Chapter Seventeen: Grave Promises

A week had passed since Bonnie's death, and the world around me felt like a fog. I hadn't been to school, hadn't seen anyone. I couldn't bring myself to face them. Couldn't face anyone, really. My phone sat untouched on the counter, the screen cracked from when I had thrown it in a fit of frustration a few days ago. I didn't care about calls, texts, or anything else.

I didn't care about anything except finding a way to bring Bonnie back.

The house was silent, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the occasional rustle of papers as I flipped through yet another dusty old book I'd pulled off the shelves. Pages upon pages of magical incantations, dark rituals, and half-forgotten secrets—none of them held the answer I was desperate for. I had gone through them all, trying to find something, anything, that could undo what had happened.

The blood bags had started to pile up in my kitchen. I hadn't bothered to clean them up. I hadn't bothered with anything. The bags sat in their discarded wrappers, a grim reminder of the need I could never quite escape. Each one I consumed numbed the emptiness inside of me for a while, but the numbness wore off quickly, and the emptiness came crashing back, heavier than before.

I stood in front of the kitchen counter, staring at the mess, at the blood bags, at the notes scattered everywhere—some of them hastily written, others more methodical. I was drowning in research, in despair, and in my own guilt.

There had to be a way. There had to be.

I slammed the book shut in frustration, my fingers tingling with a mix of anger and sorrow. My heart still ached for Bonnie, the hole she left in our lives unbearable. I should have been there for her more. I should have done something. I should have known.

But now she was gone. And I was determined to fix it.

I gripped the edge of the counter, my hands trembling as a new wave of grief hit me. Bonnie was gone, and I had no idea how to make it right. The last thing I had said to her—words of comfort, empty promises—played over and over in my mind. I'll fix this. I'll make it right.

I had failed.

I yanked open the fridge and pulled out a fresh blood bag, tearing it open with a sense of mechanical motion. As I drank, I tried to push the thoughts of Bonnie away, but they clung to me, relentless and painful.

"Stop avoiding everyone."

The voice broke through the silence, and I froze, my throat tightening around the blood bag. My eyes darted toward the doorway, but no one was there.

I swallowed hard, setting the blood bag down with trembling hands. The voice had been too real to ignore, too familiar. Stefan.

I hadn't spoken to him in days, not since the funeral. The guilt that gnawed at me for avoiding him, for cutting myself off from the one person who cared about me, was suffocating. But I couldn't face him, not when I was so consumed with this obsession of bringing Bonnie back. I couldn't explain the madness that had taken over me, the desperate need to undo the impossible.

"Scarlett." This time, the voice was closer, softer, almost like a whisper in my ear.

I spun around, my heart leaping in my chest, but still, no one was there. My hands went cold as I realized, once again, I was alone.

Stop avoiding everyone.

I was losing my mind.

I took a deep breath, trying to center myself. This wasn't normal. Was it the isolation? The grief? Or had it become something darker, some twisted manifestation of my desperation? I couldn't be sure, but I knew one thing: I couldn't keep doing this alone.

I grabbed my phone, finally turning it back on. A dozen unread texts from Stefan stared back at me. Where are you? Are you okay? I'm worried about you.

The weight of his concern made my chest ache even more. I ran a hand through my hair, guilt crashing over me in waves. But I couldn't talk to him—not yet. Not until I found a way to bring Bonnie back.

Another message popped up. It was from Elena: We miss you.

I wanted to text back, wanted to tell them I was okay, that I was just busy, but the words wouldn't come.

A knock on the door jolted me out of my thoughts, and I froze. My heart pounded, my instincts telling me to ignore it, to pretend I wasn't here. But I couldn't. I wasn't going to hide anymore.

I walked slowly to the door, my hand gripping the knob as I steadied myself. I opened it.

Standing there, with an unreadable expression on his face, was Stefan.

"Stefan..." My voice broke, and I hated myself for it.

"Scarlett," he said softly, his eyes searching mine. "I've been worried about you."

