’m doing. I’m afraid you won’t like me, that I won’t be good at this, and--”

“Genevieve,” he says gently, cutting her off. “It’s okay. Nobody is good at this. I sure as hell am not.” Devyn takes a sip of his coffee and sets the mug back down with a chuckle. “I don’t think I’ve gone on a date since college. I like to tell myself it’s because I’m too busy, but realistically, it’s too nerve-wracking. I’m right there with you.”

“You don’t seem like it,” she points out, and again, he laughs.

“Anti-anxiety medication,” he enunciates, smiling, “which may be considered cheating, but I don’t think any of us play fair.”

Genevieve is lost for words. She doesn’t get what he means by cheating, or playing fair, and is stunned that he would be so open about taking medication. She was always taught, by her father and by Jude, that a diagnosis is shameful, that taking medication is weak, that all of the above make her damaged goods--just like her mother, with her purse full of prescription pills. “You don’t care, do you?” she asks.

Devyn cocks an eyebrow. “Huh? I don’t care about what?”

“What people think. What things mean.”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I haven’t cared what people thought of me in a long time; when you grow up with people thinking bad things about you, it matters a hell of a lot less.” He wraps his hands around his coffee mug and looks at Genevieve. “You must care a lot, though.”

She nods. “I don’t want people to think bad things about me.”

“Unfortunately, we can’t really control whether they do or don’t.” The barista calls out Devyn’s name from behind the counter, and he stands up. “And that would be your drink,” he says to Genevieve, smiling, before heading over to pick it up.

Genevieve watches him, as he picks up her mug from the counter and exchanges a few words with the barista, both still smiling. She just tries to breathe. Maybe, if she tries hard enough, she can be that delightful, too. Maybe she can still turn things around, she thinks, and so she takes a deep breath and decides on it. When Devyn returns to the table, she’ll turn on her charm. She’ll be wonderful and he’ll be enamored.

“If you hate it,” Devyn tells her, setting the mug down in front of her very carefully, “I’ll buy you a new drink. The barista recommended it.”

The coffee is frothy and pale, and looks like any other latte she’s had, but she’s nervous. What if she does hate it? She couldn’t possibly send it back, that would be too rude. That would be embarrassing. “What is it?”

“A lavender-vanilla latte,” he replies, sitting back down in his seat. He makes a face and picks up his own drink. “I don’t know if I’d want to drink something flower-flavored, but the barista thinks you would like it.”

Genevieve glances over at the girl behind the counter, watching as she chats pleasantly with another customer. She looks nice, Genevieve thinks, and looks back down at her latte. “Sounds interesting!”

Devyn smiles.


The date does get easier; all it takes is a little persistence on Genevieve’s part, constant inner reminders to just relax and try to have a good time. Devyn talks easily, almost constantly, able to carry a conversation much better than she can. It doesn’t even bother her that sometimes he jumps from topic to topic, always asking questions, clearly trying too hard to get to know her. Genevieve doesn’t think she’s ever had anyone show that much interest in her.

He wants to know her hobbies, favorite movies, what music she listens to, where she’d like to travel. Does she believe in aliens? I don’t know, I’ve really never thought too hard about it. And on it goes, through difficult questions like her thoughts on religion, her deepest fear, her biggest flaw. He answers all of his own questions honestly, as far as Genevieve can tell, without hesitation, and she just doesn’t get it. She’s trying to be on her best behavior and show herself in the best light, and he’s just...unabashedly honest. And she likes him more for it.

“My parents both had substance abuse problems. I’ve never done hard drugs but I’ve had issues with prescription medication; addiction runs in the family, obviously. I’m working on it, though.”

Genevieve holds her breath while he talks; there’s no way she can tell him that she uses alcohol to numb herself, that she’s prescribed boatloads of pills in an effort to make her a better wife, a more reasonable person.

“I’m out here because my sister keeps getting into trouble,” he tells her, very matter-of-fact about it, and then sighs. “I can’t blame her, at least not too much. We had terrible role models.”

She nods. “I’m sorry.”

Devyn shrugs and then smiles, very briefly, before sipping from his second cup of coffee. “I’d say I’m used to it, but that sounds horrible. I’ve gotten used to handling it, I guess.”

