I was permanently, irrevocably dead.
Was Levi the one who’d found my body? I hadn’t recognized himwhen I literally ran into him, but now that it was too late, I remembered him just fine. He was the sweet boy who had helped me through my first grueling semester, back when I thought I had to try. Before I understood how easily my studies came.
He didn’t deserve to have that on his conscience. I hadn’t reached out to him or given him a chance to stick around. As soon as I realized he wasn’t necessary, I’d shut him out. He didn’t numb Vapula’s influence, and studying was a waste of time, so I’d left him behind. How dumb was he to think he could help me that night, after I had sabotaged him every step of the way?
If fate were kind, he wouldn’t have to live with the guilt of that failure until the day he died. But fatewasn’tkind. He’d blame himself.
And what about my parents? How would they take the news? They hadn’t really been there for me in life. Anything I did, I did alone, hoping to please them. It had never been enough.
My dad always found a reason to be disappointed. It was his legacy I’d been held to, that of the mechatronic engineer who could build every part of a system given sufficient time—and money—to work his magic. Three years of schooling later, I still failed to meet his expectations. Nothing I did made him proud, only ever ‘satisfied’ or ‘appeased.’ I’d grown so tired of it that I’d avoided him altogether.
Then there was my mother, the software engineering prodigy. Whoever it was that hired her kept her busy. She was an absentee in my life, represented only by framed awards and pictures of family outings long forgotten on the walls of my childhood home.
We hadn’t spoken a word to one another in the three months leading up to my demise. The last time I’d tried, it was so impersonal we hadn’t talked for more than a few minutes. She hadn’t called me back, and I didn’t reach out. I regretted not making an effort for her, too, now that I’d never hear her voice again.
How much of this was my fault? How much of my story could I rewrite if only I had the chance? I knew the answer, and it cut deep. Ineeded a drink. Or five. Or maybe even ten. I was already dead, so what did I have to lose? Of course, no alcohol was available, and I wasn’t about to ask Sitri for a favor. If the demons made a habit of drinking oil, there may not be any alcohol in Hell to begin with.
My whole body shook with sobs as my regrets washed over me. I had done everything wrong. I must have left a trail of devastation in my wake, and worst of all, I’d never get to learn how deep it ran. My tears flowed freely. They fell and cast dark circles on the luxurious down pillows as I buried my face in them and cried until I had no more tears to shed.
