Dead Lines

34: Grief, Definition of Real

“I’m at home.”

He nodded. “Your uncle and I brought you. Thought it would be best. Had quite an entourage behind us.” He sighed as his eyes darted all over my face. “Honey, I—”

I squeezed his hand and held hit against my chest, right over my heart. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

Sorrow entered his eyes and made them tear up. It’d been a long time since I’d seen that look and it was almost too much to bear now.

“There’s so much I don’t want you to have to deal with right now. You’re exhausted and you need to rest. I told them that but—”

“There’s a dead line.” I closed my eyes and buried my face, wondering how he knew. “How long was I out?”

“About two hours. There’ve been quite a few people in and out of this house in the interim. Never had this many people here at this hour before.”

I cracked a smile but it was painful. The laughter that wanted to rise squeezed at my heart and made my lungs seize up. “Dad—”

 He got up from his chair and sat next to me on the bed, wrapping his arm around my head and pressed my cheek against his chest in an all encompassing hug. “God, I know. Honey, I know.”

“It hurts—I can’t believe—”

The gut wrenching sobs came back with a vengeance. The crying without the actual tears, it was all there trying to tear me apart and I couldn’t take it. I literally felt like I was going to shatter into a million pieces.

My father gathered me into his arms as best he could and held me like I was a child again. Under his breath, he was softly humming Love Me Tender. A soothing hand rubbed my back with the occasional kiss to the crown of my head. His arms banded around me like steel, as if he was the only thing keeping me together. And in a way, he was. Each time this had happened, he’d been there. He’d shared in my grief and helped me understand it even if I didn’t entirely comprehend it myself.

He didn’t tell me it was going to be alright. He didn’t tell me how sorry he was. He didn’t say any of it because he knew those words would mean nothing. They were pointless, painful utterances spoken to make the person saying them feel better.

My father remained silent and there, helping me feel safe and not so alone. Comforting. Present. Grounding so I wouldn’t get lost in what I was feeling.

“It’s hard to believe any of this is real,” I said after a time.

“I think the definition of real has yet to be defined.” He rubbed my back comfortingly. “You should know—they let me be the one to tell Schylar. I thought it was best, considering.”

Schylar? Schylar. Oh crap! I sat up and wiped some of the tears off my face. “Where is he?” I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten all about him. I felt awful and I could only imagine what he must be going through right now.

“He’s still at the Schola. He took the news like I expected but after the door was closed, I imagine he let his true feelings show. I was on the way to get you when I found you about to collapse in the hallway.” He trailed off and shrugged. “It’s good, that he’s there right now with everything that’s going on with the Elite. He’ll be safe there.”

Something about that didn’t sit right with me, like he knew more than he was saying.

“Dad—do you—do you know what’s going on?”

He was quiet for a moment, deciding whether or not now was the appropriate time to tell me if what I suspected was true. In the end, he ran his hand down his face and sighed before saying, “When this is over, the two of us are going to sit down and talk.”