EVOL...Again

We're revamping this book for the very last time!

Every book of mine has a bit of an autobiographical element to it, with Another Sky being the most autobiographical.

But a few of my messy relationships (looking at Cyn in her late teens and twenties) inspired a lot of the heartache you find in my stories.

Among the saddest are EVOL, that chronicles a prior relationship of mine in which I experienced one of the most traumatizing experiences in my life: a miscarriage.

Not only was my relationship failing, but my body failed me as well.

And on the day he and I finally parted ways, I opened up my laptop and wrote our story. I started it from my place on my bed and wrote all the way to the day we met. Yes, EVOL is largely written in reverse. I also included poems I wrote him throughout our relationship and placed them before each chapter.

Naturally I had to chance a lot in order to make it fit the romance genre (and make yall like Gavin). But I always wanted to do a bit more. So here we are.

And without further ado, here is the updated prologue for EVOL. Paid subscribers will be able to read it all while everyone else can read a snippet and wait for it to rerelease next month!

PROLOGUE

Remind me how we fell in love.

Whisper it slowly.

Start at the very end,

And meet me back at the beginning.

Day 381 Post-Gavin

There are dirty dishes in the sink.

I think this to myself as I add another mug to the ones already piling there and make a mental note to wash them later. Especially since I might be having company other than my sister after work.

My lips twitch at the thought, a small smile gracing my face.

I pull one of my teal curtains aside to see what the weather looks like. Grey skies, sad masses of clouds that look ready to cry at any moment. The vintage Casio watch on my wrist shows me I have less than a minute to get the hell out of my apartment and on the T. I’m not looking forward to the bodies pressed against mine on the subway. I grab my purse and my bright yellow umbrella by its hooked handle. On the way out, my gaze falls on the stack of worn journals tucked between some of my favorite novels on my bookshelf. They’re bound together by mournful black ribbon. I almost reach out to touch them, as if they aren’t all the way across the room.

Instead, I turn on my heel and rush out of the apartment, nearly forgetting to lock the door in my nostalgic haze.

Don’t do it, Denise.

The words are like a safety net, keeping me from plummeting into the abysmal grief that hits me from time to time.

And damn it, I don’t have the patience for it today.

I reach for my CharlieCard and make my way through the crowds of people rushing to make it to work, same as me. The only difference is, they’re wearing business attire while I’m decked in distressed denim and Adidas shell top sneakers.

Through the rigmarole of maneuvering through the crowds, swiping my card, and getting on the right subway line, glimpses of the past jolt me. I’m walking through a hellish mausoleum, a place where my memories were once laid to rest.

If I squint my eyes, the couple seated a few feet away looks just like we used to; so wrapped up in each other—too wrapped up to see the impending demise lurking off in the corner. If I close my eyes, I can feel his smile against my cheek.

I fight against the urge to.