13. VERENA GRAVENHURST
THIRTEEN
VERENA GRAVENHURST
Laughter echoes around me, yet somehow I feel miles away.
I don’t think grief ever truly leaves us.
It becomes a part of who we are. Loxen’s words from the other night plague my mind.
He said if we’re lucky, we’ll learn to see the beauty in it.
Luck has never been on my side, though it certainly does owe me some favours.
A warm hand gently squeezes my thigh, pulling me from my thoughts.
The leather couch dips as Reed leans into me, his voice soft against the thunderous music wafting throughout the room. “It’s your turn, Gravenhurst.”
My head feels heavy, like I’m underwater, and the room slightly tilts as I peer over to the couch across from us.
I’ve never been much of a drinker, but tonight the burn of the alcohol feels more bearable than the ache in my chest. My mood took a dip not long after Mauve left this evening, and I haven’t been able to shake my grim spirit since.
Although the alcohol softens the edges, it’s not nearly enough to quiet my spiralling thoughts.
God, I wish my brain would shut up. Just for one night.
“Truth or dare, Verena?” Reed’s friend, Jenkins, asks as he slouches in his seat with a sly grin on his face. The blonde supermodel from the drive-in sits next to him, with her long legs draped over his knees and a scowl marring her delicate features.
I take another sip of my drink. It’s a dangerous crimson punch that I can no longer taste the vodka in, and has most definitely stained my lips red.
I’m not sure if the liquor is giving me a boost of confidence or numbing me enough not to care, but either way, the lone word slips from my lips. “Dare.”
His grin widens, and I instantly regret my choice.
“I dare you to get on your knees and kiss Reed’s shoes.”
The blonde tips her head back in a laugh resembling a hyena, like it’s the funniest thing she’s ever heard, and I grit my teeth.
“Jenkins…” Reed warns lazily under his breath. He leans into my side, taking a long swig of his beer. Jenkins holds his hands up in mock surrender.
“Truth, then.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pretending to think of a question for me.
“Do you genuinely believe you, who grew up miles from Hollowcrest, who never knew the man whose blood you claim, are capable of carrying a legacy that has swallowed men of far greater worth? Or are you simply hoping no one notices how laughably out of place you are?”
Reed goes dangerously still beside me, and my head swims.
“Jenkins,” he warns again, his voice stern this time.
I swallow hard, and Jenkins raises his brow, waiting for my answer. Suddenly, I feel like I’m back at the bar that stole so much of my pride. No man will ever have the power to make me feel small again, I had promised myself, and I intend to keep it.
“Funny thing about legacies, Jenkins,” I grit out, “some of us don’t need our last names to matter. People like you hide behind one because they’d be nothing without it.” I stand up from the couch, and everyone goes silent. His eyes darken, a scowl now replacing his smug grin.
“If being ‘out of place’ means not being a spineless parasite clinging to someone else’s power, then yeah, I guess I don’t fit in.” I watch his jaw tic, and satisfaction blooms inside of me as I exit the living room, swiping a half-empty bottle of vodka from the counter.
“Gravenhurst, wait!” Reed calls out, but for what’s left of my sanity, I don’t look back.
Fog curls around the iron gates of the manor, and the midnight air bites at my skin as I take unsteady steps up the driveway, an empty bottle of vodka swinging loosely between my fingers. The hours of walking and drinking enough to numb my feelings did nothing to quiet my demons like I had hoped.
“Out for a midnight stroll, are we?” A sultry voice echoes through the dead of night, and I stumble forward. Loxen sits slouched on the stairs, his long limbs stretched out in front of him as he blows out a plume of smoke.
I sway a little, hiccuping, and lift the bottle in a lazy salute. “Not today, Satan,” I say, dismissing him, mostly because I’ve been yearning for the comfort of my bed for far too long to entertain this conversation right now.
Loxen pushes off the steps, stepping directly in my path.
His tall frame looms over me, and when I lift my chin to look up at him, my world tilts.
Fuccck, he looks sinful under the dim porch light, its soft glow illuminating all of his sharp features.
His ocean eyes bore into mine, and I imagine someone in their right mind would be afraid of a man like Loxen Gray, but I’m not.
Not entirely, anyway. Even with the alcohol coursing through my bloodstream, I can’t deny the pull I have towards him, and it’s infuriating.
