To gain some distance from the voice that continues to chase us.
Taunt us.
Repeating the same phrase over and over again:
From the mud it shall rise
Lifting upward toward vast dreamy skies
Just as you-you-you shall rise too…
thirty
The moment we walk through the gate, we start searching for Haven. But she sees us first.
I can tell by the way she stops—stops talking, stops moving, practically stops blinking and breathing—and settles for gaping instead.
She thought I was dead.
She left Jude for dead.
But apparently that didn’t turn out quite as she’d planned.
I nod in acknowledgment, taking a moment to push my hair over my shoulder to provide a clear view of my neck—still free of the amulet, just like she left it. Wanting her to know that I’m no longer vulnerable. No longer ruled by a weak spot. No longer endangered by a lack of discernment, trusting all the wrong people or misusing knowledge.
I’ve totally and completely risen above it.
Leaving her no choice but to deal with me now that she can’t do away with me.
And when I’m sure she’s had enough time to process all that, I lift the hand that’s clasped with Damen’s, raising it high enough for her to see. Wanting her to know we’re still together, that we weathered the storm, that she cannot defeat us, nothing can, so it’s best not to try.
And even though she quickly turns away, turns back to her friends and tries to carry on as though everything’s normal, we both know it’s not. I’ve put a major dent in her plans, and if she doesn’t get the full extent of it yet, she soon will.
We move past her, through the quad, and all the way over to the bench where Stacia sits by herself with a hoodie pulled over her head, earbuds shoved in her ears, and a pair of oversized designer sunglasses shielding her face in an attempt to deflect and ignore the stream of insults coming from just about every single student that passes, while she waits for Damen to show up and defend her from them.
I stop, struck by the way she looks just like me, or at least the old me, wondering if she sees it too, if she’s managed to tune in to the irony of it.
Damen squeezes my hand, his gaze questioning, having misread my hesitation as an unwillingness to go through with it, even though we’ve been over it a million times already.
“I can handle it.” I nod, glancing at him as I add, “Seriously. No worries. I know exactly what to say.”
He smiles and leans in to kiss me, his lips soft, sweet, as they brush across my cheek. A quick and easy reminder that he loves me—that he’s with me, always will be. But while it’s definitely nice, and while I definitely appreciate it, I no longer question those things.
Stacia gazes up from her iPod, wincing the second she sees me. And I can’t help but notice the way her mouth goes grim, the way she involuntarily hunches her shoulders and pulls them way in when I claim the space just beside her.
Having no idea what I could possibly want, but clearly convinced that whatever it is, it cannot be good, she pushes her glasses onto her forehead and shoots Damen a quick, help me kind of look, but he just claims the space right beside me, as I shake my head and say, “Don’t look at him, look at me.” My gaze holds on hers. “Believe it or not, I’m the one who’s going to get you out of this mess. I’m the one who’s going to put everything back the way it was. Or at least, almost the way it was.”
Her eyes dart between us as her fingers pick at the rolled hem of her dress. Unsure if I’m actually being sincere or if she’s being played in some sort of payback plan that I’ve made.
Just about to get up and leave, take her chances with the hostile masses, when I stop her by saying, “But, as I’m sure you’ve already guessed, there is one condition.”
She looks at me, gaze wary, assuming the absolute worst.
“The condition being that when I return you to table A, you use your popularity for good and not evil.”
She shakes her head, then bursts into a nervous laugh that ends almost as quickly as it begins. Unable to determine whether I’m joking or serious, and again looking to Damen for the answer, but the only answer he gives is a casual shrug as he motions toward me.
“I’m not joking. I’m one hundred percent serious. In case you haven’t noticed, in case you’ve already forgotten, you’ve been nothing but a complete and total bitch to me from the very first day I arrived at this school. You took way too much pleasure in making my life a living hell. And I’m willing to bet you spent more time plotting against me than you did studying for your SATs.”