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And the more that I try to stop thinking about him, the harder it gets.
I promised myself when I decided to stay at St. Bart’s that I wouldn’t let Drake get under my skin. I swore that the only thing that would remain between us was a mutual desire for justice.
It’s been two days since the Gauntlet and I haven’t heard anything from Havoc House. I should be happy to have them off my back, but the stress and anticipation are starting to get to me.
I keep the television on unless I’m trying to sleep. The low drone of voices makes it easier to forget that I’m entirely on my own.
I never would have thought that I had a problem being alone.
Back in Detroit, I always had people around me. There was always a party to go to. People who would text to check-in if they hadn’t seen me around for a while. Any loneliness I felt was entirely self-imposed, something I felt on the inside even when it didn’t match what was happening on the outside. There was always someone there when I got sick of being alone.
I didn’t know how much I needed that until now.
The thought makes me feel even worse about how long Olivia and I went without speaking to each other. I’d made myself feel better with assumptions of how good her life had to be going. She got the fancy education, access to the trust fund, and our father’s favor.
I should have known that wouldn’t be enough for her when it was never enough for me.
It’s more than tempting to contact Drake, if just for an update on what might be happening. But I know better. We can’t risk anyone finding out about us, not when we know exactly what Havoc House is capable of.
I could call Anya, but any conversation I might have with her would be almost entirely lies. And I can’t let anything slip that might endanger her. Or me.
You learn things about yourself when you’re under stress. The more extreme the stress, the more about a person is revealed. It’s easy to be generous when you have plenty to spare. Most people who think they’re brave will only find out the truth when staring down the barrel of a gun. Everyone believes they know who they are until circumstances require them to prove it.
You finally realize how much you need other people when you only have the company of your own thoughts.
I’ll probably never know how Olivia managed the loneliness for as long as she did. The only explanation is that she is way stronger than I ever gave her credit for being.
Maybe even stronger than I am.
I barely realize that I’ve picked up the phone until I hear it ringing in my ear. Once. Twice. Then again. It rings for long enough that the call is probably about to go to voicemail.
Even though I know I should hang up, I don’t.
The line finally clicks as someone picks up.
My mother’s voice comes over the connection, reedy and weak like she’s just been woken up from a deep sleep. “…Via?”
I hang up the call without saying a word, going as far as shutting the thing off in case she has the presence of mind to try calling back. Heart pounding, I set the phone down with shaking hands. What I should do is smash it on the ground until it shatters and flush the SIM card down the toilet.
Assuming nothing has changed, my mother spends most of her time sleeping off liquid lunches with a side serving of prescription downers. Growing up, there was always at least one pill bottle in reach. I’d always assumed there was some part of reality she was working so hard to avoid. Now, I wonder if things would be different if I had ever bothered to ask what it might be.
The drugs and liquor keep her mind perpetually confused. Even if she remembers getting a call from my coma-ridden sister, she’ll probably chalk it up to a vivid dream.
I cannot afford another moment of weakness.
Outside, it’s cold and quiet with a low sun hanging over head behind a haze of clouds. It’s the middle of the day and there isn’t a person in sight as I walk down the cobblestone pathways. That’s probably for the best since the only other person I’m likely to lay eyes on is a Havoc Boy.
Surprisingly, the chapel is open when I try the doors. The priest must not leave campus over the holidays, or someone else is around to keep the place available to students.
I don’t admit to myself that I had every intention of breaking into a house of worship until the unlocked door swings open for me.
It’s warmer inside than I expected and I’m immediately sweating under my heavy jacket. But I don’t take it off because I’m wearing a short-sleeved shirt underneath. I’ve been lazy about covering up my tattoos since classes ended. The last thing I need is for one of the Havoc Boys to see me without my jacket on wander when Olivia Pratt covered herself in ink.
For now, the place seems empty. If there are any staff members around, they’re back in the office and not the main part of the chapel.
Someone has been around within the last few hours to light the candles, but I have no idea where they’ve gone.
Both doors of the confession booth are open as I pass, so nobody is inside. Not that it matters. I’ve learned my lesson about confessing my sins in this place.
