isn’t over, Peony.” It’s a warning and a vow. A promise for the future.
And despite the lingering pain, despite my grief, I smile softly.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less from you, Lucas Scott.”
...
I find my nana sitting on the porch swing, still dressed in the skirt and billowy blouse she wore to rescue me in. Her hair tumbles around her shoulders as she stares blankly out into the distance. I don’t know what she’s seeing, what she’s thinking about, but I can take an educated guess.
If I lost any of the Devils…
I can’t even imagine loving a man for years and then seeing him dead. I feel nauseous just thinking about it, as if someone has stuck their hand into my stomach and is now swirling around the contents.
“Nana?” I prod gently when she doesn’t seem to notice my presence.
No response.
I take a step closer and pause, before gingerly perching on the swinging bench beside her. She still doesn’t glance over, but I know she’s aware of me when her hand reaches across the seat and grasps mine tightly.
“I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” she whispers hoarsely. Her voice sounds raw and raspy from crying. I can’t see her features well in the cover of night, but I imagine her eyes will be red and blotchy as well.
“Thanks to you.” I give her hand a squeeze and follow her gaze towards the cluster of trees in the front yard.
“You’re my granddaughter, and I love you,” she says softly. “We all love you.”
Silence once more reigns as I allow her to gather her thoughts. I can tell she has something she wants to say to me, something sitting on the edge of her tongue, but I know she needs a moment to process everything.
After ten minutes, she releases a choked sob, and my heart breaks into thousands of pieces all over again.
“He wasn’t truly a part of them,” she gasps at last. “You have to know that. He was undercover for the witch’s council. He had no idea the witch they captured was you until he got there. He called me as soon—” She breaks off with another rasping gasp, leaning forward and clutching at her stomach as if the pain is too much for her to handle. As if it’s spilling out of her and only her hand will keep it inside. “He loved you so much, Peony. He considered you family, even if he didn’t show it.”
“I know.” I wrap my arm around her frail shoulders and pull her to my chest. She begins to weep in earnest, crying for the man she loved and lost. I stroke her hair and whisper words that I know won’t help, but I’m at a loss of what to do.
At some point, Christian and Polo exit the house, both of their faces haggard and puffy, and slowly take Nana from me, holding her between them.
I don’t know what to say to them, how to express how sorry I truly am, so instead, I walk away.
I don’t have a destination in mind as I wander aimlessly through the halls. At least, I don’t think I do, until I find myself in front of the bathroom.
Feeling hesitant and unsure, I push the door open and step inside, glancing at myself in the mirror for the first time since I returned.
Dried blood coats my hair, the white color almost appearing pink. A slight, yellowish bruise sits beneath my right eye, and to be quite honest, I can’t even remember where I got it from. The two cuts on my neck are now silver, the skin slightly raised. I move my once-broken arm around in a circle, immensely grateful when I don’t feel any lingering pain or discomfort.
Because despite my nana’s grief, she still took care of me. She still fixed my stupid mistakes. If I recall the whispered conversation correctly, she destroyed all of the voodoo dolls.
Maybe, just maybe, this is finally over.
And I was right—I did lose some pieces of myself. I can’t tell you for sure how many or if they’re reparable, but I’m no longer whole.
My pieces now rest in the hands of four charming devils. Four demons from hell.
Someone must’ve thrown a ratty T-shirt over my head, and I waste no time tugging it off. My naked flesh is a map of scars. You can try to connect them all, try to understand where I came from, but it would prove impossible. These stories are my own, and I’m very selective