Guilt washes over Genevieve, and she picks up her coffee mug so that she can hide behind it. She can’t imagine she’s any better off than Devyn’s sister, and to be one more person he’d have to be looking out for--she just can’t do it. She can’t do that to him.

But he’s sweet. He’s funny. He makes her feel things she never had with Jude--comfort, joy. She doesn’t have to be terrible for him, she convinces herself. She can put her problems aside. It’s just that the way he looks at her is so kind, so genuinely interested, and she’s not ready to give that up.

She wants him, and she’ll fix herself for him. She’ll be perfect.


Devyn: I had a great time last night. It was so nice to finally meet you in person.

Genevieve stares at the message for a long time before she finally musters up the courage to respond.

Genevieve: Me too! I would love to see you again before you leave...if you have time.

Devyn responds almost immediately, and Genevieve presses a hand to her chest, trying to still the pounding of her heart.

Devyn: I think I’m going to be here for a while, but I’d make time for you regardless. I’m looking forward to our next date.


It’s another week and a half before they’re able to make plans, and Genevieve’s confidence is shattered over and over again, waiting for Devyn to reach out. They talk every day, at least a few messages back and forth, but he never attempts to make plans and she’s absolutely terrified to. He must be busy, she tells herself. She has no idea what his schedule is like, or how things are going with his sister, and if there’s one thing she doesn’t want to be, it’s clingy. So she holds out, and she waits as long as she can, and when she finally can’t take it anymore, she swallows her pride.

Genevieve: I know you’re probably busy, but would you want to get together sometime this week?

She has to wait all day for his response, but when it comes, it’s like the anxiety of the last week never happened.

Devyn: I’d love to; would Friday night work?


When Friday night comes, Devyn picks her up at Adelina’s apartment, carrying with him a bouquet of brightly-colored flowers. He thrusts them out at her and then laughs, apologizing profusely-- “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to just shove them into your arms but I’m mildly allergic and I just--I don’t want them anymore. I hope you enjoy them, though!”

Genevieve can hear Adelina snickering in her bedroom as she rushes off to the kitchen to find a vase. “I love them,” she says, when she really wants to say I love that you’re so human. She places the flowers in a purple vase and takes a minute to admire them, gently moving them around so they’re somewhat arranged. Jude bought her flowers on numerous occasions, more as a duty than a desire to, and she can’t remember a single time he actually gave them to her. They usually just appeared, on the nightstand beside their bed or as a centerpiece on the kitchen table. Thrust at her or not, she’s never been happier to have a man physically hand her flowers he bought for her.

She leaves them on the kitchen counter, because she doesn’t actually have a space to call her own, and hurries back to the living room where Devyn is still standing just inside the doorway. “Ready!” she announces.

“Perfect,” he replies, and holds the door for her as they step out into the warm evening air.


The show they attend is intimate, tucked into a charming little bar, and Genevieve is amazed that Devyn knows one of the performers. “He was a student of mine a few years ago,” he whispers to her after they take their seats at one of the many small tables facing the makeshift stage. Devyn sips from a pint of beer while Genevieve tries not to gulp down her wine, anxious as she is, and in-between sets they manage to still get some conversation in.

Devyn looks significantly more tired than he did on their first date, and she wants to ask him if he’s okay, if things are going alright with his sister. She decides against it, though, worried it might be a sensitive topic, and just tries to enjoy the evening as it unfolds.

The music isn’t stuff Genevieve would normally listen to--some kind of cross between jazz and acoustic rock, maybe--but she enjoys it, and after a few hours, she and Devyn both are pleasantly buzzed. Several of the performers linger around afterwards, talking and drinking. When Devyn disappears for a minute to compliment his former student, Genevieve is relaxed enough that when another one of the performers takes Devyn’s vacant seat, she manages a bright smile and an earnest “You were incredible.”

The man grins and raises his beer. “Thanks so much, sweetheart! This your first time coming out?”

She nods and steals a glance over her shoulder at Devyn. He’s standing with a group of people now, laughing, patting his former student on the back--looking like he belongs. “This isn’t really my scene,” she admits.