I could hear the pain in his voice, the concern. I felt my own heart ache in response, but I quickly shoved the feeling down. This wasn't about me. It wasn't about us. This was about Bonnie.

"I... I've been busy," I managed to say, my throat tight.

Stefan didn't look convinced. "I can see that. You've been avoiding everyone, hiding out here... drinking," he said, his gaze flicking to the blood bags on the counter, his jaw tightening in frustration. "Scarlett, this isn't you."

I couldn't meet his eyes. I knew what he was seeing—the woman I used to be, the person I had been before everything fell apart. But she felt so far away now, like someone else.

"I have to find a way to bring Bonnie back," I whispered, my voice shaking. "There has to be a way."

Stefan stepped into the house, his presence a comfort and a burden all at once. "Scarlett... you can't keep doing this. You need to let her go. We all do."

The words hit me harder than any punch. I stepped back, shaking my head. "I can't. I can't just accept that she's gone. She was my friend, Stefan. She was..."

The words trailed off, too painful to say out loud. But the truth lingered in the air between us, thick and undeniable.

Stefan's hand gently cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear I hadn't even realized had fallen. "We'll find a way to honor her," he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "But you can't do this alone."

I closed my eyes, letting his touch ground me for a moment before I pulled away. I couldn't lean on him. I couldn't let him get too close again. Not while I was drowning in guilt and trying to fix the impossible.

"You should go," I whispered, though every part of me wanted him to stay. "I'm not ready."

For a long moment, Stefan didn't move. He just stood there, watching me with those dark, worried eyes. Then, with a final, heavy sigh, he nodded.

"Okay. But I'll be here when you are," he said softly, before turning and walking out the door.

I closed it behind him, the silence pressing in on me once again. I leaned against the door, my heart aching, and for the first time in days, I felt the crushing weight of being completely alone.

And yet, I couldn't stop. I couldn't stop searching, couldn't stop the obsessive need to find a way to bring Bonnie back, even if it cost me everything.

I wasn't ready to give up on her. Not yet.

The door clicked shut behind Stefan, and the silence that followed felt deafening. I stood there for a moment, leaning against the door as if it could hold me up, as if it could keep me from crumbling. My chest felt hollow, like all the air had been sucked out, leaving nothing but a heavy emptiness.

When I finally pushed away, I dragged myself towards the bathroom, my legs heavy like they were wading through thick mud. I needed to splash some water on my face, needed to feel something other than this numb, aching grief.

The bathroom light flickered to life, casting a harsh, fluorescent glow over the small space. I avoided looking at the mirror at first, my fingers gripping the edges of the sink as I leaned forward, staring down at the white porcelain. The sink was littered with stray hairs, makeup smudges, and a few crumpled tissues from nights spent sobbing until my eyes burned.

Slowly, I forced myself to look up.

The reflection that stared back at me was barely recognizable. My skin was pale, almost translucent, with dark circles so deep they looked like bruises beneath my eyes. The eyes themselves were bloodshot, rimmed with red from countless nights of crying and little to no sleep. I could see the pain in them, the hollow, haunted look of someone who had lost more than they could bear.

My hair was a tangled mess, knotted and unbrushed, falling in wild strands around my face. It looked lifeless, like I hadn't touched it in days, which was probably true. I'd given up on trying to maintain any semblance of normalcy. What was the point when everything felt so wrong?

The person staring back at me wasn't the confident, put-together Scarlett Price everyone knew. This was a shell of that person, cracked and breaking, held together by nothing but sheer willpower and the desperate need to fix the unfixable.

I ran a hand through my hair, wincing as my fingers caught on a snarl. It pulled at my scalp, and the sting was oddly satisfying—at least it was something I could feel. My eyes filled with tears again, unbidden and unwanted. I hated crying. Hated this weakness. Hated the helplessness that had taken over me since Bonnie's death.

I clenched the sink tighter, my knuckles turning white. "Get it together," I whispered harshly to myself, the words echoing in the small space. "You don't have time for this."

