Note: Thanks to everyone who's followed, favourited and reviewed this story! You guys response was incredibly encouraging and I'm not too proud to admit that I've been bouncing on my seat like a sugar-high kid with a creepily wide grin re-reading the comments this past hour. I hope you'll enjoy this chapter and a closer look into V's head and some of her relationships. There may or may not be some Damon in this chapter as well because I'm weak like that.
Happy reading!
Chapter II: V is for Vestige
Lots of hurtful secrets are better off kept. The problem is that people find it so hard to keep them.
—Liane Moriarty
[ Mystic Falls 2nd of November, 2009 Monday Evening ]
I stare tiredly at my textbook, too exhausted to even glare. It's only seven thirty, but I've spend most of Sunday night watching Connor Brodley play Fifa because his paranoid girlfriend thought he was cheating on her. I doubt his PlayStation was what she had in mind, but the only thing I care about are the hundred bucks she payed me. Honestly, the people in this town have way too much money to spend on useless shit—and me.
The beeping sound of our alarm system finally breaks my waning concentration. But before I have time to reach for the gun mom keeps hidden in the kitchen drawer, the aggravating noise quietens.
"Mom?" I call out, although it's not really a question. My mother is the only one besides me who knows the code for the system. We haven't even told Dad. He doesn't live here anymore. He can ring the bell like everyone else.
I don't get an answer immediately, but after a few moments of silence I hear the familiar pattern of heavy footsteps, dragged down by the boots she likes to complain about. A moment later a tall, blonde woman enters the kitchen, still dressed in the sherif uniform, her phone pressed to her ear.
She sends me a small smile and mouthes what I assume is a soundless, "Sorry".
I can't help shaking my head at her. Elizabeth Forbes—Liz if you're a friend—is a great mother, don't get me wrong. I love her and I know she loves me just as much. But she loves her job too, and if there's one thing being a sherif's daughter has taught me, it's that criminals don't keep the usual Monday to Friday nine to five schedule. The bad doesn't sleep—and neither do the people hunting it down.
Still, I can't complain. Mom really tries. And besides I know how this business works all too well. I'm a part of it myself after all. That's probably what makes us so close, despite the late night calls and the countless rescheduling of planned family trips; we understand each other. We play the same game by the same set of rules.
"No, no, Jack, I've left the copies on your desk. Just make sure Nate has done everything by the book, let him figure out the rest on his own. I'll be back tomorrow, I just need a few hours of sleep. Now go kick his ass for me, and don't call unless the town's burning down around you."
I snap my book shut, it's not like I'll get anything done right now anyways. Instead I get two plates from the cupboard while Mom opens the refrigerator. I expertly dance around her to get the cutlery, then take the orange juice she hands me. This is our routine, comfortable and easy to fall back into.
I suppress a mocking grin when Mom rolls her eyes at something the officer on the phone tells her.
"No," she sends me an exasperated look over the shoulder, "That was a joke, Jack. Yes. Okay. See you tomorrow."
"Idiots," she mutters the moment she ends the call—though there is no mistaking the fondness in her voice—and places the cold leftover pizza from yesterday on the table.
"What else is new?" I ask, and we both share a small laugh over my dig at the local police force. It's not really funny though.
This town probably wouldn't exist anymore if my mother wasn't there to do a decent job—and she can only do so much on her own. The police station used to be in a better position once, but over the last year or so things have slowly gone downhill. Three of the older, more experienced officers retired in short succession, two because of old age, one because of health issues. A promising deputy died in a car accident shortly after the elder Gilberts' funeral.
The open positions have been filled with younger people that aren't yet used to their new responsibilities, have trouble to ascertain their authority, and lack the experience and know-how their predecessors possessed. The recent increase of dead and disappearing people doesn't help matters.
"You look tired," I can't help but note.
I know the last few months have been stressful on mom, but right now she looks more than just exhausted. She looks dead on her feet. Dark circles under her eyes, wax-coloured skin, and the sad excuse of a smile she gives me ain't fooling nobody.
"Long day," is the noncommittally response, followed quickly by the usual, "How was school?"
I raise my eyebrows at the question. It must be worse than I thought. Mom doesn't usually use such lame attempts to divert my attention.
