I stop in the driveway when I realize I've got no freaking clue as to how to get to Habit. No idea where in Jersey they - I mean he - lives, not even a small idea. I slump against the sidewalk and let the tears return.
Sadness so absolute, it's like a black void filling up my soul, and depression like a blanket wraps around me. I feel abandoned.
Eventually, I get up and go back upstairs to my laptop.
I've got a bunch of Twitter notifications from people who just don't understand. I swallow hard and start typing.
I'm at home, but I want to go home. This place I grew up in just isn't my home anymore...
Immediately, I get ten likes and one retweet. I sigh, praying that Habit will see what I've written, praying that he's still active despite all this -
Hahahahahahahahahahahahaha.
My blood runs cold. It's from Noah Maxwell's account. Hijacked by the Observer bitchlips again. It's a direct reply to my message, and a link is below it. I hesitate, but I know from Noah and Vinny that nothing was ever lost or gained by just staring at your screen.
I click the link.
And immediately wish I hadn't.
Because there is a photo of me in the morgue standing over Vinny. One only the doctor could have taken.
Twitter is alive again. Full of people calling out the Observer and saying that he did it, he killed Vinny. But I somehow know differently. I know that he didn't kill Vin, I just don't know if the stroke he had was induced by a supernatural force or what.
I DM Habit, asking him to come get me. I don't care anymore, I just need him. Someone I know who will understand - someone who knows this is all real.
And I'm about to close out of Twitter when I get a message back.
You really want to come back?
It's my home, I type.
Okay.
I quickly gather my things and stand in the middle of my room. Moments later, Habit opens the door to my room. I just stare at him before bursting into tears. He pulls me against him and then we are back at our real home.