But my reflection didn't listen. She just stared back at me with those sad, broken eyes, accusing and raw. It was like looking at a stranger—someone I barely knew but couldn't escape from.

A small, dry laugh escaped my lips, hollow and humorless. "You're a mess," I muttered. "Look at you."

I leaned in closer, inspecting the lines of exhaustion that seemed etched into my skin. How had it only been a week? It felt like years. Like a lifetime had passed since that night in the old house, since the moment I felt Bonnie's life slip away in my arms. I hadn't slept properly since. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her face—her eyes wide with fear, her voice echoing in my head, calling my name one last time.

I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to block out the memory, but it was useless. It replayed over and over, like a broken record. I opened my eyes again, staring into the mirror, searching for any sign of the girl I used to be.

This isn't you, Scarlett. The words whispered through my mind, unbidden. They sounded like Bonnie's voice, gentle and soothing. It made my chest tighten painfully.

"Bonnie," I whispered, my voice breaking on her name. I reached up and touched the glass, my fingers trembling as they traced over the reflection of my own tear-streaked cheek. "I'm so sorry."

The apology felt small, inadequate. It wasn't enough—not for her, not for what had happened. Nothing I could say or do would ever be enough.

But I couldn't stop now. I had to keep going. I had to find a way to bring her back. I couldn't accept that she was gone, couldn't accept that I'd never hear her voice or see her smile again. It wasn't right. It wasn't fair. I slammed my fist against the sink, the pain shooting up my arm, sharp and grounding.

I pushed away from the mirror, turning back towards the mess of papers and books strewn across the kitchen counter. There had to be something here. I hadn't searched through everything yet. There were still pages I hadn't read.

With a deep breath, I walked back to the counter, picking up the next book on the pile. The title was faded, the spine cracked—Ancient Rituals of Resurrection. It sounded promising, but then again, everything had sounded promising at first. Now, it was just a blur of empty words and false hope.

I flipped through the pages, scanning the text quickly, my eyes darting from one line to the next. My fingers were stained with ink from all the notes I'd scribbled down. Every page I turned felt like a plea, a silent prayer to whatever force might be listening. Please, please let this be the one.

But as I read on, the familiar wave of disappointment washed over me. Another dead end. Another useless passage about sacrifices and rare ingredients I'd never be able to find. I threw the book across the room, watching as it slammed into the wall and fell to the floor with a thud.

My breaths came fast and shallow, on the verge of hyperventilating. I could feel the panic rising, the despair clawing at my insides, threatening to pull me under.

You can't fall apart now, I told myself. You don't get to fall apart. Not until she's back.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to calm the frantic beat of my heart. But it was no use. I sank to the floor, burying my face in my hands as the sobs broke free, uncontrollable and gut-wrenching.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't keep going like this.

But I had to.

For Bonnie.

I dragged myself up from the floor, wiping the tears from my cheeks with the back of my hand. I glanced once more at the pile of blood bags on the counter. I was disgusted by the sight of them, but I couldn't deny that they were keeping me going. I grabbed another, tearing into it and draining it without a second thought.

The taste was metallic, bitter on my tongue. It didn't bring comfort, only the briefest sense of strength, a momentary reprieve from the crushing weight of grief.

I tossed the empty bag onto the counter, watching as it rolled off and joined the others on the floor.

This wasn't sustainable. I knew it. I couldn't live like this—holed up, drowning in blood and ancient texts, avoiding the people who cared about me. But I couldn't stop, not until I had an answer.

I picked up another book, flipping it open, ignoring the shaking in my hands.

I pushed aside the pile of discarded books, my hands shaking as I reached for the next one. The leather cover was cracked and worn, the title barely legible: Dark Grimoire of the Ancients. It felt heavy in my hands, and a shiver ran down my spine as I flipped it open. The pages were yellowed with age, the ink fading in some places. This book had been passed through generations, filled with spells and rituals long forgotten by time.

I scanned the table of contents, my eyes catching on a chapter titled, The Veil Between Worlds: Resurrection and Rebirth. I turned to the page, the anticipation and desperation clawing at my chest. The passage was dense, written in a mix of Latin and Old English. I had to concentrate, piecing together the words like a puzzle.