"I tripped three Football players, stole some freshman's lunch money, and had wild sex with the School's drug dealer in a broom closet. So just the usual." I shrug and take a bite of the pizza. It tastes as disgusting as cold pizza always does, but I can hardly complain. I know how to work the stove after all, I'm just too lazy for my own good.
"I see." Mom's lips twitch into a smile that looks a lot more energetic than her previous one. "Was it any good?"
I send her a mock-thoughtful look. "Doable. And I get a discount now, so I figure, it was worth it."
"That's my girl."
For a moment I consider asking her about her own day, but we both know I only do polite conversation when I want something, so I decide against it. Not like I don't already know the answer. It was stressful, thanks to everyone's incompetence, but no one has turned up dead so far, so it hasn't been a complete loss. The town would have already been abuzz with the news, had that been the case.
No, it's better to save us both some time and get straight down to business.
"Mom, can I take a look at Vicky Donovan's file?"
Alright, maybe I could have been a bit less direct, but I certainly didn't expect mom to choke on her juice in response. It's not even such an unusual question from me. Over the years I've probably spent more time buried in this town's criminal files than some of the deputies that are working the office. I like to think that it comes with the territory of being my mom's full-time daughter and part-time secretary, but honestly? I'm just too curious for my own good.
"I wasn't aware that you were close with her," Mom finally replies, after she has gotten her coughing under control—and doing an abysmal job of pretending that nothing just happened. Really, her reaction would have tipped off even Officer Jack Sterling that there's something wrong—well, most likely. Not sure what this guy's doing in the department in the first place, he takes 'oblivious' to a whole new level.
"I wasn't." No use in lying about it, I've never made a secret of my dislike for the girl. But Vicky left me alone, so I was more or less indifferent to her existence, and later her disappearance. And doesn't that just make me sound like a stone-cold bitch.
My mother's expectant stare makes it clear that she needs more than that. I can't say I blame her. "Jeremy Gilbert asked me to look into it," I add, like that explains everything. It doesn't.
"And you agreed out of the goodness of your heart." Mom makes no effort to conceal the doubt in her voice. Over the course of the last few months I've been anything but indifferent to the Gilbert's existence, and not in a good way. Of course she knows that, she's my mom. And at the time I desperately needed someone to rant to.
"He pays me and it's gonna piss Elena off," I state bluntly. No use in hiding my main motivation. Mom might not be at her best right now, but she's still a cop. And my mom. She'll figure it out sooner rather than later.
My mom closes her eyes for a moment, a strange mixture of resignation and determination crossing her face. When her gaze meets mine a moment later—two pairs of eyes in the same shade of deep blue—her exhaustion is gone, suppressed, leaving nothing but the iron will I've always admired behind.
"I know you want to help, Veronica. And I'm proud of you, of the things you're doing. You'll make a fine detective one day. But this is not the case of a cheating boyfriend or disappearing earrings in the changing rooms. The Donovan file is classified to the public and that includes you."
"But-"
"No buts, Veronica!" Mom interrupts me, her voice sharp. "Look, a young, attractive, drug-addicted girl disappears? I've had dozens of these cases on my desk over the years, and they rarely have a happy ending. You're only seventeen and cases like these almost always end ugly. I don't want you involved in that. Call Jeremy and tell him we're doing what we can and that you're out."
I swallow. Mom almost never uses that I'm-an-adult-and-you're-not-so-you-listen-to-me-now tone with me, but when she does, she means business. She's serious about this, and she's not going to change her mind, that much is clear.
"Veronica." She's waiting for me to accept her words, her explanation. And it makes sense in a way, I get where she's coming from. The chances of Vicky being alright and fine and happy are—abysmal. She's my mother for god's sake, of course she wants to protect me from that.
"Alright. Fine. I'll call him tomorrow," I promise reluctantly.
Mom looks at me for a moment longer, as if trying to judge whether or not I'm lying to her. But I'm not, I'm really not, and finally she nods in satisfaction. And promptly yawns.
"You should go to bed, mom. You left Jack on his own at the station, you'll need all the energy you can get." I can't help but laugh at the mental image. I wouldn't trust Jack Sterling with a goldfish if I had one, never mind a police station.
Mom shakes her head in rueful agreement. "Yes, I suppose you're right. Don't stay up too long either, sweetheart. You have school tomorrow."
"Don't remind me," I grimace at the thought, and we exchange a small smile before Mom finally stands and makes to leave the kitchen. She pauses in the doorway though, and I know what she's going to say before she even has the chance to open her mouth.
