Breathe

Chapter 19

Cian

It took them a while, but eventually the doctors realized that Vinny wasn't suicidal at all. By that time, he'd been being observed for a full twenty-four hours and his appetite was returning, so they finally released him. Mom was still at home, teetering dangerously on the border between upset and insane. All I'd seen her do since Dad slammed that door was sulk and drink, sulk and drink. She let me talk to her, but never seemed to engage in a conversation. I wondered how long it would be before she came back, if she would go back to acting like everything was okay.

I didn't think so, though. If there was one thing I'd learned in my hectic and unordinary life, it was that pain changed people.

Even though he could stand, they rolled Vinny out in a wheelchair. The slight rise to his eyebrow and the frown on his face told me he wasn't happy about it. All I could do when I saw him, however, was laugh. I signed some papers, thanked the nurse, and took him out the hospital doors and to the car.

He was still grumbling as he strapped his seatbelt. "I'm glad to be out of there," he said. "They were all treating me like some sort of psychopath. Just put me in a straightjacket, why don't you."

"They're just following protocol," I responded mildly. The engine roared to life underneath me, and I hit the gas pedal, powering away from that place as fast as possible. I hoped not to visit there again, at least not for a long while. "I mean," I went on, "a teenager passes out after shoving a whole handful of sedatives down his throat—what do you think it looks like?"

"I know what it looks like," Vinny snapped. He shot me a withering look, then turned and focused his gaze out the window instead, folding his arms. "That doesn't mean that's what it is, though."

"What did you want us to tell them? 'Oh, don't worry, he's not suicidal, he was just possessed by a demon.' Sorry, Vinny, but the best thing for you—for all of us—was to go with the conventional story."

"Fine," he admitted. "I know. I just...I don't like shrinks. They seem to have this annoying habit of, like, asking the same question in fifty million different ways."

"You survived."

"Barely."

I paused. "Lucie told me you had another nightmare."

At that, Vinny grunted. He folded his legs in his lap, resting his elbows on his knees. With his eyes cast downward, his pallid eyelashes were like gentle icicles pointed at the ground. He gnawed at his bottom lip and said, after a beat, "Do we have to talk about that?" his eyes met mine. "I'm sick of it, of it all. I don't need you and Lucie worrying about me. I'll be fine."

"Vince, we're just afraid—"

"So am I. But I've decided I've gotta be more faithful than I have lately. If I don't stress myself out about this so much, then maybe I'll be okay," Vinny cut in. His tone held no room for debate, so I didn't. In fact, I didn't plan to speak again, not until he did: "You know, Cian, I know what you're thinking."

"What?"

"You're going to join Nick, aren't you? You're going to become one of them?"

Apprehension surged within me, my heart jerking so suddenly that I wondered for a moment if it had stopped. I closed my eyes for a moment, breathing a sigh. I hadn't said anything, not to him, not even to Lucie, who'd gone home earlier this morning. I hadn't uttered a word, and yet, I was not surprised that Vinny knew. He knew how to read me, had always known how to read me, and I was entirely vulnerable when it came to him.

"I'm not sure," I answered quietly. My grip on the steering wheel tightened, my reddened knuckles blanching. I hated to admit it, but in a way, Nick was right. My wings had been taken from me, and if the Order really cared, I would have had them back by now. And after all, once my link to heaven had been stripped, I would no longer care. It would change me.