The next morning I pull into the parking lot and head for class. Merging into the usual swarm of students just like any other day, except this time I don't strive to keep my distance and maintain my personal space. Instead, I just go with the flow. Not reacting in the slightest when random people brush up against me, despite the fact that I left my iPod, hoodie, and sunglasses at home. But that's because I'm no longer reliant on those old accessories that never worked all that well anyway. Now I carry my quantum remote wherever I go.
Yesterday, just as Ava and I were about to leave Summerland, I asked her to help me build a better shield. Knowing I could just go back into the hall while she waited outside and receive the answer on my own, but since she wanted to help, and figuring she might learn something too, we lingered at the bottom of the steps, both of us focusing our energy on desiring a shield that would allow us (well, me mostly, since Ava doesn't hear thoughts and get life stories by touch) to tune in and out at will. And the next thing you know, we both looked at each other and at the exact same second said, "A quantum remote!" So now, whenever I want to hear someone's thoughts I just surf over to their energy field and hit select. And if I don't want to be bothered, I hit mute. Just like the remote I have at home. Only this one is invisible so I can pretty much take it everywhere I go.
I head into English, arriving early so I can observe all the action from start to finish. Not wanting to miss a single second of my planned surveillance. Because even though I have visual proof that Roman's responsible for what's happening to Damen—it gets me only so far. And now that the who part of the equation is solved, it's time to move on to the how and why. I just hope it doesn't take too long. I mean, for one thing, I miss Damen. And for another, I'm so low on immortal juice I'm already forced to ration it. And since Damen never got around to giving me the recipe, I've no idea how to replace it, much less what will happen without it. Though I'm sure it's not good. Originally, Damen thought he could just drink the elixir once and be cured of all ills. And while that worked for the first one hundred and fifty years, when he started to see subtle signs of aging he decided to drink it again. And then again. Until he ultimately became totally dependent.
He also didn't realize that an immortal could be killed until after I took down his ex-wife, Drina. And while both of us were sure that targeting the weakest chakra was the only method (the heart chakra in Drina's case), and while I'm still sure that we're the only ones who know that—according to what I saw yesterday in the akashic records, Roman's discovered another way. Which means if I have any hope of saving Damen, I need to learn what Roman knows, before it's too late. When the door finally opens, I lift my gaze as a horde of students burst in. And even though it's not the first time I've seen it, it's still hard to watch them all laughing and joking and getting along, when just last week they barely acknowledged each other. And even though it's pretty much the kind of scene anyone would dream of seeing in their school, under the circumstances, it's not giving me the thrill that it should.
And not just because I'm stuck on the outside looking in, but because it's creepy, unnatural, and weird. I mean, high schools don't operate like this. Heck, people don't operate like this. Like will always seek like and that's just the way it is. It's just one of those unspoken rules. Besides, this isn't something they've chosen to do. Because little do they realize that all of that hugging, laughing, and ridiculous high-fiving is not because of their newfound love for each other—it's because of Roman. Like a master puppeteer controlling his subjects for his own amusement—Roman is responsible. Andwhile I don't know how or why he's doing it, and while I can't prove that he actually is doing it, I just know in my heart that it's true. It's as clear as the pingin my gut or the chill that blankets my skin whenever he's near.
I watch as Damen slides onto his seat as Stacia leans on his desk, her heavily padded pushed-up chest looming close to his face as she swings her hair over her shoulder and laughs at her own stupid wit. And even though I can't hear the joke since I purposely tuned her out in order to better hear Damen, the fact that he thinks it's stupid, is good enough for me.
It also gives me a small burst of hope. A burst of hope that soon ends the second his attention returns to her cleavage. I mean, he's so banal, so juvenile, and to be honest—completely embarrassing. And if I thought my feelings were hurt yesterday, when I was forced to watch him make out with Drina, well, in retrospect, that was nothing compared to this. Because Drina was then, nothing more than a beautiful, empty, shallow image on a rock. But Stacia is now. And even though she's beautiful, empty, and shallow too—she happens to be standing right before me in all of her three-dimensional glory.
I listen to Damen's diluted brain wax all rhapsodi cover the virtues and abundance of Stacia's heavily padded chest, and I can't help but wonder if this is his real taste in women. If these bratty, greedy, vain girls are the kind of females he truly prefers. And if I'm just some weird anomaly, some quirky odd fluke, that kept getting in the way the last four hundred years. I keep my eye on him all through class, watching from my lone seat in the back. Automatically answering Mr. Robins's questions without even thinking, just repeating the answer I see in his head. My mind never straying from Damen, reminding myself, again and again, of who he really is: That despite all appearances, he's good, kind, caring, and loyal—the undisputed love of my numerous lives. And that this version sitting before me is not the real deal—no matter how much it may mirror some of the behaviors revealed yesterday—it's not who he is.
And when the bell finally rings, I follow him. Keeping tabs on him all through second period P.E. (mostly because I don't go), choosing to linger outside his classroom when I'm supposed to be running track. Slipping out of sight the moment I sense the hall monitors about to stroll by, then returning as soon as they've passed. Peerin
g at him through the window and eavesdropping on all of his thoughts, just like the stalker he's accused me of being. Not knowing whether to feel disturbed or relieved when I discover that his attentions aren't strictly relegated to Stacia—that they're pretty much available for whoever's semi good-looking and sitting nearby—unless, of course, that someone is me. And while third period is also spent spying on Damen, by fourth, I switch my focus to Roman. Looking him right in the eye as I head for my desk, swiveling around and acknowledging him whenever I sense that he's focused on me. And even though his thoughts about me are as banal and embarrassing as Damen's thoughts about Stacia, I refuse to blush or react. I just keep smiling and nodding, determined to grin and bear it, because if I'm going to find out who this guy really is, then avoiding him like the Black Plague will no longer do.