"I love you, Veronica." Her eyes soften. "More than I love arresting murderers."
My smile widens at the familiar words. They might sound odd to other people, but to me they are a promise. One my mother hasn't broken once in the last seventeen years.
"Love you too, Mom. More than I loved breaking Ryan Johnson's testicles."
That at least earns me an amused chuckle. And I'm not going to lie, if I was Harry Potter, the memory of Johnson's face would be enough to create a Patronus.
#
[ Mystic Falls 3rd of November, 2009 Tuesday ]
"Yes?" Gilbert answers his cell with about as much enthusiasm as one might exude when serving jury duty, and the thought of being an annoyance without even trying puts a smile on my face.
"It's me," I reply, the amusement in my voice audible even to my own ears. "Can you talk?"
The question makes me feel a bit like I'm seven again and pretending to be a spy. I forgot how much fun sneaking around like this is.
Gilbert draws in quick breath of surprise. "Yeah," he mutters over the voices in the background, "just a sec."
There's the whooshing sound of a door opening and closing—going by the ringing noise that accompanies the move and the fact that it's still early in the afternoon, he's probably at the Grill—and when Gilbert speaks again his voice is a great deal sharper, more aware. "Have you found her?"
"No." I roll my eyes at the guy's impatience. Really, if it was so easy to find Vicky, the police would've done it already. "But I need you to do me a favour."
I pull my key out of my jacket and unlock the door, absently deactivate the alarm. Mom isn't home yet, one look into the empty driveway has told me as much. Which is why this is the ideal time to do what I should have done weeks ago.
"Already?" Gilbert asks, incredulous and perhaps a little bit nervous.
I roll my eyes again. Doing it so often can't be healthy, but really, this guy doesn't give me much of a choice. "Not that kind of favour. This is a favour you're going to do yourself, because if you don't, my investigation will end very fast and very ugly."
Throwing the keys into the key bowl, I slip out of my sneakers and walk down the hallway, to the last door on the left. My mom's office.
"What do you mean by that?" Gilbert's demand pulls my attention back to the on-going conversation. Right.
"I need you to go down to the station and harass the first officer you find." God, let it be Sterling. Please, please let it be Sterling. That would serve the incompetent idiot right, for making mom's job harder than it already is. "Demand more details, ask what they're doing about Vicky, pressure them, demand they call you if they find anything. Just, you know, make a stink. Draw attention." Convince my mom that I've backed out of our agreement.
"But- why?" he asks confused.
Because my mom doesn't want me anywhere near that case, not that I'm gonna tell you that. It'd be like handing a loaded gun to a very angry toddler, who holds a serious grudge against you.
"Because," I drawl, infusing as much annoyance as possible into the word, "the more of a scene you make, the more the officers will feel pressured to be seen doing something productive. I know you hired me and not the cops, but it's not an either or case we're talking about here. Besides it never hurts to get more information, no matter where it comes from."
"Why don't you just ask your mother?" Gilbert questions, sounding much more suspicious than he has any right to be. Damn it. Why can't he just be the oblivious pothead the rumour mill insists he is?
"Believe it or not," I snap back, "but my mother isn't a huge fan of discussing details of serious cases with her underage daughter, especially not when it involves people I personally know. There's such a thing as a right for privacy too, even if the residents of this town don't believe in it."
There's a rustle of breath on the other line. Knowing Gilbert, probably an exasperated sigh. I refuse to sympathise, he knew exactly who he was getting involved with. And a sigh is good. It means he's resigned himself to the inevitable.
"Alright, fine, whatever," Gilbert growls and hangs up before I get the chance to say anything else. I'm almost impressed by the immaturity of that move. Not that I've had anything to add, I simply would've liked to hang up on Gilbert first. Oh well.
I've got better things to do than listen to him whine anyways. Like breaking into mom's office, for example. After all, I promised that I'd call Gilbert today, I never said anything about staying away from the Donovan case.
#
As the sherif of the town—no matter how small—mom keeps quite a few handy toys at home, in the locked drawers of her office. So handy, in fact, that I've made it my personal mission to get my hands on the keys of said drawers. Money does't grow on trees, and those are the kind of resources I can't in good conscience allow to waste away in some stuffy back room. Besides I'm sure mom would be happy to know how much attention I payed her lectures all those times she told me about the most common hiding places for keys and passwords.
