Chapter 172
After being discharged from the hospital, both Vivian and Sebastian returned to the Devreaux home. Her brother settled into his old room, while she attempted to do the same with little success. It wasn’t that she didn’t like her room, but that it was too… she wasn’t sure what was wrong with it, only that it never took long before she began to feel unsettled.
It was late Friday night when she’d had enough. Grabbing her pink elephant plush, a blanket, and pillow, she hobbled downstairs to the living room. The boot cast for her ankle wasn’t fun, but at least it allowed her to move around the house; crutches would have been preferable, but with the injury to her hand they were out of the question.
The house was quiet as she settled onto the couch she’d been claiming every night since the track meet — minus her time in the hospital. She took a minute to get herself comfortable before turning on the TV.
“Can’t sleep?”
Thinking she’d been alone, a voice coming from behind her made Vivian jump. All of a sudden it felt like her chest was on fire and her lungs refused to expand.
“Hey, Vivian, hey, it’s alright,” she heard Samuel say as he appeared by her side. He pulled her in to a hug, rubbing her back. “Shh. It’s okay. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
For the most part, she’d been calm since waking up at the hospital that Wednesday. Sudden noises did cause her to jump a bit, but nothing this extreme.
Once her breathing was back under control, her father pulled away, sitting on the coffee table in front of the couch. “Are you alright?”
Vivian nodded. “Yeah… You just startled me.”
There was a moment of silence, and she was worried where this conversation would go after her sudden panic attack.
“Is there a reason why you keep sleeping on the couch down here?” Samuel inquired, keeping his tone light. “Is there something wrong with your room?”
“My room is fine,” she replied, shaking her head. “I just… can’t seem to sleep. Having the TV going helps.”
“I’ll have one installed in your room.”
“No,” she said a bit too quickly, earning a frown from her father. “It’s fine, really. I don’t mind coming down here.”
“That’s not the issue, Vivian.”
She let out a huff, unsure how to explain what was going on in her brain; the fears, the anxieties, the worries… It was nothing he could help with.
Samuel reached out and took hold of her uninjured hand, gently forcing her to open the fist she’d made. “I’ve noticed… when you seem to be struggling with something, you make a fist with your hands.” He turned her hand over so her palm was facing up, revealing the crescent shaped divots from her nails. “It took me a while to figure out what you were doing.”
Vivian lowered her head as he spoke, feeling weak for her inability to stay emotionally level without needing an external distraction.
“Have you ever cut yourself?”
She shook her head. “No. Never.”
“Have you harmed yourself in any other way?”
“No.”
Silence. Was he thinking up more questions, or had he asked them all? What did he think of her, now that he saw something she hadn’t wanted him to see?
He stroked his thumb over the marks on her palm and said, “Vivian… I’m going to say something, and would like you to keep an open mind about it, alright?”
Confused and curious, she peeked up at him before nodding. “Okay…”
“I’d like you to see a therapist. You’re struggling with things, and a good therapist will be able to help you sort everything out. You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to but, since you moved here, a lot has happened. The shooting and car chase, the bullying, the kidnapping… It would be good if you had someone to talk to about those things; someone neutral. Think about it, please. I won’t force it, but I really think you should give it a chance — a real chance.”
“…I’ll think about it,” she told him after a short silence.
Samuel gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you. Mind if I join you for a bit?”
Vivian shrugged. “I don’t mind.” She had to rework her nest so he could sit on the couch, but that didn’t take long. They were soon watching a program that showed them how things were made, and sleep began to tug at her eyes. It was late and, other than the first two nights at the hospital, her sleep had been questionable.
Sneaking a glance at her father, who had sat down with a foot of space between the two of them, she wondered how long he planned on keeping her company. On the outside, he looked almost completely healed from his kidnapping; only the bruises were left, fading more every day. Another few days and you wouldn’t be able to tell he’d been beaten up. Unlike her, he didn’t look like he needed to rest.
Making up her mind, Vivian shuffled herself over to sit next to her father. She rested her head against his shoulder, feeling him tense a little at her being the one to initiate physical contact. It didn’t take him long to relax, lifting his arm to place it over her shoulders so he could hold her against his side. She felt him rest his cheek on top of her head as he lifted his feet, using the coffee table as a footrest.
“Get some sleep,” he told his daughter, voice low. “You have a big day tomorrow.”
Tomorrow was when they’d decided to bring everyone together, so Vivian could go over the events at the abandoned factory. She knew Jacques had given his account of what had happened, including their conversation where she’d let slip the fact she may know who was behind the kidnapping.
Everything was such a mess.
During the quiet moments in the hospital, Vivian had begun to unravel the mess that was Paul and the Clark man, and their connection to what had been happening since she arrived in the city. A lot of what she’d never told anyone would need to be revealed, if only to better explain why things happened as they did. It wasn’t going to be an easy day for her, but she knew if she didn’t do it now, things would only continue to escalate.
What bothered her the most — what kept her on edge — was the fact she didn’t know if Paul was actually dead. The Clark man had insinuated as much, but the memory of her shooting the detective in the woods, believing him to be dead, only for him to appear eight years later…? It made her doubt the man who’d made her childhood hell was truly gone.
How was she supposed to get confirmation without asking? She could ask Gilbert, but the chance of him pouncing on that, making connections, figuring things out she’d rather he not know…
What if Paul was still alive? What if Gilbert went to kill the detective because her one question filled in some missing piece of information, and he now knew the truth? No. She had to carefully control the narrative to prevent more collateral damage.
She was spiralling, her hand clenched into a fist in an attempt to bring her mind out of the rabbit hole. Samuel reached over and took her hand in his own, giving it a gentle squeeze without a word.
Exhaling slowly, Vivian forced her mind to focus on the here and now. Worrying about other things would only keep her awake. It could wait for tomorrow. With a rested mind, she’d be able to think of a way to find out if Paul was still alive, and what had happened to the Clark man. Who was he, in the grand scheme of things? He was adamant Samuel was his rival; that meant he was part of the Business, didn’t it? Would her father know who he was?
Closing her eyes, Vivian listened to the sound of her father’s heartbeat. It was strong and steady, a reminder he was still alive and well. She’d done that; she’d been the one to get him out before lasting damage could be done. Gabriel was doing good, too; he was suppose to arrive first thing tomorrow, to finish recovering here with the rest of the family. Her family.
Even if things ended bad, she knew her family would be there. That was one of the last thoughts that drifted through her mind before sleep took hold.