Heat rolls through my body as he stands before me, blocking me from the safety of the manor doors.
“You’ve been drinking?” he asks, voice calm and collected, but it carries a dangerous edge.
I scrunch my nose, pinching my fingers in front of him. “Maaaybe just a little.”
Loxen’s eyes roam over my head to the direction I just came from. “How did you get home?”
“I walked,” I tell him with a matter-of-fact attitude and slip past him into the manor.
“You did what?” he grits out, following me inside.
My legs feel heavy, but they somehow manage to get me up a good portion of the steps before my balance wavers.
A giggle escapes me, and I catch myself on the railing.
The bottle, however, swings dangerously and slips from my fingers, smashing into a million pieces as it lands on the marble floor below.
The sound echoes throughout the vacant foyer, and I go still.
Loxen is only a step behind me, and he moves to steady me with his hand, then restrains himself, tucking it into his pocket.
The room dances around me as I look over the railing at the broken glass, some sick representation of my mental state.
“It’s okay,” Loxen says after a moment, and I’m not sure why those two little words cause a knot to form in the back of my throat. It’s not okay; nothing is okay. I spare a glance at him, and he’s observing me with a softness I’ve never seen him carry. My eyes drop to the broken bottle.
“They were right,” I whisper, squeezing the wooden railing. “I don’t belong here, Loxen.”
He lets out an exasperated breath, slowly shaking his head.
“Don’t say that.” His voice is soft and sure.
I begin to sob uncontrollably. The liquor, mixed with the overflow of emotions I feel, leaves no room for me to feel grounded.
A tightness squeezes in my chest, clawing its way up my throat, depriving me of oxygen.
I gasp for air, frantically seeking release from the anxiety that has taken over my body and soul.
It feels like there’s no way out. As if I’m imprisoned within the confines of my own mind.
I continue to sob through ragged breaths, praying that the end of my panic attack is near.
“Look at me,” Loxen demands, but I shake my head, biting back my tears. I pull my lip between my teeth to stop it from quivering.
“Verena, look at me,” he demands, his voice is soft, and I reluctantly lower my eyes to his.
“This manor has been quiet for years, and then you showed up, and it feels alive again. It’s as if it recognized you.
Like it’s been waiting for you to come home.
” His voice lowers. “You belong, little crow, you just don’t realize it yet.
Pay no mind to the ignorance of others in this world.
You’re a force far greater than they could ever know. Now breathe with me.”
He motions for me to copy his movements, inhaling deeply through his nose and exhaling through his mouth. I mimic his actions until the hiccup of sobs subsides, and I’m left with only the silent embarrassment of my outburst.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for that to happen.” My voice is hushed, barely over a whisper.
Loxen looks to me as if I have just said something completely absurd. “Don’t ever apologize for feeling, Verena. It’s a privilege so many lack nowadays.”
We stare at each other for a long moment. His words weigh heavy on my chest, soothing it like a balm to the ache. His eyes drift to my lips. Time seems to slow, my head swims, and I tear my gaze from his, spinning on my heel in one dizzying motion and climb the rest of the way to the top.
I don’t have feelings for Loxen.
I don’t have feelings for Loxen.
I don’t. have. feelings. for. Loxen.
The words play in my mind like a newly discovered mantra, but when he speaks again, his voice feels like a hand between my thighs.
What is wrong with me? My emotions are running rampant tonight, and Loxen has a way of pulling every single one out of me.
Sadness, lust, anger, it all clashes together in a drunken haze, and I’m dying to find some sort of release to put me out of my misery.
“Why didn’t your date drive you home?” His voice is sharp, every word clipped like he’s fighting to keep himself in check.
I roll my eyes, despite the way his words make my stomach twist. “You’re still on about that?
” I ask, spinning to face him. Walking backwards towards my room, my legs sway with each step as he advances towards me.
The lighting from the sconces casts shadows over his frame, making him look downright sinful.
“Yes,” is all he manages to grit out, and I laugh at his serious composure.
“I’m more than capable of walking home, Loxen. My legs work perfectly fine.” I playfully hitch my skirt up, exposing the soft flesh of my thigh and his jaw flexes.
“See.” I quirk a brow, taunting him.