Resilient

by Patricia Vanasse

“What are you doing here, Livia?” He pulls me into a tight hug, draping his happiness on me like a blanket, and a sense of comfort grows between us. It’s good to be in friendly arms.

  “You miss me that much already?” I joke. “I only left a week ago.”

  “Uh, yeah, come on in!” He says, finally letting go of me, and then shouts, “Ally, someone is here for you! She is going to be so excited to see you, Livia. But what are doing here?”

  “Yeah, about that—” I let myself fall onto their couch. It’s just as fluffy as I remember. It’s as good as being home. “Long story.”

  “Oh my God, Livia!” Alyssa says. I immediately feel her excitement. “I am so happy to see you!” She jumps on the couch and practically tackles me. “You didn’t tell me you were coming!”

  “Well, it’s not like you answer your phone,” I complain.

  “I know. Sorry, I was going to call back but I got caught up with something else, and then it was too late.” She starts playing with a lock of her blond hair. She always does that when she is wound up. It’s kind of cute, really—reminds me of when we were little kids.

  Since they know the story surrounding my adoption, I tell them about Sister Angelina’s message, my encounter with Annette, and everything in between. When I’m done with the whole story, Alyssa gets off the couch and starts pacing.

  “There is something off here, Livia.” Concern fills her eyes. “The nun I told you about was here yesterday morning. If Sister Angelina died on Tuesday, it had to be a different person, but when she introduced herself, she said her name was Angelina—wow, that gives me the creeps.” As soon as Alyssa says this, my whole body gets covered in goosebumps, like her unease is seeking me out. I hate when that happens.

  “Alyssa, are you sure this was yesterday morning and not Tuesday morning?” I ask. She gives me a look.

  “Of course I am. But here’s the thing, the nun that was here had to be a different person, because if Sister Angelina was the one that handled your adoption, she has to be older, right?”

  “She was in her late fifties or so.”

  “Yeah, and the nun I saw was in her early twenties, if that. Really pretty lady, actually.” Alyssa flops back down next to me.

  “That is kind of strange,” John says. “Maybe she was a nun from the same convent trying to give the news of Angelina’s death to your parents. There could be another nun with the same name.”

  “I can call the convent and ask, but you know what?” I smile at them both. “Let’s go get lunch. I don’t have much time left and I want to enjoy both of you while I can.”

  I know I won’t see them for a while after today, and I don’t want to spend our last two hours talking about my problems.

  * * *

  As it turned out, John couldn’t go—he headed off to NYU to meet with his advisor, and Alyssa and I found a table in our favorite sandwich spot. A Greek family owned hole-in-the-wall café, and their sandwiches are perfect.

  “So, Livia,” she begins, “tell me everything. How is the town? Have you met anyone yet?”

  At that very moment, my phone rings—Adam. I turn the phone so she can see his picture. As I expected, her mouth drops open.

  “Oh my gosh! You got yourself a boyfriend already?”

  I ignore the call. “I‘ll call him back later. We just started hanging out. It’s nothing serious yet.”

  She wags her finger at me. “No, you don’t. Tell me everything.”

  I surrender and go over the details of almost everything that has happened in the past since I left. I just don’t mention my accident. “So are you, like, falling for him?” Alyssa asks. I stop for a moment. I haven’t really stopped to try analyzing my feelings for Adam until now. I’ve never felt like this about someone before, but I have never remotely been involved with anyone my entire life. To say I’m falling in love might be premature. But the way I feel when I’m around him is definitely more than just a crush. It’s more than I am willing to admit, for now.

  “I love being with him, and the way he makes me feel. But I’m not in love. Not yet, anyway.”

  Alyssa smiles at me. “You, my friend, are so good at lying to yourself.” She leans back in her seat. “Your eyes shine when you’re talking about him.”

  “Oh, whatever, Ally! Enough about me. Are you exited for school next week?

  * * *

  Alyssa drops me off at the airport after lunch, promising me that she will visit me soon. I call Adam when I reach the gate.