But today that isn't the reason I'm here. Today I head straight for the second drawer from the top, the one I've never bothered to crack before. Why would I? Mom's work was never a mystery to me. She has always been more than willing to discuss her cases, her theories, her solutions. In a broad, no names or other identifying information way of course, but that wasn't what I was interested in back then anyways. And later I learned how to figure that part of the equation out on my own.
Just because I never cared though, doesn't mean I don't know where she keeps the files of the cases that bother her enough that she can't let them go, even when she's at home. And considering we're talking about the disappearance of a girl my age, a girl my mom has known since birth, I have absolutely no doubt that Vicky Donovan's file is a part of that stash.
Unlocking the drawer—really, sticking the key to the bottom of the stapler is such a clichéd move—does indeed reveal the expected file. In fact, it's right on the top of the pile. It's also about as thick as I expected. The elder Donovan hasn't been known for leading a law-abiding life.
Unfortunately, that means I don't have time to read the entire thing now, and I'm pretty damn sure my mom would notice if this file in particular suddenly went missing. So instead I take a picture of every page with my phone. That way I'll be able to examine the information later, in detail.
As soon as I'm finished, I put the file back into the exact same position I found it and start to close the drawer again, when something makes me pause. The drawer is full. As in filled to the brim with files. And whilst mom has a bad habit of bringing her work home, she doesn't store those files here any longer than necessary. Yet this drawer drowning in paperwork. It makes sense in a way, I suppose. There has been a lot going on recently. But still, this does seem a little excessive.
I might have let it go though, if not for the fact that I recognise the name of the second file all too well.
Tanner, William.
Frowning I stare at the file. True, Tanner's killer hasn't been caught yet, but it's been weeks since he died. There have been no new leads or developments, so there's really no reason for mom to keep the file here. I pull out the next file. Westron, Tara. And the next. And the next.
Hart, Simon. Kerrington, Lukas. Fenton, Brooke. Malloy, Darren.
All of them names I recognise. All of them have died within the last three months. But none of this makes sense. For one, what the hell are Westron's, Hart's and Kerrington's files doing here? I know those cases, they were as open and shut as they come. Three drug addicts, having a party out in the woods that got out of control. There was nothing suspicious about those deaths, so what are they doing here?
Without really thinking about it, I pull my phone out again and take another picture. And another. And another.
Something isn't right here. It's not like Mom to waste time on closed cases, and it's even more unlike her not to tell me if something bugged her about them. Hell, Vicky's disappearance is the first time ever that she's forbidden me to investigate at all, and while I haven't thought much about it before, looking down at this odd collection of files, I find it hard to believe that this is a coincidence.
It seems that Gilbert's case is going to be much more trouble than I've anticipated. But then, I should have expected nothing less. It's the Gilbert's we're talking about after all.
#
Three hours. I've spent three hours combing through every last page of Vicky Donovan's file and I have exactly nothing to show for. It's not that there isn't any information. I'm actually pretty sure Mom put more details into this than is strictly necessary. But the basics are all the same. Last anyone appears to have seen Vicky Donovan was at the Halloween party, after which she seems to have disappeared into thin air.
It's odd, how there are literally no traces at all. If Gilbert's statement is to be believed, Vicky came to say goodbye to him, apparently planning to run away. But why would Gilbert be the one person she told of her plans? She hasn't called in at the Grill, hasn't even told her own brother. And while it certainly matches the irresponsible impression I have of her, it's still strange that she's just gone like that. As far as Matt and the responding officers could tell, there wasn't even anything missing in her room. No clothes, no toothbrush, no make-up. And perhaps the most telling part: no money.
What sort of runaway leaves two hundred dollars behind in their night table?
Truthfully, the more I read through the notes, the better I understand why Mom doesn't want me near this case. There's no proof, of course, only a certain suspicion, but this looks less like a runaway and more like a complete disappearance. In fact, the only thing casting doubt on a much less happy alternative is Gilbert's word.
Of course, I'm not going to tell him any of this. Not yet at least. Not until I have something more concrete. My gaze unwillingly turns to the next page of my note book. A page that is completely empty, except for seven names.
The owners of all of whom are dead.
It could be a coincidence. The deaths. My mom's unusual behaviour. Vicky's disappearance. It's entirely possible that none of these events are connected, that I'm jumping to conclusions. See shadows where there are none. It's entirely possible.
