Chapter 24
The days blurred together in a haze. It felt as if time had decided to suspend itself, trapping you in a thick fog where the world outside was distant and unreachable. Every time you tried to wake up, to pull yourself out of bed, it felt like your body was made of lead, as if the weight of everything—of losing him—was too much for your soul to carry.
Vi had tried to help, of course. She was patient, steady, and as constant as the sun on a clouded day. But even her unwavering presence couldn't push away the darkness that loomed in your mind. She would bring you food—simple things, enough to keep you nourished—and would often sit by your bed, letting you cry until you were exhausted, until the tears wouldn't come anymore.
There were days when you couldn't bring yourself to even speak. The silence was deafening, and you'd lie in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering if it would ever stop hurting. It felt like something was missing, like you were walking around with a hole in your chest where your heart used to be. Your grandpa had been your rock, the one person who had always believed in you. And now, that belief felt gone, like the foundation you'd built your world upon had been ripped out from under you.
And Vi? Vi was there, and she tried, but she couldn't understand the depth of the loss. No one could. You had tried to explain to her once, but the words caught in your throat, and she just held you, letting the silence speak for itself. She didn't need to understand it to be there for you. She didn't need to ask questions or offer solutions. She just knew how to hold you when you couldn't hold yourself together. That, in itself, was a rare kind of love.
But there were moments, like now, when the grief was overwhelming, and you didn't know how to keep going. You hadn't gotten out of bed in days. You hadn't eaten a full meal, and the only thing you'd been drinking was water—if you remembered to drink at all. The sheets were tangled around you, the blanket too warm, yet you couldn't bring yourself to leave the cocoon of covers.
Vi entered the room quietly, her heavy boots muffled against the floorboards. You heard the door creak, then the soft shuffle of her footsteps. She didn't say anything right away, just let the sound of her presence fill the room. You didn't look at her. You couldn't. It hurt too much to see anyone, even her, because you knew they were looking at you with pity, and that only made the guilt twist deeper inside you.
"Hey, firebug," Vi's voice was quiet, a little rough, but full of that tenderness you'd learned to trust. "I brought you something to eat."
You didn't respond. Instead, you curled up further into yourself, pulling the blanket tighter over your head, as if hiding from the world could somehow shield you from the pain.
Vi sighed, but it wasn't frustrated. It was more... tired. You could tell. She was patient, but she was only human. There was a limit to how long she could watch you suffer in silence without trying to pull you back from the edge.
She sat on the bed beside you, and you felt the mattress dip beneath her weight. You could feel the heat of her body, the same strength that had held you so often, but right now, it just made you feel small. Helpless. You wished she could just take the pain away. You didn't want her to see you like this, but you also knew you couldn't hide from her forever. Not when she was right there, so close.
"(Y/N)," Vi said again, her voice a little firmer this time, but not harsh. She didn't want to push you, but she needed you to hear her. "You can't keep doing this. I know you miss him But shutting yourself away... that's not how he would want you to remember him."
The words stung because they were true. You knew it, but you couldn't find the energy to pull yourself out of the mess you were in. Your grandpa had been the one who taught you how to fight, how to keep going even when the world seemed stacked against you. But what do you do when the fight feels too much to win? What do you do when the world is so big, and the grief feels so suffocating?
"I don't care," you muttered, barely loud enough for her to hear. "I just want it to stop hurting. I want to go back. I want him back."
Vi was quiet for a long time. You could feel her fingers pressing gently against your shoulder, not to push you, but to remind you that she was there. Her touch was grounding. It wasn't a solution, but it was her way of saying, I see you. I'm not leaving.
"I know," she said softly, her voice low and understanding. "But it's not gonna stop hurting right now. And I'm not gonna tell you to just 'get over it' or 'move on.' That's not what you need to hear. What you need to know is that it's okay to hurt. It's okay to feel this."
You felt the tears rise again, hot and fast, but this time they weren't just the quiet ones that had come before. No, this time it was a full sob, a rush of grief that seemed to crack open everything inside you, spilling out the words you had been holding back.
"I hate this! I hate feeling like I can't breathe! I hate that I'll never see him again, and I don't know how to do this without him. I don't know how to keep going, Vi!" Your voice broke on the last word, and the floodgates opened.
Vi didn't flinch. She didn't pull away. She just wrapped her strong arms around you, holding you close as you let the sobs wrack your body. "It's okay, (Y/N). You're gonna get through this. We'll get through this. I'm right here, okay? You're not alone. Not now. Not ever."
You cried for what felt like hours, your body shaking with grief, but Vi didn't let go. She held you the whole time, her arms around you like a lifeline. And slowly, the storm inside you began to settle, the tears fading as exhaustion took over. You didn't know when it happened, but at some point, you stopped crying, your body wrung out and spent from the emotional toll.
Vi stayed with you the entire time, just holding you, letting you have the space to feel, to process, and to grieve. When you were finally quiet, she didn't say anything at first. She just let you breathe, let the weight of the moment hang between you. She wasn't there to fix you. She knew there were no quick fixes for grief. All she could do was stay, and in that moment, that was exactly what you needed.
"You're not broken," Vi said finally, her voice soft but unwavering. "You're just hurt. And that's okay. It's okay to not have all the answers right now. It's okay to just be... to just feel."
"I don't know how to get past this," you whispered, your voice raw from the crying. "I don't know how to keep living without him."
Vi gently pulled away, but she didn't let you go completely. Her fingers brushed the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ear. She smiled, a small, tender smile that was more of a reassurance than anything else. "You don't have to figure it all out today. Or tomorrow. Or next week. We take it one day at a time, alright?"
