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 rhapsodic over 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. Peering 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 'adn'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're practically 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, hel-lo?" 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.