Page 17 of Eternal Surrender

“And what then?”

“You and I will get a second chance to be friends again⁠—”

“Never,” she sounded distant.

I clutched the back of the pew as though it might stop me from falling.

“Jadeon would never try to entice me away from my faith,” she said.

“I would never.” Even as I had prayed God would give her back to me.

I’d let that dream go back when I had died.

A storm was raging outside, and now inside too, threatening to burst its banks and drown me in a tsunami of sorrow; leaving only regret for what could have been, should have been.

Catherine knew her words were destroying me and she folded her arms to emphasize her point.

“I’m sorry for everything I ever did to you,” I said softly, hoping she would hear the truth.

“Go to hell!” She stormed past me and out.

The shock of her words threw me, and my gaze stayed on where she’d been standing, as though I might turn back time and have her say the words I’d wanted—no—needed to hear.

And even if Jacob did find these scrolls and Lucas Azir could interpret them, there was still no promise of a way back for me.

I collapsed onto the pew and lay down along it, pulling my legs into my chest, hoping that daylight might do me a favor and seep in through the stained glass windows and punish me with its inevitability.

And then kill me.

I remained in the chapel like that for hours, waiting for dawn.

Even that was apparently ignoring me. When my spiraling thoughts became too much, pestering my very sanity, I rose up and headed out.

Sleep was a reasonable alternative to consciousness right now.

Chapter Four

The following evening I found a handwritten note from Alex stuck to the bathroom mirror, letting me know he’d stashed several 500ml units of donated human blood in the fridge.

“In case you’re hungry.” He’d thought of everything.

Making my way toward the kitchen, I resented myself for the way I’d dealt with Catherine last night. I wondered if she’d ever look at me without disdain again.

I had to find a way back from this wreckage that was my life, pull myself back from the brink of hell.

Everything was wrong.

And hunger was gnawing away, making it hard to hold a thought.

Just as Alex had promised, inside the fridge were several thick plastic bags full of packed red blood cells. The labels had been ripped off. Alex’s way, I assumed, to help me cope with this cold clinical, nightmare.

My fangs pierced the icy bland plastic, and I sucked. The consistency was glutinous and the sharp iron taste was nauseating. Leaning over the kitchen sink, I gagged.

I’d hit an all-time low.

Yes, I had to eat, but this was cruel and unusual punishment. I longed to feed properly, and yet the guilt from considering burying my fangs into some unsuspecting mortal was unsettling.

Was I softening?