  He answers the phone with concern in his voice. “Hey! Are you okay?”

  “Everything is fine. I’m getting a flight home right now.”

  “What time do you land?”

  “I’ll be landing at four, your time. But you don’t have to pick me up. I don’t mind getting a taxi or a shuttle.”

  “Are you kidding? I’ll be there.”

  I smile unconsciously at the thought of seeing him again. “Thanks, Adam.”

  * * *

  I sit myself all the way in the back of the airplane, just in case it’s a crowded flight. People usually avoid sitting right next to the restroom.

  I ask the flight attendant for a pillow—I am so tired, I’m sure I’ll sleep the entire flight home. But just when I’m about to close my eyes, my body stiffens and I feel something I’ve never felt before. Someone on the plane is empty of emotion, completely hollow.

  I look around, becoming increasingly desperate to identify the source, but, slowly, the sensation starts to disappear. He or she is covering up the void with a veil of fake emotions. It’s hard for me to pinpoint the general location, let alone the exact seat. After a minute, I can’t even feel it anymore. I immediately think of Mrs. Johnson—it’s a shield just like hers, but I don’t see anyone familiar here.

  I try to relax, but my efforts are worthless now. I keep looking around, afraid to feel that way again. It’s a dark place to be. I’ve always wondered what would it be like to be around someone with such an cold emptiness inside of them, like a psychopath or a serial killer, but I’ve never had that type of encounter before, not even in busy New York City. I’ve always secluded myself so I didn’t have to endure people’s everyday emotions—let alone something like this, something more horrid.

  17 Adam

  I skip the last period of school so I can pick up Livia at the airport. After I dropped her off last night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking of reasons that would explain her trip to New York. What could have been so urgent that she’d miss the second day of school? To talk to someone in person, that’s what she told me, but I don’t buy it; I don’t think that she lied, but there’s something she isn’t telling me. The past couple of days, I’ve noticed that there is much more to her than she lets me see. That girl has some secrets.

  And I have secrets, too. If she knew the things I can do, what I am, she would think I’m a freak. Only Kyle knows, and he thinks it’s cool—but that’s why he’s my best friend. I’ve never really given much thought to why these abilities developed. I’ve always been too afraid to think about it, and I’ve always known I had to hide them, because keeping them a secret would keep me safe. But with new abilities surfacing more often, I’ve been wondering why. How about my brothers and sister—will they develop talents that they’re afraid to talk about, too? Have they already? What if they never will? I could be a freak even to my own family.

  My family—Stevens immediately comes to mind. I don’t know how he could possibly know about my abilities, unless of course I am his son and not my parents’. This thought keeps coming into my head a lot lately and I keep shoving it out of my mind. But that’s what he implied that day in the hospital when I overhead him and my dad talking. I’m so confused and stressed that my headaches are getting stronger. I can’t decide if I should look for the man or keep my distance. If I go looking for him, I might learn something that I don’t really want to know, but if I don’t, I could miss the chance to know the truth—and the more I think about it, the more my he
ad hurts.

  There’s no traffic when I hit the I-5, which is great because I’m running a little late. It’s fifteen minutes past four when I get to the airport, and I drive straight to Arrivals. Livia is standing outside. The sight of her makes my heart surge and the smile on her face washes my worries away.

  I park the Jeep on the curbside and I get out to help Livia with her bag. At the back of the truck, she puts her arms around my neck and pulls me into a heated kiss. When she pulls away I feel lightheaded. “Hello to you, too,” I say and she kisses me again. I put her bag in the trunk and she walks around the Jeep toward the passenger side, but as she steps onto the narrow curb, she bumps into a man and freezes in place.

  “Watch where you’re going!” he snaps. I look over the Jeep from him to Livia, who is still frozen, gaping at the guy, whose anger is growing stronger. “What the hell are you looking at?” he shouts.