It's also entirely possible that they are connected. And frankly, it's been a long time since I've last believed in coincidences.
#
[ Mystic Falls Wednesday4th of November, 2009 Mystic Grill ]
When you want more information on a crime, there are two ways of going about it. One is getting your hands on the data the police has acquired. But that only makes you as informed as any officer working the case, and when they haven't cracked it yet and you are no Sherlock Holmes wunderkind, chances are you won't do it either. The second option is to get information straight from the source. In this case, get the kind of stories one might be hesitant to tell the police—or simply not consider relevant.
In other words, you go to Mystic High's uncrowned gossip queen.
It just so happens that, as a social outcast, my contacts within the popular crowd are limited. Gilbert is unlikely to be of much help in that regard, considering his mental breakdown after the loss of his parents, and I'd rather push a blunt piece of wood straight through my heart than ask my former friends for help. Luckily, being a hobby detective means I do have a pretty colourful bunch of people who owe me a favour—and even more who'd do anything to ensure I don't share what I know with the rest of the world.
Dana Grant happens to be both.
[DG: Parents divorced. No siblings. Ex-girlfriend of BF. Plays four instruments.]
"I had a feeling you'd be here," I comment absently as I slide into the empty booth across from her. Social butterflies aren't hard to find in this town, there's really only the Grill and whatever place a party is currently held at to spend your free time. Considering it's Wednesday right after school, the Grill seemed like the best guess.
Dana apparently doesn't agree, if her startled expression is anything to go by. That girl really needs to learn to pay more attention to her surroundings. Her obliviousness provides me with a chance to observer her for a moment. She's cut her hair recently, the unruly, black waves only just brush past her shoulders now. She's a little pale too, and the small furrow between her brows speaks of stress and aggravation. Interesting.
Unsurprisingly, as soon as she recognises me, her pretty face darkens. It's not a very encouraging reaction, but I suppose I can't blame her. People hardly ever appreciate the beauty of blackmail, once they find themselves at the receiving end of it.
"What do you want now?" she groans.
I steal her banana milkshake in response and take a sip.
"Hey!" Dana protests, but only reaches half-heartedly for her drink. Maybe she's getting used to my antics. Hm. That would be a pity.
"Tell me about Vicky Donovan," I demand and take another obnoxious slurp.
Dana glares, her brown eyes narrowing. "That's my shake!"
I raise my eyebrows at her. The glare deepens. Its effect is lessened somewhat by Dana crossing her arms in front of her chest defensively. The picture she presents oddly reminiscent of a pouting child.
"Fine!" she snaps after another moment of our silent glaring contest passes. It's a contest I win every time. "What do you wanna know?"
Shrugging loosely, I tilt my head to one side. "Anything. Everything. You know, the usual."
The nice thing about Dana is that she is one of the few more genuine girls at my school. It makes her more predictable—and less likely to be confrontational. Sweet smiles and caring nature aside, she's also a lot more attentive than most people give her credit for. Had things gone differently, I might have liked to be friends with her.
Well, that's not quite true. Because Dana— Dana used to be my friend. Back when 'friends' was still a term I used to describe the people in my life. It was only natural, really. The two of us had a lot in common back then. Both of us were on the school committee, both of us liked to organise the balls and carnivals and all that other useless bullshit. Sitting here with her in a booth at the Grill feels almost painfully familiar, and yet.
Things are also different now. The two of us are different. As much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, Dana hasn't been the girl that threw a soda in the face of a guy who laughed at me in a long time. Neither am I the girl that needs her to speak up for myself anymore.
"I dunno," Dana's voice thankfully interrupts my internal contemplations. "Everyone's saying that she slept with Jeremy for drugs, and there was this real ugly fight a couple weeks ago, when Tyler found out." She stares down at the table now, her brows furrowed in concentration. "Then, there's the rumour that the Major wasn't happy with his son's relationship. Some even say he forced her out of town, maybe even into a rehab centre or something."
"But you don't believe that." That much I can still tell from the unhappy curl of her lips.
Dana smiles wryly. "Major's never seemed like the type to care that much, as long as his son lives up to the legacy, you know?"
I take another sip from the drink to hide my grimace. Major Lockwood is a powerful man in this town, and nothing does he rule with a iron fist like his only heir's life. That doesn't excuse Tyler's grand A assholery though, not by a long shot.
