Chapter Thirty-Two
Vanessa
I sat on Liv’s couch, staring blank-eyed at the fireplace, unmoving, numb to the outside world. Vil was dead, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that at least a small portion of it was my fault.
You can sit around all day and play “what-if” about this and a million other things, but at the end of it, will it accomplish anything?
The logical part of my brain knew moping had absolutely no positive effect on, well, anything. It was literally a negative in every manner. It wasn’t grieving or mourning. I was guilt-tripping myself. Nobody would forgive me except for me.
Easier said than done, though.
Liv came over and pressed a warm mug of tea into my hands. “Here,” she said, sitting down next to me. “Drink, Van.”
The heat transferring through the porcelain of the mug reminded me of Vil’s hands on my body.
You are not going to play this game. No turning everything into a memory of Vil. You only spent a matter of days with him!
“You know, there’s always a chance this guy survived,” Liv said softly.
Of course there was. He was a dragon, and that made him very tough. But a literal bomb had gone off that had blown half the house to smithereens. I figured even a dragon couldn’t come back from that.
“Maybe,” I agreed, not wanting to discuss it. I couldn’t exactly tell Liv about Anvil’s secret.
“Is there anything I can get you to eat? It’s nearly lunchtime,” my sister said.
“No, I’m not hungry.” I looked at her appreciatively. “I’m good now. You can leave, go to work. Don’t miss a full day on account of me.”
She rolled her eyes. “My baby sister nearly gets blown up by a bomb, won’t tell me anything about it, was in a horrible situation the other night, and she thinks I’m going to leave? Yeah, right. Not happening. I’m staying right here with you. That way, maybe you won’t get into any more trouble.”
A ghost of a smile reached my lips. For many years, Liv had looked out for me when our parents didn’t, including during my rebellious teenage phase. More than once, she’d intercepted me and talked me out of doing things I would have regretted.
And a few times, she’d encouraged me to do things I wouldn’t have done or explained how to do things the right way so that I had a positive experience. I owed her a lot. More, after today.
“I think I’ve had my fill of trouble for the near future,” I told her solemnly, despite the humor. “Assuming, of course, that’s okay with you.”
“I’m an old lady now. Kids, a husband, knees that creak, and a neck that will throw itself out if I sneeze wrong. I don’t need extra trouble.”
Despite myself, I laughed before swiftly settling back into my personal pit of blackness, set under my own gray cloud.
“You know,” Liv said tentatively after a few minutes.
“For a guy who you said you were done with and wanted nothing more to do with, you’re certainly cut up.
Before you tear my head off, I get that he’s dead, and it was unexpected, but I have to wonder if maybe you’re not telling me the whole truth. ”
I glanced at my sister, eyes narrowing. “You think I’m lying to you?”
Liv shook her head. “No, sis, I think you’re lying to yourself. You cared about this guy, and you want to grieve, but you won’t let yourself because you know you’re supposed to be mad at him. Except he’s dead now, and you feel guilty about feeling mad at him when all this has happened.”
“Uh.”
She patted me on the shoulder. “I’m going to make some mac and cheese. And you’re going to eat it and not complain.”
“Yes, ma’am,” I said dutifully, still wrestling with the conundrum she’d put into my mind.
Vil had purposefully omitted mention of the Test to me, knowing I likely wouldn’t react well. That was a bad thing, and he’d known that.
If I didn’t have feelings for him, however, and had no intention of pursuing things seriously, then why was I mad? It wouldn’t affect me.
Unless, of course, you’re scared because you do care for him, and you’d begun to see the two of you together. Was I scared about having feelings?
Or had I been scared because I knew I was tempted enough by him that I would consider taking the Test anyway, despite the disastrous consequences of failing?
I didn’t have any answers. And since Vil was dead—I didn’t want to let myself hope he might have survived—I never would either. Those questions were ones I would have to wrestle with for the rest of my life.
What had I missed out on with him? Was he the one f—
Liv’s front door thundered mightily as it came under attack.
“VANESSA!” a familiar male voice bellowed through the heavy metal-clad door.
I stared at the door in shock.
“Vil?” I whispered in a very tiny voice.