So when the bell rings, I decide to break free from this outcast pariah spaz role I'm unwillingly cast in, and head straight for the long line of tables. Ignoring the ping in my gut that gets worse with each step, determined to land myself a spot and sit with the rest of my class. And when Roman nods as I make my approach, I can't help but feel disappointed that he's not nearly as surprised as I'd assumed he would be.
"Ever!" He smiles, patting the narrow space right next to him. "So it wasn't just my imagination. We really did share a moment in class." I smile tightly and squeeze in beside him, my gaze instinctively switching to Damen, but only for a moment before I force myself to look away. Reminding myself that I need to stay focused on Roman, that it's imperative not to get sidetracked. "I knew you'd come around eventually. I just wish it hadn't taken so long. We've so much lost time to make up for." He leans in, his face looming so close I can see the individual flecks of color in his eyes, brilliant points of violet that would be so easy to get lost in—"This is nice. Isn't this nice? Everyone together like this—all joined as one. And all this time you were the missing link. But now that you're 'ere, my mission's complete. And you thought it couldn't be done." He tilts his head back and laughs—eyes closed, teeth exposed, as his tousled golden hair catches the glint of the sun.
And even though I hate to admit it, the truth is, he's mesmerizing. Not in the same way as Damen, in fact, not even close. Roman's good looking in a way that reminds me of my old life, having just the right amount of superficial charm and well-calculated hotness that I would've fallen for before. Back when I accepted things at face value and rarely, if ever, looked past the surface. I watch as he Lakes a bite of his Mars bar, then I switch my gaze back to Damen. Taking in his gorgeous dark profile as my heart fills with such overwhelming longing I can hardly bear it. Watching his hands flail about as he amuses Stacia with some stupid story, though I'm far less interested in the anecdote than the hands themselves, remembering how wonderful they once felt on my skin—
"...so, as nice as it is to have you join us, I can't help but wonder what this is really about," Roman says, his eyes still on me.
But I'm still looking at Damen. Watching as he presses his lips against Stacia's cheek, before working their way around her ear and down the length of her neck...
"Because as much as I'd like to pretend you were overcome by my undeniable good looks and charm, I know better. So tell me, Ever, what gives?"
I can hear Roman talking, his voice droning on and on in the background like a vague incessant hum that's easy to ignore, but my gaze stays on Damen—the love of my life, my eternal soul mate who's completely unaware of the fact that I even exist. My stomach twisting as his lips brush over her collarbone before heading back to her ear, his mouth moving softly as he whispers to her, trying to coax her into ditching the rest of their classes so they can head back to his house...
Wait—coax her? He's trying to convince her? Does that mean she's not ready and willing? Am I the only one around here who just assumed they'd already jumped each others bones? But just as I'm about to tune in to Stacia and see what she could possibly be up to by playing hard to get, Roman taps me on the arm and says, "Aw, come on, Ever. Don't be shy. Tell me what you're doing here. Tell me just exactly what it is that put you over the edge."
And before I can even reply, Stacia looks at me and says, "Jeez, Spaz, stare much?" I don't respond. I just pretend I didn't hear while I focus on Damen. Refusing to acknowledge her presence, even though they're so entwined they'r epractically fused. Wishing he'd just turn around and see me—really see me—in the way that he used to.
But when he does finally look, his gaze goes right through me, as though I'm not worth the bother, as though I'm invisible now.
And seeing him glance through me like that leaves me numb, breathless, frozen, unable to move—
"Um, hello?" Stacia shouts, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I mean, seriously. Can we help you? Can anyone help you?"
I glance at Miles and Haven sitting just a few feet away, watching as they shake their heads, both of them wishing they'd never had anything to do with me. Then I swallow hard and remind myself that they're not in control—that Roman's the writer, producer, director, and creator of this God-awful show. I meet Roman's gaze, my stomach twisting, pinging, as I peer into the thoughts in his head. Determined to dig past the superficial layer of the usual inane stuff, curious to see if there's anything more than the horny, annoying, sugar-addicted teen he portrays himself to be. Because the fact is, I'm not buying it.
The image I saw on that crystal, with the evil grin of victory spread wide across his face, hints at a much darker side. And as his smile grows wider and his gaze narrows on mine—everything dims. Everything except Roman and me. I'm hurtling through a tunnel, pulled faster and faster by a force beyond my control. Slipping uncontrollably into the dark abyss of his mind, as Roman carefully selects the scenes he wants me to see—Damen throwing a party in our suite at the Montage, a party that includes Stacia, Honor, Craig, and all the other kids who never talked to us before, a party that lasts several days, until he's finally kicked out for trashing the place. Forcing me to view all manner of unsavory acts, stuff I'd rather not see—culminating on the final image I saw on the crystal that day—the very last scene.
I fall back from my seat, landing on the ground in a tangle of limbs, still caught in his grip. Finally coming around just as the entire school breaks into a shrill mocking chorus of "Spaz" And watching in horror asmy spilled red elixir races across the tabletop and drips down the sides.
"You all right?" Roman asks, gazing at me as I struggle to stand. "I know it's tough to watch. Believe me, Ever, I've been there. But it's all for the best, really it is. And I'm afraid you'll just have to trust me on that."
"I knew it was you," I whisper, standing before him, shaking with rage. "I knew it all along."
"So you did." He smiles. "So you did. Score one for you. Though I should warn you, I'm still a good ten points ahead."
"You won't get away with this," I say, watching in horror as he dips his middle finger into the puddle of my spilled red drink, allowing the drops to fall onto his tongue in such a deliberate, measured way, it's like he's trying to tell me something, give me a nudge.
But just as an idea begins to form in my head, he licks his lips and says, "But see, that's where you're wrong."