  I run to place myself between them as fast as I can. The stranger blinks a couple times when he realizes I’m the one facing him and not Livia. Before he’s able to say anything more, I give him one look and that’s all that takes to dissolve his anger to nothing. He shakes his head, confused, and I watch as he stumbles away without looking back.

  “What was that?” Livia asks and I turn to face her.

  “You tell me! Do you know that guy?”

  “I’ve never seen him before in my life, and I now wish I never had.”

  18 Livia

  I sit in the passenger seat, still in shock, still trying to regain control over myself. “That man has serious anger issues,” I say, “and if he hasn’t seriously hurt someone yet, he’s about to.”

  And that’s it. I realize I’ve already said too much. Adam is still looking at me, puzzled. I wish I could explain to him why I froze when I bumped into that man, but how could I tell him that the man is dark inside—that he has blood on his hands? The impression flashed in my mind when I touched him, and all his emotions came to me in pictures, very disturbing pictures; the truth of him was laid bare before my eyes. Then, in matter of seconds, he wasn’t angry anymore. His mood changed to fear as he saw Adam, and he fled like a startled rabbit.

  “I don’t know what happened,” I sigh and I take his hand. “I’m just really tired.”

  Adam runs his hand through my hair, pulling me closer to him, and all of my anxiety slips away when his lips touch mine. Only when someone honks behind us do I pull away from him.

  “We’d better go,” I say, but he doesn’t move, he lingers, staring at me. “What?”

  “You’re so beautiful; it’s hard not to stare.”

  And then I know I’m blushing.

  On the drive home, I realize just how much my neck hurts, and my head is heavy with fatigue and worry. I don’t want to get too comfortable having Adam around me. If I’m not able to fix myself, I won’t be able to have an honest relationship with him—he’ll always be suspicious of my secrets, and he could always assume the worst.

  Adam laces his fingers with mine and I close my eyes, trying to shove the pain and the pleasure of his touch deep inside of me, where I can’t feel it. Maybe I should keep my distance from him, at least until I can figure everything out.

  “Are you okay?” Adam asks. When I don’t answer, he tries again. “Did you find what you were looking for in New York?”

  “The person I needed to talk to wasn’t available and I haven’t got much sleep since yesterday. I’m hungry and tired.”

  He tenses at my curt tone. “I’m sorry. Let’s get takeout so you have something to eat when you get home.”

  When we reach my house, I’m half asleep. I’m trying to keep my eyes open, but my lids are so heavy and I can’t find the energy to keep myself awake. I feel Adam’s hand on me; his voice, calling my name, is a faint blur in the background.

  Then I feel my body lying in something so soft, it could only be my own bed. I feel a hand caressing my face, stroking my hair back. Adam’s voice is telling me goodnight, but I hold on to his hand. “Don’t leave,” I manage to say. “Stay here with me.” And that’s the last I remember.

  * * *

  I wake up in a dark room, crumpled up in a ball. I’m holding my knees close to my chest and rocking back and forth, back and forth. I’m breathing heavily, and loud music grates in my ears. I’m still tired, I need more sleep, but I can’t relax, and I can’t close my eyes. It’s dark and I can’t see. The last thing I remember is Adam falling with a bullet wound to his leg. He screamed so loud, it echoed inside my head. He was scared, he was angry, and he couldn’t see me. But I saw him—and for the first time, I felt him. I empathized with him.

  “Adam!” I called out. Just then he saw me, and I felt the pain grow inside of him.

  “Run, Livia! Go!” He repeated it over and over, louder and louder.

  I covered my ears, but I could hear people laughing and I could hear Adam screaming—until the moment everything went silent. I couldn’t hear and I couldn’t see. They must have taken him away, or worse yet, killed him.

  I’ve been here, waiting for them to come for me, for them to take me to him. It’s all my fault, because I was the one they wanted. They were hunting me, but now Adam is the one to suffer.

  I want to die. It’s the only way to end the agony inside of me, ripping me apart, destroying every bit of my soul.