“The music, the people, or the venue?” he questions, and it embarrasses Genevieve to have to shrug and admit it’s all three. “Well, I appreciate you coming out! Maybe we’ll see you again sometime?”

“Oh, do you do this often? Here, I mean.”

“We’re not famous,” he says, stage-whispering it like it’s some kind of secret, “so our shows really just cycle around the area. As long as people keep coming out, we’ll keep playing--not that I think I’d ever stop.”

Genevieve nods. “I’d love to see you guys play again sometime. I’ve never really gone to concerts or anything, and this was nice. It wasn’t as stressful as I think bigger concerts would be.”

“Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s what I like about being not-famous. I mean, sure, we’d probably make more money and get to play our music to a wider audience, but now we get to actually interact with our fans and there’s not so much disconnect between the musicians and the audience. It feels real this way.”

“Yeah,” she agrees quietly, folding her hands on her lap and turning to search for Devyn once more. “I’m looking for things that feel real, too.”

“I hope I see you in the audience again next time,” he says and slides a card across the table to her. “That’s got our Facebook page on it, in case you feel like coming back. We’re good about staying up to date with our gigs.”

“Thank you.” Genevieve glances down at the card and smiles. “I’ll hold onto this.” After Ours the card says, the Facebook address printed in white type at the bottom. She slides the card into her purse just as Devyn returns to the table.

“Ready to go?” he asks, and she just shrugs.


They walk the streets outside the bar, some quaint little Main Street next to a river, delaying the inevitable end to the date. The crickets chirp excitedly in the grass, and they can hear the buzzing of bugs flying around the large streetlights, but the night is otherwise calm and quiet. The air smells fresh, even with the cigarette smoke wafting from the people loitering outside the bar, and Genevieve desperately wants Devyn to reach out and take her hand.

He doesn’t though, no matter how many times she “accidentally” bumps him. He just keeps talking, about grading papers and trying to keep in touch with his students via the college website’s e-mail server. “It’s a nightmare,” he says, and she just wants him to shut up, or at least talk about something that pertains to them.

Genevieve desperately wants to tell him that she likes him, that she’s never felt that way with someone else before, that she’s never had so much fun. The words catch and clog up her throat, choking her, and then she’s grateful that he just keeps on talking. Admitting anything at this stage would be too vulnerable, and she’s not ready for that yet. It’s only their second date. She might be moving too fast.

“You know, I don’t want to leave,” Devyn says when they finally get back to his car. “This has been...really nice.”

She wants to tell him that he doesn’t have to leave, that they can keep talking all night long if he’d like to, but she just smiles. “Me too, I had a really great time. I have a lot of fun with you.”

“Yeah. Me too,” he agrees, and he only smiles at her before turning the engine over.


“How long has it been now?” Adelina asks, combing her fingers through Genevieve’s hair while they’re sprawled out on the couch. If she’s irritated, Genevieve’s none the wiser. Adelina just keeps petting her hair and refilling her wine glass, like she has been for an hour now.

“Two weeks,” Genevieve mumbles. Tears well up in her eyes, but she blinks them away before she can actually start crying. Instead, she grabs for her wine glass and takes another gulp. “It still says he’s only 20 miles away, though. He hasn’t left yet.”

Adelina sighs heavily and stops petting Genevieve’s hair. “Honey, I think you’re going to have to admit that this is over. I’ve never stayed hung up on some guy who went that long without talking to me. It’s not right.”

“He’s just busy,” she says, and hates that she has to defend him. Adelina’s right--it’s not fair at all, and she’s been a mess the last few weeks, wondering when he’ll text, where he’s been, why he stopped talking to her. Things had been going so well she thought, and then all of a sudden he just disappeared.

“Not too busy to send you a quick text,” Adelina argues.

That’s the truth, she knows. It’s not hard to type a few sentences, just to let her know what’s going on. Even if it was as simple as telling her that he didn’t have the time for her anymore, or that he wasn’t interested in pursuing things with her, he could just send a quick message her way. There’s no need for the radio silence, and that might be what hurts the most.

“Geni, honey,” she says, and Genevieve nods.

“You’re right. I have to let him go.”


The next morning, Genevieve can’t control herself--she texts him. Hours go by and she paces, she drinks, she screams into her pillow and considers breaking things just to get some form of release. The sun has already set when her phone finally buzzes to life, and Genevieve isn’t sure if she’s strong enough to read the response.

