Chapter 3
III
LUCIAN
I’m lying on my couch, reading Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoevsky when I hear a knock on my door. It shakes me out of my analysis of the position posited by Dostoevsky—crime isn’t just an act, it’s a consequence of belief.
For a moment, my heart leaps.
Vivienne was the only person who ever visited me without asking. My door was always open to her, even though I never actually said it was. It just became a thing after we first met. Every now and then I’d let her borrow my place when she wanted an especially private moment with her partner.
Grief is a strange thing.
I saw them lower Vivienne into the ground.
And yet, somehow, deep down I’m hoping that when I open the door she’s standing on my porch—a book under her arm, in those baggy silk pajamas that she wore religiously because Marita got them for her as a gift, even though they were a size too big.
Her hair tied up in a bun and held back by a thick headband, her eyes brimming with excitement about a thought-provoking question she wanted to discuss.
Vivienne isn’t standing at my door, of course.
It’s Eden.
I fold my arms, leaning against the door frame. Instinctively, I want to let her in—she’s always welcome. But something about her doesn’t look right. I hate that I have to scan her to make sure she’s not hurt any more than she already was.
None of the bruises are fresh.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
She stands here, arms in front of her. “I wanted to talk.” Her voice is small. “You’re the only person who’ll get it.”
I know I am, which is why she should be mine, instead of—his. There’s a small ache in my chest at the thought, but I shove it down. This moment is about her, not me.
“I want to talk too.”
I stand aside, allowing her to enter. I watch as she sits on my couch, takes a look at the cover of the book I’ve been reading, but doesn’t say much else. Eden just sits there, wringing her fingers and staring into the fireplace.
“Tea?”
She nods. “Yes please, thank you.”
When I return with the steaming cup, she’s hardly moved an inch. I set it down on the coffee table in front of us. I sit facing her, leaning against the back of the couch. I’m already dressed in the clothes I’ll be sleeping in—a black t-shirt and black sweatpants.
My arm falls along the back of the couch.
I wait till she’s taken a few sips—
“So, what’s tonight’s topic of discussion?”
Taking a deep breath, I do my best to silence the thoughts in my head.
Let her take the lead, you can’t force somebody out of an abusive relationship.
If she wants advice, she’ll ask for it. If you tell her explicitly you might scare her off.
The best thing you can be for her now is a friend, nothing else…
She puts the tea down, finally looking at me.
This close, with the fireplace illuminating her face, I can see that she’s definitely not alright.
Her eyes are hollow, her skin has lost some of its luster.
She’s lost some weight, too. Eden’s been adrift ever since Vivienne’s death, just like I’ve been.
But if I had to guess, she hasn’t had much experience with these feelings like I have.
Of course, death never gets easier.
But when you lose someone close to you for the first time, it’s different. It’s the first wound to your soul that never heals—and every subsequent loss just reopens that wound, pours salt into it, leaves you bleeding out and begging for stitches.
The pain though? It’s familiar.
“I don’t know what to do…” The fire warms her brown eyes, her tears turning them into melted brown sugar. “Every other thought I have is about her.” Eden covers her ears with her hands. “I’ve lost her and I can’t do anything about it. If I had been there, maybe she’d still be alive...”
I’m not used to feeling powerless either. But I don’t tell her that. What she needs is strength. Despite my effort to reassure her at the funeral, she still thinks this is somehow her fault—the furthest thing from the truth.
“Or both of you would be dead, like I said. Guilt doesn’t help, you’re already grief-stricken.
” My words shock her, but she needs to hear it.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Edie.” I brush a strand of coily hair back from her face.
It’s pointless because it just flops back.
“Nobody has a handbook on how to navigate grief. It’s a living thing.
” Eyes wide, mascara clumps at the inner corner of her eyes.
“It burrows under your skin, and just when you think you’ve forgotten—it sinks its teeth into you. When you least expect it to.”
She nods. “And then you’re crying in the middle of the night because you randomly remember what she smells like, or the sound of her laugh—knowing that you’ll never get to experience that again.
” Her voice sounds like a tiny wail. “I’ve been sleeping in her bed, but they cleaned up our room so quickly that the sheets don’t even smell of her. It’s like she never even existed.”
Eden leans over, putting her head on my shoulder. I move closer, and she slumps against me, a sigh escaping her. “I take it Silas doesn’t care much for how you feel?”
