Breathe

Chapter 29

Lucie

When Caprice had left and I stepped back into the kitchen again, Vinny wasn't there. The lights had been switched off, the formerly wine-smeared floor scrubbed to a new shine, mop neatly shoved away in the closet. Something about the silence of the house stung me. It was the type of silence that was far from peaceful, and meant things far from good.

Softly calling Vinny's name, I trailed out into the living room, where the television remained off, the couch providing no evidence of Vinny except for a few haphazardly tossed pillows. With a sigh, I moved on.

He wasn't in the foyer, wasn't in his father's office, wasn't in his bedroom. By now, I was beginning to panic, the fear rising inside of me that somehow, some way, I'd lost him again. And it would be all my fault for leaving him.

The last room to check was Cian's.

Entering Cian's bedroom always felt like entering a king's throne room, or arriving to church late—I always felt like I had to be cautious and respectful, like one wrong move would cause me tremendous consequences. My fingers gently grasped the doorknob, the clicks of its working parts popping in my ears as I twisted it.

It was as if I'd entered a different reality entirely.

It was one thing to be in Cian's bedroom with Cian. It was another thing to be there alone, knowing how far away he was. Everything was a manifestation of him: his unmade bed, comforter half-dragging along the wood floors, obscure European rock band posters peeling slowly off the navy-colored walls, closet door open just enough to catch a peek of a pair of socks he'd worn last week.

A piece of paper crunched underneath my foot. My eyes trailed the floor, surprise filling with me when I noticed it was littered with multicolored post-it notes. I bent to retrieve the one I'd just stepped on:

Hey. I'm taking you somewhere tomorrow. Be ready wait no no this sucks

I couldn't stifle a laugh, recalling the note he'd put on my mirror. Dropping that one, I picked up another:

I promise I'm not a stalker I just love you a lot

Another was halfway under his bed:

You're gonna find these aren't you

I'm so screwed

Why are you dating such a dweeb

"He worked on those for, like, hours," came Vinny's voice, and when I looked towards the window, he was climbing through it, perching himself atop Cian's desk. I tried to act like he hadn't frightened me; even alive, he still had the capacity to show up at the strangest times, in the most random places. "He wanted to get every word right."

I laughed a bit. "I never knew he was such a perfectionist."

"Considering he's far from perfect, I can see why," Vinny responded with a chuckle. He hesitated, then added, "'Here's a statistic. 10 out of 10 girls named Lucille Anais Monteith say they are going to go out with Cian Horne tomorrow night. How about that?'"

I raised an eyebrow at him.

"I found that one stuck to his closet door," Vinny clarified. He shook his head, and though there was mirth in his eyes, it seemed shadowed by something solemn. "He's such a weirdo. We were all weirdos."

It took me a second to translate all to Cian, Eden, and him, the trio of friends they'd been before the accident had ruined their picture-perfect lives. I sighed, rubbing my eyes. "What were you doing on the roof, anyway?" I asked. "Isn't that sort of a hazard?"