Will my parents still tell me I’m going to hell once they discover it’s my End Day?
I’ll get my answer soon.
I called Scarlett a few minutes ago, and she supports my choice to let our parents know. I don’t know how she would have dealt with this if I hadn’t come to this decision myself. As far as I’m concerned, she’s their favorite, but would they have held a grudge against her for not telling them it was my End Day? We’ll never have to find out, I suppose.
I’m upstairs in the brownstone’s living room, next to the internet modem so I’ll have a stronger signal for the Skype call with Scarlett and our parents. Orion props his laptop on top of this corner desk, its cord plugged into an outlet because it’ll die if it’s not charging. The desktop background is cluttered with Microsoft Word documents with file names like Watch Me Watch You and Golden Heart and Life Hostage and Never Right, Always Left.
“You’ve written so many stories,” I say.
“They’re all just drafts,” Orion says, drawing the curtain and allowing light in.
“It’s still a lot.”
“I just get in and get out. I don’t even correct typos.”
“Only your eyes have been on them. Do you think . . . Are you still only wanting your eyes on your stories? It’s okay if so.”
Orion smiles. “I’d love for you to be my first reader.”
I squeeze his hand before looking back at the laptop. “Thanks. That’ll be a nice reward for getting through this call.”
“You sure you don’t need anything else? I can hang around if you want, I don’t have to appear on camera or anything like that. I can just be close if you want me close.”
I get up and pull Orion into a hug; I like that I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve hugged. It means we’re making up for lost time and time that will be lost. “You’ve been here with me every step of the way today. I need to walk this path myself.”
Orion kisses me. “You got this, Valentino.”
He returns downstairs as I sit back at the desk and log on to Skype. It always takes forever to start up, but my call to Scarlett manages to get through.
Scarlett is back in her bedroom, using our mother’s Dell laptop with the blurry webcam since her own belongings are still stuck on the first plane. Her mascara has stained her cheeks, but she’s not crying at the moment. “Hey, Val.”
“Hey, Scar.”
We don’t say anything for a while. We’re too lost in how unbelievable this is.
I look at her scars, so grateful she’s still alive, and I hope it stays that way.
“Do they know why you’re home?” I ask.
“Only that I couldn’t get a flight out because of Death-Cast.”
“I’m sure they loved that.”
“They called the pilot’s heart attack a coincidence. I’m still hoping they’re right.”
It’s telling that I could die on this webcam and my parents still wouldn’t believe Death-Cast predicted my fate the same way Scarlett will ultimately come to terms with it. Thankfully, I’m not trying to convince anyone that I’m going to die today. I just need to get some things off my chest. There’s also the matter of the morbid segue about how I need to get something out of my chest too.
“Scar, there’s something else you should know.”
She’s immediately alarmed as if I finally have some medical diagnosis that will lead to my death. “What?”
“It’s a good thing. If I die, my heart will be donated to Orion.”