I feel her shake her head. “He thinks I should move on.” From this angle, I can see the way her lips move as she speaks, the tiny droplet of sweat forming in her cupid’s bow. I’m itching to swipe it away with my thumb, to get a feel of her lips on my skin.
“He didn’t like her very much.” I choose my words carefully. “You were closer to Vivienne, so it hurts more.” Keeping myself out of it, I continue, “Maybe you can think of the thoughts you’re having as a way of keeping her memory alive.”
The tears start streaming down her cheeks.
“I don’t know if I’m delusional, Lucy.” She takes a deep shuddering breath. “The rushed funeral, the stupid hymns, the speeches from people who didn’t know her?” Another breath. “And then today, I got a new roommate. They’re trying so hard to erase her. Why?”
I drop my hand around her shoulders. She’s shivering—not from the cold. “You’re right. It’s all odd. Vivienne would have walked out of that funeral.”
That earns me a smile, it goes straight to my heart. “Or she would have made some inappropriate joke,.” She giggles. “Just to see the nuns clutch their pearls.”
I chuckle.
Yeah, that was Vivienne.
Rebellious.
Sharp-witted.
Full of life.
Not suicidal.
“I hope your new roommate is nice, at least.”
Eden scoffs. “She’s the most pretentious person I’ve ever met, and that’s saying a lot. She tried to make me curtsy, insisting that she outranked me because she would’ve been a Grand Duchess if Russian royalty still existed.”
That stops me dead in my tracks. “Anastazya?”
“You know her?”
“In passing.” I don’t know how to make my next words more palatable. “She’s Vivienne’s ex-girlfriend. They dated for a couple months when we first got to Augustine.”
Eden shoots up from leaning on me, turning to face me wide-eyed and slack-jawed. I miss the warmth of her body against mine, but now I’m just as invested in this story as she is.
“She’s gay? She’s probably the straightest girl I’ve ever seen.”
I shrug. “I think she’s bisexual.” I run a hand through my hair. “As far as I know, Vivienne’s the only girl she’s dated.”
“That somehow makes more sense.” Eden puts a finger over her lips, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. “She prays at night so fervently that her rosary bruises her fingers. At first I thought it was some strange form of Holiness, but now it might just be…guilt.”
“It’s hard to hold two opposing beliefs.”
She nods. “Do you think she misses Vivienne?”
“I don’t remember how their relationship ended. She was devastated when Vivienne started dating Marita, though.” I rack my brain trying to think of what Vivienne had said. “Oh…Vivienne ended it because Anastazya wanted to keep their relationship a secret forever.”
“Forever?”
I nod. “She was ashamed.”
Eden waves her hands around. “This whole place is designed to make you feel ashamed about who you are…”
It’s my turn to stare at her, shocked. “I never thought I’d ever hear you say that.”
“Now, hold on.” She holds a finger up. “I’m still a Catholic. I’ve just been thinking about things a bit more.”
“Mhm,” I say. “What have you been thinking about?”
“Mostly you.”
Her hand flies over her mouth. I smirk.
“Me? I’m flattered, Edie.”
She slaps my arm lightly with her soft hands. “In the sense that, they want me to believe that Vivienne is a sinner. That you are.” Eden starts wringing her hands. “You guys have been the nicest to me. All the sinners treat me better than the believers.”
I can’t hold it in. “Silas considers himself a believer?”
“Why wouldn’t he?” Eden cocks her head.
Oh Eden, the things you don’t know.
I avoid her question. “Is that why it’s so easy for you to forgive him? Because he’s a believer?” I pin her with a hard glare. Now that I have her alone, I’m tired of sidestepping the elephant in the room. “Would you let a sinner treat you the way he does?”
“I wouldn’t date a sinner.”
She lowers her eyes. Her words feel like a stake through my chest.
I wouldn’t date you.
“That’s fair.” My throat burns. “But he’s abusing you, Eden.”
“Abuse is a strong word.” She shakes her head. “I’ve been through worse.”
“What?”
Eden gives me a sad smile, and if my heart wasn’t already shattered, it would have. Flames kindle in its place. Just how many people are hurting her? How many people do I need to destroy to protect her?
“Who has put you through worse?” I keep my tone as neutral as possible.