  * * *

  My heart is panicking. I pull myself up to sit on my bed, and I feel a hand touching my shoulder. I turn around and Adam is sitting next to me, his eyes wide open.

  “You were having a nightmare,” he murmurs. “Everything is okay. It was just a dream…”

  I close my eyes and wait for my heart to calm down. It seemed so real, so painful. “You’re hurt, they—they hurt you,” I stutter, still trying to make sense of what happened.

  “Shh—it’s okay! I’m okay.” He pulls me closer to him and I rest my head on his chest. He strokes my hair and I can hear his heart beating. I breathe in and out, striving to match my pulse with his.

  “Shh…” he repeats.

  I close my eyes. I can still hear them. They were laughing.

  19 Adam

  I’ve been awake for the past hour, slumped on a recliner next to Livia’s bed, where I slept last night. After she went back to sleep, I moved over here because I didn’t know if she would want me sleeping on her bed. Asleep, she barely moves, and her face relaxes in a calm, serene expression, totally different from last night.

  She worried me last night, tossing and turning, her breathing heavy, and tears coming out of her shut eyes. She screamed my name over and over—my heart fell, half in fear for her and half in joy that she cared so much about me even in her sleep.

  She moves and pulls the blanket over her head, still sleeping peacefully, and the sunlight kisses the edge of her hand. I get up for some toothpaste to wash my mouth, and since I’m already in her bathroom, I splash water over my face and I brush my hair out of my eyes.

  I wonder if Mom called Matt’s house to check on me. She usually doesn’t do that, but I wasn’t able to reach her last night, so I left a message telling her I would stay the night over at Matt’s. He said he’d cover for me.

  I walk back in the bedroom and Livia is sitting up on her bed. “Good morning,” she says, a little shy. She bites her bottom lip and I restrain myself from jumping in that bed with her.

  “Morning!” I sit in the recliner to put my shoes on. “Feeling better?”

  She nods. “I’m sorry about last night. I don’t normally have nightmares.”

  “Do you remember what it was about? You were screaming for me.”

  “Was I? I don’t really remember.” Her face flushes a little, but she mostly looks troubled.

  She slides out from under the covers and walks to the bathroom without another word. I hear the shower turn on, so I get up and walk around her room. It’s a nice room, well decorated; there are tons of paper lanterns hanging from the ceiling. Brianna once told me that a person’s room says a lot about
their personality. If there’s one thing this room says about Livia, it’s how different she is. I’ve never seen a teenage girl’s room this unique and mature. There are paintings on the wall and ceramic artwork on the floor, but what calls my attention is the lack of pictures. Not even one.

  A moment later, she walks back out. She’s wearing black yoga pants and a white I Heart NY t-shirt. Her hair hangs wet over her shoulders, she still looks positively exhausted, and she’s perfect.

  “Thanks for staying. I didn’t want to be here by myself.”

  “You owe me,” I say, and she smiles. “Do you know when your parents will be back?”

  “Maybe today. I need to call them.”

  All of a sudden, I remember, “I volunteer at the hospital today.” And the clock by her bed says I’m going to be late.

  “Oh, yeah. Um, thanks again.”

  “No problem.”

  I don’t move and neither does she. There’s awkwardness between us, as if she’s trying to stay away from me. I take one step closer and she takes one step back, crossing her arms over her chest.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask. “I slept on the recliner, if that’s what you are worried about.”

  “No, no…”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Nothing.”

  I chuckle and take a deep breath, debating whether to push her further or turn around and leave. I look at her and, for a fraction of a second, I see fear in her eyes. I walk closer to her, ignoring her apprehension.

  “Just tell me, what is it?”

  She crosses her arms tighter before she finally exhales, “They killed you—I mean, in my dream. You were tortured and killed because of me.”

  “I thought you didn’t remember.”

  “I didn’t want to talk about it. It seemed so real and you were hurt and they were laughing. It was awful.”

  I step up to her and hold her in my arms, and she leans her head on my chest. “It was just a bad dream.”