Devyn: God, I am so, so sorry. Things have been...well, they’ve been a mess. I don’t have an excuse, I shouldn’t have left you in the dark like that, it just kind of happened that way. I’m really sorry.

And that’s all it takes. The apology sounds genuine, and really, Genevieve can’t fault him. It must be hard, trying to take care of his sister, and on top of that, he’s still working. Of course he has a lot going on, and Genevieve doesn’t even think she’s being a sucker when she immediately responds.

Genevieve: No, it’s okay! I’m sorry, too, I know you have so much going on. I just had a really great time with you and wanted to know if we were still...a thing. Idk.

She has to wait for his response, but when it does come the next morning, Genevieve forgets how hard the last two weeks have been on her.

Devyn: If you still want to move forward, of course. Really, I’m sorry for the way that all played out. It shouldn’t have happened like that.


They make plans for the following weekend, and the whole thing rushes by so quickly that Genevieve can barely remember it. Being with Devyn feels like being with Adelina, like being with someone she’s known for years and is infinitely comfortable with. All the anxiety from before has melted away, and they spend an easy five hours together, talking and laughing and just enjoying each other’s company.

She comes away from it grateful that she took a chance and reached out again. As ridiculous and misguided as it may have seemed, it had to have been meant to be. After all, nothing worthwhile comes easy, she thinks.

Devyn tells her that in a few weeks, he’ll be flying back to Maryland. He’s gotten his sister into a treatment center and thinks his job there is done, at least for now. And before they leave for the night, he promises he’ll see her again before he leaves the state.


A few days before he’s set to leave, Genevieve realizes he won’t be seeing her before he goes.


The day before his flight, early in the morning, Genevieve’s phone lights up while she’s drinking coffee and sitting on Adelina’s couch--her temporary bed. Devyn’s name sits atop a text so long that it cuts off, and she has to unlock the screen and scroll to read the whole thing. Her heart sinks to the bottom of her stomach before she even reads past the first word.

Devyn: I’m really sorry that I have to do this, and I hope you know that I really don’t want to. It’s just that I think it’s for the best if we table the idea of us being together. We live on separate sides of the country, and I had really hoped that something would have changed while I was out there, but...my life is just too chaotic to entertain the idea of a relationship right now. I had a lot of fun with you, and you’re an incredible person, truly. I genuinely wish the best for you--you deserve it.

Strangely enough, she’s not surprised. Sad, but not surprised. The words too good to be true pop into her head of their own accord, and she nods to herself in solemn agreement. After all, Devyn is leaving. She should have known there never was a future for them.

Genevieve knows she should leave the text unanswered. She deserves better, or at least she knows that’s what everyone would tell her, but she finds herself responding anyway.

Genevieve: I understand. I know we said this didn’t have to be anything more than it was, but I really wanted it to be. It’s just that I had so much fun with you--but anyway. There’s no hard feelings or anything, and if you ever want to try again, send me a text. I think we had something good. Good luck with absolutely everything.

There’s no sense of relief or closure, though. She deletes his texts and even goes so far as to delete the dating app altogether. If they’re not Devyn, she doesn’t want anyone at all, she thinks.

After everything she had gone through the last few months, Genevieve doesn’t have the energy to reach out again. There are more important things to worry about, like her divorce, finding a job, getting her own place. There is so much more going on in her life, but she feels empty.

And there’s a small part of her, always waiting, always hoping that Devyn will respond again someday. She’s almost counting on it.

Comments

( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
lost_spook
Jun. 15th, 2017 01:25 pm (UTC)
Aww, poor Genevieve! I enjoyed this a lot - and you're still always breaking my heart a bit!

Devyn: Everyone’s a little fucked up, you know that, right? Don’t be so hard on yourself. Talking to you has been incredible, which probably also makes you incredible.

Genevieve: You always say the right things. Is this a con? I know men like to say nice things so they’ll get nice things.


<3
winebabe
Jun. 16th, 2017 02:16 pm (UTC)
Thank you so, so much! :D One of these days, I'll get around to writing a piece that is wholly fluff...
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )

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