Page 89 of Fate Awakened

Keeping all of these new revelations to myself was also becoming increasingly difficult. True to his word, Dante had Keith drive me back to my apartment a little after one that afternoon. When Keith had been allowed to come to my room, his relief seemed palpable. He hugged me like he hadn’t just seen me three days before, and I nearly fell apart all over again, thinking of how it would have been if Hudson hadn’t stepped in.

It should have been me.

Certainly wouldn’t have been a large funeral for me, but Keith and Liv would have been there. Liv’s parents too. Their lives would have been affected. They would’ve cared. It’s strange to feel survivor’s guilt. I didn’t ask to be kidnapped and dragged across the state. I hadn’t asked to be waltzed into the middle of a turf war between a supernatural species. I certainly didn’t want to die.

But deep down in the parts of me that still ache when I see matching pajamas in family Christmas cards and Hallmark movie childhoods, I know more people are mourning Hudson than ever would have for me. He had parents, a pack, his whole life ahead of him. I just can’t understand why he’d throw it away for someone like me. A foster kid with so much damage that only four people would’ve shown up at my funeral.

Because of my mood, we didn’t talk much on the drive home. Keith watched me like a bomb about to go off while nervously tapping his left leg.

I could tell he wanted to talk about everything that happened, but after my revelations about my relationship with Cain, my new future as a shifter, and the loss of Hudson, I had nothing left. Keith has always been good about reading my moods, and that day in the car was no different. I don’t think he’s seen me this bad since the last time I was in the hospital five years ago.

I didn’t anticipate coming home to find Liv ready for Thanksgiving dinner at her parent's house. A dinner she believed I was still attending and one I hadn’t missed in a decade. Keith’s embarrassed flush told me I was missing more in that exchange, but I blamed it on the head trauma from slipping while ice skating with Cain.

How romantic.

Pretending he and I were still together was the hardest part. Trying to force a smile and a light tone of voice instead of falling apart was almost my undoing.

I hated it.

I’ve told Liv everything when it came to boys since we were thirteen, and Brandon Spencer kissed me with his tongue.

Liv was the one person I knew would immediately be on my side defending me. She’d call for us to toilet paper his house or burn everything he ever gave me in a cleansing ritual. She’d also probably try to get me drunk and under someone new, but none of that matters because I can’t tell her anything.

I’d gone from an NDA, which in hindsight makes so much more sense now, to full-on witness protection levels of keeping the truth from people.

Because if I slip up, they die.

Thanksgiving had been a bust, but thanks to my head injury talking Liv out of the house and Keith right behind her hadn’t been too difficult once I told them how much it was throbbing.

Heart. Head. The pain was everywhere.

Later that night, Liv returned to the apartment with leftovers, and she crawled into my bed to watch a Dateline episode that had me wanting to explain all of the craziness I’d gone through. From escaping the SUV to being found in the woods by a half-naked mountain of a man, it was a story that would be just for me and my memories.

As I dressed for Hudson's funeral pyre, I felt numb. It had been days of emotions flooding my system with an overload of hormones, followed by hours of crying until no tears were left. Top that off with brain surgery, and I felt like a shell of a person.

Yesterday, Cain dropped a new phone off for me since mine had been broken, but I told Liv I wasn’t feeling up to visitors, so she never let him in. I was being a coward. Hiding in my room and listening to her talk to him was torture. Hearing his voice felt like a fist squeezing my already obliterated heart. I didn’t cry, mostly because I had no more tears left but also because I knew it would do no good now.

He’s my past. It’s time to leave the pain behind.

He tried texting me several times, but I didn’t reply, instead choosing to swipe away the notifications without opening them. I needed one day that was just for me. I used the time to email my counselor at UNLV, asking if it was possible to finish my final semester virtually as I had an opportunity I didn’t want to pass up in another state.

Much to my surprise, she responded rather quickly, letting me know I could do that, so long as my Capstone teacher approved it and I returned for my final assessments.

It was a relief to know that the plans I spent my entire life creating could still be possible and that it would happen right after the new year if the ‘meet the team’ went as planned on December 18th.

Fresh start. New life.

Pulling my hair back in a low bun, strategically covering the bald spot on my scalp, took longer than expected. Once it looked presentable, I had to lint roll my black dress to remove the cat hair Fleabag had gotten on it.

Guess I can understand now why the cat doesn’t like me. We’re kind of sworn enemies and all that.

I stand before my bedroom mirror, mentally preparing myself to pay my respects to the person who gave me a second chance at the life I wanted.

If I genuinely wanted a clean slate, there was one thing I had to do, and I put it off until absolutely the last possible moment. Grabbing my phone from the charger next to my bed, I open my text messages. Cain had added in my contacts from the previous phone through some magic at the phone store, I’m sure, but what has me forcing back a small smile is the tiny emoji that replaced his name.

A Candy Cane.

Closing my eyes, I give myself a minute to appreciate who Cain was to me before I change the image. Replacing the sweet treat with his real name where it once was, I let out a deep breath trying to prepare my walls for whatever messages are waiting for me.

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