"Anyways," Dana continues after a prolonged moment of awkward silence, "Seemed like she'd chosen Jeremy in the end. She even showed up with him in public at the party on Saturday. That was a shock, to say the least! I mean, sure, everyone knew there was something going on between those two, but I'd never thought Vicky would go public with a guy two years younger than her, you know?" Dana shakes her head a little in disbelief. "She looked better though, healthier. Makes me think she really did get clean this time."
"Hm." I hum non-committally. Vicky Donovan cleaning herself up? Not four days ago the mere thought would've sent me into hysterics. But maybe she really is trying to better her life. Maybe I'm not giving her enough credit.
"Not what you were looking for?" Dana guesses.
"I don't know." I push her milkshake back to her side of the table. "To be honest, I'm not sure what it is I'm looking for."
And with those words I rise, only to freeze half-way through, when a thought occurs to me. "You saw her?"
"What?"
"At the party," I specify. "Did you see Vicky at the party?"
"Obviously," Dana laughs a bit awkwardly. "Honestly? I'm pretty sure everyone noticed her. Her costume was fantastic. That, and she came with Jeremy. I think we were all expecting a little more drama when Tyler noticed them, but they left so quickly, it never really got to that point."
I nod thoughtfully. Very interesting indeed. Maybe this meeting hasn't been a total waste of time after all.
"Hey, Veronica?" At the sound of my name I turn back towards Dana, who's looking at me with an unreadable expression. "Do you think we could maybe…hang out, sometime?" Then, even quieter, staring down at her hands instead of me, "I miss you."
She is fiddling nervously with the silver bracelet around her wrist. It's the bracelet I gave her to her fifteenth birthday.
"Forget it? How can I just forget it? I let this happen, we let this happen! This is our fault! And you want to, what, let him get away with it?"
I swallow and look away.
"Yeah, I'm-" I clear my throat. "I'm pretty busy at the moment, actually."
"Oh." Dana smiles, a sad, withering, little thing. "Of course. Another time then."
"Another time," I confirm with a sharp nod.
It's a lie, and we both know it.
#
Hiding in the toilet for twenty minutes until I'm sure Dana has left isn't a very mature thing to do, but right now I couldn't care less. Once I've confirmed that she's really gone, I walk straight towards the bar and order a shot of cinnamon tequila. It's a cliché and reckless on top of that, and I don't fucking care.
I tell the barkeeper as much when he eyes me doubtfully. It's fair, I guess. I'm demanding he hand out alcohol to a cop's underage daughter. Of course, I also found a way to prove he hadn't committed a hit and run a couple of months ago—and considering I had to visit four strip clubs to find the correct Amber who could ID him, he owes me more than just one shot, and he knows it.
"What's a beautiful girl like you doing here, drinking on her own in the middle of the afternoon?" an unfamiliar voice to my left speaks up.
When I turn my head, I come face to face with a handsome stranger at least five years too old to be talking to me.
"That's a lame line if I've ever heard one," I comment drily as I take his appearance in. The man is not much taller than me, but there is something imposing about the way he holds himself. Like a lazy predator regarding a clumsy kitten. Coupled with the dark leather jacket, ink black hair and unusually bright, blue eyes, he's the posture boy for Disney's patented Bad Boy™ look. He looks also vaguely familiar, like someone I've shaken hands with at some point during a forgettable ball and never looked back to again.
"Feisty, I like it," the guy chuckles and holds out his hand. "I'm Damon."
Of course. The infamous Damon Salvatore, I've heard far too much of already, none of it good. I suppose the only true miracle is that I've managed to avoid running into him for so long.
[DS: Member of a Founding Family. One younger brother SS. Rumoured player. Added note: Arrogant asshole.]
I eye his outstretched hand for a moment, but make no move to reach for it. "I'm not impressed," I reply and knock back my shot instead. Then I turn on my heels and leave the Grill in quick, determined strides.
End of Chapter II
Author's note: What do you think of Damon's and V's first interaction? And her relationship with her mom? Btw did anyone recognise Dana? Because she's not an OC... I hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you have the time, please share your thoughts and ideas in a comment! I still haven't planned out a lot of the plot and I'm open to suggestions.
Love and a wonderful weekend to you all, ReRe