"To restore a soul lost to the Other Side," I read aloud, my voice echoing in the quiet room, "one must seek the guidance of a coven bound by ancestral blood. The ritual requires power beyond that of a single witch. Only in the heart of a sanctuary, where the veil is thin, can such a spell be cast."

I frowned, flipping to the next page. A map was drawn hastily, ink splattered and smudged, but I could still make out the name scrawled at the top: New Orleans.

I froze, the air catching in my lungs. Of course. New Orleans. I'd heard stories—whispers of powerful witches who lived there, a place where magic ran deeper than anywhere else. It was a sanctuary for those like Bonnie, witches with ancestral ties, connected to the very fabric of their magic.

I traced a finger over the ink, the lines leading into the heart of the French Quarter. The book spoke of a place where the veil between the living and the dead was thin, where the spirits walked among the living, where ancestral magic was at its strongest.

"This is it," I breathed, the words barely a whisper. "This is where I have to go."

The resolve that had been missing for the past week surged back into me. I had an answer, a direction. It was a faint hope, but it was more than I'd had before. If there was anywhere in the world where I could find a way to bring Bonnie back, it was New Orleans.

My mind was racing, already planning out the trip. I would need to leave tonight, before anyone could stop me. I didn't care if it was dangerous—I had nothing left to lose. Not after losing Bonnie.

I slammed the book shut and pushed back from the counter, nearly stumbling in my haste. I caught my reflection in the kitchen window, the same haunted eyes staring back at me. I looked like a ghost of myself—pale, hollow, but now with a spark of determination flickering in the depths.

I grabbed my phone off the table, hesitating for just a moment. Should I tell someone? Stefan, maybe? No. He wouldn't understand. He'd try to stop me, tell me it was too risky, that I was chasing something impossible. I couldn't deal with that—not when I finally felt like I had a sliver of hope.

I'm sorry, I thought, picturing his face, the worry that would line his features when he realized I was gone. But I have to do this.

I started pacing, gathering what I needed. I threw my jacket on, stuffing the book into my bag. The pile of blood bags in the kitchen caught my eye, a grim reminder of how far I'd fallen in just one week. I grabbed a couple of them, shoving them into my bag too. I'd need my strength if I was going to make it to New Orleans without any stops.

The thought of the city brought a flicker of excitement. It was a dangerous place for someone like me—a vampire trying to blend in, surrounded by witches who might not take kindly to my presence. But I didn't care. Let them try to stop me. I'd do whatever it took.

As I was stuffing the last of the blood bags into my bag, the phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out, seeing Stefan's name on the screen. For a moment, I almost answered. I could imagine his voice, the way he'd say my name with that gentle concern, the way he'd try to calm me down.

But I couldn't face him. Not yet. Not until I'd done everything I could.

I declined the call, turning off the phone entirely and tossing it onto the couch.

"I'm sorry," I whispered into the empty room, as if he could hear me. "But I can't stay here."

I grabbed my car keys, the cold metal grounding me for a second. With one last look around the apartment—at the clutter of books, the scattered blood bags, the mess that reflected the chaos inside me—I headed for the door.

New Orleans was waiting, and so were the answers I needed. If there was a way to bring Bonnie back, I would find it. I had to.

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for what lay ahead. I knew it wasn't going to be easy. The witches in New Orleans wouldn't welcome me with open arms. They'd be suspicious, maybe even hostile. But that didn't matter.

For Bonnie, I'd face whatever I had to.

I stepped outside, the cool night air hitting my face like a slap, waking me up fully for the first time in days. I got into my car, the engine roaring to life as I pulled out of the driveway. The road stretched out in front of me, dark and uncertain, but it didn't scare me. Not anymore.

I had a destination. I had a plan. And I had nothing left to lose.

"Hang on, Bonnie," I whispered into the night as I sped down the empty road, the wind whipping through the open window. "I'm coming."