ᴡᴀɪᴛɪɴɢ ɢᴀᴍᴇ • ᴋᴀɪ ᴘᴀʀᴋᴇʀ ✔️

38. SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE

CHAPTER THIRTY EIGHT
[SOME THINGS NEVER CHANGE]

"It's gone." Lily spoke with her back to Molly and Enzo.

Molly slowly sits down in the seat behind her, placing her face in her palms. "Shit." She mumbles to herself.

Lily continues to search through the drawer to where she claimed she had hidden the ascendant away. "There was always something quite manipulative about that witch." Enzo scoffs.

Lily turns around quickly. "I— I don't believe someone could be this cruel." She says, shaking her head. "I don't see the issue as to why the won't let them return home—"

"There isn't an issue that's the thing." Molly says, standing up from her chair. "At this point they're doing this to spite us."
Molly steps past Enzo and grabs her purse, swinging to around her shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Enzo asks.

"This has been fun, but— I work better alone." Molly says, before turning around and heading toward the front door of the Salvatore house.

"So you're leaving us already?" Lily asks, following her out the door.

"There are just some things I have to do myself." Molly shrugs. "I'll get them back. Kai— and your family."

—

Molly stands outside the navy painted door. The one labeled '107' in gold lettering. She never would've thought she'd be so scared to open a door— especially when there was no real reason to be scared. She unlocked the door and pushed it open before she could stop herself.

His apartment was completely dark before Molly switched on the light, illuminating everything like it was a frozen moment in time.

The plates from breakfast that he was supposed to wash. His shoes sat beside the doormat. The laundry that Molly needed to load into the washing machine.

That's where she went first. After shutting the door behind her, she walked over to the laundry basket and took a deep breath before she got down onto her knees and sat beside it.

Her shaky hands reached and grabbed his black coat. The one that Molly always said he looked like Laurie from Little Women when he wore it. The one that he didn't wear to the prison world because it had a big rip in the seam on the collar— Molly was supposed to sew that for him.

It smelled like him. It smelled like the cologne he wore on all of their dates. Every time she inhaled the scent she was transported back to the time the spent together. Every memory— every conversation.

But the grief surged with every expelled breath, always reaching higher peaks, never sufficiently soothed by her long intakes of the his scent. Tears began to spill from her helpless eyes onto the newly black cotton coat. All pretence of quiet coping was lost and she sank into the floor, not caring about the water that quickly soaked her to the skin. Her fingers clasped his coat. He cared about her, worried for her, helped her, he saved her life.