Never Too Late: A VA Fanfiction

Chapter Thirteen

Disclaimer: I don’t own Vampire Academy, Richelle Mead does.

DPOV:

I walked over to the Academy's private jet, hitching my duffel bag higher onto my shoulder. I felt a heavy weight rest on my shoulders. It was like I was suffocating, a crushing force squeezing my lungs together. Once I reached the jet, I stood off to the side as it was being prepared for take off.

I was standing there, simply breathing, when I heard running foot steps come up to me. I looked up to see Rose running towards me. I looked at her puzzled.

“Rose, what are you doing?” I asked, my voice rough, as she skidded to a stop beside me.

“I'm coming with you,” She huffed out.

I looked at her blankly. “Why?”

She just stared at me for a moment. “My mom,” she finally answered.

I turned away, clenching my jaw. “I'm sorry,” I said, my voice raw.

“It's okay,” she said softly. “It wasn't your fault.”

I shook my head. “If I had been there – ”

“You would have died right along with him,” Rose interrupted me.

I shook my head again, not answering. The pilot called out to board the plane, and I started walking onto it. Several other people were going too, almost all of which were Royals, hence the use of the jet. I sat in an empty seat in the back, away from everybody. I felt like hell. I'd been a mess since the phone call. I couldn't help but think it was my fault.

As I sat staring out the window, I felt someone sit down a seat away from me. After a few minutes, they put there hand on my arm. I spun around in shock.

Now, the fact that someone did that didn't shock me. It didn't really bother me. The thing that had shocked me was who's hand it was. Actually, it wasn't even that. It was the feeling of the hand on my arm that made me jerk around.

Sitting there, looking like she was seconds away from either crying, screaming, or throwing up, or even all three, was Rose. Her eyes were wide open with fear, she had sweat on her forehead, she was sitting as far away from me as physically possible, and yet...she had her hand on my arm in a comforting manor.

Rose looked up at me anxiously, asking with her eyes if I was okay. This made me feel lower than the lowest scum. Here I was, wallowing in self pity, while my best friend was dead, about to be six feet under, and this goddess of a girl, afraid of getting close to men, pregnant, mostly likely mourning the fact that her mother was in a coma, and she was comforting me. I was pathetic.

Rose stared into my eyes, her body tense, frozen, but her eyes spoke legions. With the barest pressure, she squeezed my arm.

“It's alright,” she said in a raspy whisper. I tried to give her a smile.

“You don't have to do that Roza,” I murmured. I felt my forehead crease with concern. I didn't want her to hurt herself for me.

She just shook her head and squeezed my arm again, trying to scoot further away.

“I'll be fine.” this came out from gritted teeth, and I could tell it took everything in her not to run away screaming, or not burst into tears.

As I watched her struggle, a warm feeling filled my chest. I was touched that she cared enough to comfort me even when it caused her such and unsavory reaction. I wanted to do something in return, anything, but settled for relaxing my arm, and shifting away, so now there was about two feet between us, the only part of our bodies that were close were my arm and her hand.