Veronica didn't believe in new starts. She didn't believe in reincarnation, in forgiveness, in forgetting the past and looking forward to the future. Veronica believed in grudges, in bitterness, in revenge. And Veronica believed in Death.

But Wallace still dragged her to one New Year's party every year no matter how much she'd try and beg off. The first time he'd taken her when she was in her flannel pajamas and an ill fitting tank top. She'd learned to be prepared come 8:00 New Year's Eve.

Every year, she stood in the corner, arms folded across her chest, her best stay-the-hell-away-from-you-because-I-still-carry-a-taser face engraved on her features.

One year, Wallace came over to her as the clock approached midnight. “You’re never going to move on, are you?”

“From what?”

“Life.”

Then he’d left to go find someone to kiss. She’d left as the clock chimed, thinking back to her dead best friend, her rape, her mother, the bus, Duncan, Meg, and Logan. She flinched more with each passing thought.

“Life’s a bitch…” Veronica said to chiming clock. “And I plan to kick its ass one of these days.”

And Veronica would get her revenge one day. Because she believed in grudges, in bitterness, in revenge. But most of all, Veronica believed in Death.

She knew it would come for her one day, and when it did, Life would have no one to torture anymore.

It was the only thing that made her smile.