“Is it, Victoria? Is it really? You’re dying. You’re not going to last the… thirty-one minutes that remain, here. This is it, we’re probably going with you, and I’m not going to mince words or tell you some convenient things that help you go without regrets.”

She didn’t address me further. Darlene stared up at her, and Tattletale reached down to push a lock of hair from Darlene’s forehead. Darlene pulled hear head away, then hugged her cousin.

Regrets. Things I needed to come to terms with. I’d been dwelling on it earlier, a tangent.

I felt like I could let my mind touch on the subject of my mom and dad and how they’d betrayed me in their individual ways, and I could make a kind of peace with that. I could touch on the things they’d said and done and ways they’d let me down and a kind of tension that had been there since I could remember was released.

Amy.

The thought didn’t provoke fear or defense reactions in the same way. A deep sadness and feeling of loss, yes. A small stab of alarm, worry, like a primal part of me had to cover the bases in case she could somehow reach out and find me here.

But I was out of her reach, and a growing part of me was feeling like I didn’t need to worry because the chances of me seeing her again were getting a lot closer to nil.

My breathing was hoarse, more because of the fuckery in my throat than anything. Every breath hurt.

I was free to make peace with… I wasn’t sure I was coherent enough to summarize what that whole thing with Amy was. In a state where all the edges were rounded off and thoughts could glide from one to another, if I didn’t think or pry too much, I could extend a measure of understanding, see where she had been coming from and why. Maybe. I could forgive her, probably, find that internal compromise. Forgive her for myself, at the very least.

But like hell was I ever going to do that. Like hell was I going to forgive her for anything, even my own peace of mind. Like fucking hell was I going to compromise. Understand? Yes, but only as a defensive measure, like I tried to understand this many-handed fucker. Fuck no, hell no, fuck. If there was a chance she could find out how I’d felt about her in the end, and powers meant there was always a chance, I wanted the answer to be bitter and hurtful. Because she’d remained too much of a coward to own up to it in reality and totality. Because fuck her.

Anger made my blood pump and woke up the pain, bringing me back to reality. My parting throughts on the subject, as I labored to breathe, were simply that I could make peace with my lack of peace on this one subject.