You nodded, though it didn't fully take away the weight in your chest. But you knew, in that moment, that it was enough. You didn't have to have all the answers. You didn't have to fix everything right away. Grieving took time, and that was something Vi understood. She didn't pressure you to rush it. She let you take the time you needed.
You were still lying in bed, your body drained from the emotional outpouring, the weight of the world pressing down on you. The room felt heavy with silence, the only sound coming from the steady tick of the clock on the wall. Vi hadn't left your side. She was still there, sitting at the edge of the bed, watching you with that unwavering intensity of hers—always present, always protective.
"You need to get up, (Y/N)," she said, her voice soft but firm, like she was used to guiding you through these moments without pushing too hard. "You're gonna feel better if you just get up for a bit, alright?"
You didn't want to. You didn't want to leave the comfort of your bed, where the sheets cocooned you in a false sense of safety. You didn't want to face the world, not today. Not when everything still felt so raw. But Vi wasn't giving you a choice, not really. She was going to help you get through this, whether you liked it or not.
"I know it feels like too much right now," Vi continued, her eyes locked on yours, the concern in her expression clear. "But you've been in bed too long. It's time to take care of yourself. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
You sighed deeply, the weight of her words sinking into your heart. You knew she was right, but it still felt impossible to pull yourself out of the hole you were in. You had no energy, no motivation to do anything other than exist, and even that felt like a monumental task. Still, you knew Vi wouldn't leave you to wallow forever, and part of you appreciated that. She wasn't going to let you drown in this grief, no matter how badly you wanted to.
Slowly, you swung your legs over the side of the bed and let your feet touch the cold floor. Your body felt like it was moving through molasses, sluggish and weak. But Vi didn't rush you. She let you take your time. After a moment, she stood up and offered you a hand, her fingers warm and strong as they gently cupped your wrist. You hesitated for a moment before letting her help you to your feet.
Once standing, Vi didn't immediately push you forward, but she guided you toward the bathroom. She kept her hand at the small of your back, her touch gentle but firm, always steady. You didn't need to ask where she was taking you; you knew.
"I'm gonna wash your hair for you," she said softly, her tone almost... tender. "You're gonna feel better after this. Just trust me, alright?"
You felt a wave of embarrassment flush over you at the thought of Vi—this fierce, powerful woman—washing your hair, but you couldn't bring yourself to argue. You were too exhausted, too broken to care. Besides, there was something comforting about letting her take care of you. Something soothing about her knowing exactly what you needed without having to ask.
Vi guided you into the bathroom and helped you sit on the edge of the bathtub. The room was warm, the faint smell of lavender from the candles she always kept lit filling the air. She turned on the shower, letting the water warm up before she knelt down in front of you. Her movements were methodical, deliberate. She didn't rush, and she didn't make you feel like a burden. She just took over, taking care of you the way you wished you could take care of yourself.
She wet your hair gently, her fingers massaging your scalp as the warm water ran through the strands. You let your eyes close, sinking into the sensation. It was a strange kind of relief, having someone else care for you like this. You didn't have to think, didn't have to move. For a brief moment, it felt like the weight of everything was being washed away.
"Relax," Vi murmured softly. "Just let go. You don't have to do anything right now. I've got you."
You didn't respond, just leaned your head back against the cool edge of the bathtub, letting her hands work their magic. She worked shampoo through your hair, her touch gentle but sure, the pressure of her fingers on your scalp soothing, like she was trying to rub away the tension that had built up in your body.
It felt intimate. More intimate than you expected. There was something about the quiet, tender care she was giving you that was making your chest tighten. You wanted to push it away, to distance yourself from the vulnerability of the moment, but you didn't. You stayed there, letting her care for you without fighting it. Letting her soften the edges of the grief that had hardened inside you.
Vi rinsed your hair, the water running through the strands in long, steady streams. Her fingers massaged your scalp again, this time with a little more pressure, as if trying to work out the knots of emotion that had been building up in you. You could feel yourself starting to relax, the weight on your shoulders lifting just a little bit. It didn't make the grief go away, but it made it a little more bearable.
"You don't have to say anything, (Y/N)," Vi said softly as she worked conditioner through your hair. "I know it's hard. But I'm not going anywhere, alright? You can take as long as you need."
You finally spoke, your voice hoarse from the crying, but steady. "I don't want to feel like this anymore," you whispered, the vulnerability in your words hanging in the air between you.
Vi paused for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was filled with understanding. "You won't always feel like this. It might take time, but you will get through this. You're not alone in it, (Y/N). You never will be."
The tears that had been building up inside you for days started to surface again, but this time, it wasn't as overwhelming. This time, it was quiet. Soft. You didn't feel like you had to hold everything in. You didn't have to be strong all the time, not with Vi here. And so you let yourself cry again, your tears mixing with the warm water as Vi's hands continued to work through your hair, gently massaging the conditioner in, like she was trying to heal you in ways words couldn't.
When she was finished, she carefully rinsed your hair again, making sure every last bit of conditioner was gone before she helped you to your feet. She didn't let go of you once, her strong hands supporting you as you stood shakily.
You looked at her then, and for the first time in days, you felt a small spark of gratitude—of hope—that you could make it through this. The grief wasn't gone, but it didn't feel as suffocating. Vi had reminded you that you didn't have to bear it all on your own.
"Thank you," you whispered, the words still thick with emotion. "I didn't know how much I needed this."
Vi gave you a soft smile, the fierce woman you knew so well softened by the moment. "You don't have to thank me. Just take care of yourself, alright? One step at a time. I'll be here for all of them."
And for the first time in a long while, you allowed yourself to believe her.