And even though I know it’s wrong to spy, that I should speak up and let Damen know that I’m here, I don’t. I don’t say a word. I just remain right where I am. Quiet and still. Allowing only the shallowest breath, knowing this is it. The big thing he’s been hiding all along—the same thing Roman and Jude hinted at, and Haven taunted me with. And if I want to get to the bottom of it, see the scene as real and raw as the day it all happened, I can’t alert him to my presence. Though his inability to sense me proves just how engrossed he really is.
And it’s not long before I see it—the real reason behind all the sadness. The real reason why I reacted the way I did.
I’m being pulled away from my family. From everyone I’ve ever loved. From the only circle of support I’ve ever known in the world.
This kind and wealthy white man may think he’s saving me, committing some kind of noble, good deed, but one look at my face is all it takes to see that he’s doing so at the expense of my only source of happiness.
My mother sobs in the background, as my father stands tall and silent beside her. His gaze is grief-stricken, troubled, though urging us all to stay strong. And even though I cling to them, hanging on with all that I’ve got, determined to seal the impression of their scent, their touch, their very being, it’s not long before I’m pulled away from it all.
Damen grasping my arm as he pulls me toward him and away from my mother—my pregnant mother who anxiously embraces her large, swollen belly that shelters my unborn sister—pulls me away from my father, my family—away from the boy just behind them who reaches for me—the tips of our fingers just barely meeting, the touch cool and fleeting, before I’m yanked far out of his reach. Though my gaze refuses to leave him, my eyes remain steadfast, drinking him in, until the image is seared onto my brain—this lanky, black boy with the piercing brown eyes that instantly reveal who he is.
My friend—my confidant—my intended—the one I know in this life as Jude.
“Quiet now,” Damen whispers, his lips at my ear, as my family is told to turn away and get back to work. “Hush now, please. Everything’s going to be okay. I promise to keep you safe. As long as you’re with me, no one can ever hurt you again. But first you have to trust me, okay?”
But I won’t trust him. Can’t trust him. If he really cared about me, if he’s really as rich and powerful as he claims, then why can’t he buy us all? Why can’t he keep us together?
Why does he take only me?
But before I can see any more, Damen cuts the scene. Just cuts it right off. Instantly erasing it as though it never did exist.
And in that moment I know that this is what he means by editing.
He’s not just sparing me from viewing uncomfortable scenes like my own gruesome deaths—he’s sparing himself—the image he’s worked so hard to craft—unwilling to allow me to witness his more shameful acts.
Like the one I just saw.
The one that may be erased but is forever sealed in my brain.
And I don’t even realize I’ve gasped, don’t even realize I’ve made any sound at all, until he leaps from the couch, his eyes wide, face frantic, when he finds me standing right there behind him.
“Ever!” he cries, voice choked with panic. “How long have you been there?”
But I don’t answer. My expression alone is answer enough.
His gaze darts between me and the screen, as he rakes through his glossy, dark hair, the words rough, unsteady, when he drops his hands to his sides and says, “It’s not what you think. I swear, it’s—it’s not at all what it appeared to be.”
“Then why’d you cut it?” My gaze harsh, unforgiving, unwilling to bend even the tiniest bit. “Why’d you erase it, if not to hide it from me?”
“There’s more to the story—much, much more and I—”
“You don’t trust me?” I cut in, unwilling to hear his denials. Not when we both just watched the same, horrible thing. “After all that we’ve been through, after all that I’ve shared with you—you’re still hiding things from me?” I fight to steady my breath as I press my hand flat against my belly, feeling more than a little sickened by this. “So tell me, Damen, just how far does this go—this editing of yours? What else could you possibly be hiding from me?” Remembering what Haven alluded to in the bathroom today and warning myself not to fall into her trap, not to let her divide and conquer us. Then dropping the thought just as quickly. I saw what I saw. The evidence played out before me clear as day.
“First you wait until the very last minute to tell me the truth about you and me and Jude—and now—now this?” I shake my head, still reeling from the vision of who I
was and who he might still possibly be. “Is this some sort of sick game you’re playing? Is this how you get your kicks? Tell me, Damen, just how many times, in how many lives, have you pulled me away from my family and friends?” He looks at me, face ashen, but I’m on a roll and there’s no stopping me now. “I mean, there’s the time we just saw, and there’s this life, the one I’m in now…” I pause, knowing that’s not exactly fair. I’m the one who lingered in the field of my own free will. I’m the one who was so entranced by the magick of Summerland I chose to stay back while the rest of my family moved on. But still, had he not fed me the elixir, maybe I would’ve eventually found them—maybe we’d all be together right now. And I’m so upset by my thoughts, by the images that refuse to stop playing in my head, that I can’t decide which is better—for me to have died and joined up with my family—or for me to have lived so I can deal with all this.
I turn, legs shaking, heart crashing, needing to get out, get some air, no longer able to breathe in this room.
Damen’s voice calling out from behind me, begging me to stop, to slow down, claiming that it can all be explained.
But I refuse to stop.
Refuse to slow down in any way.
I just keep on running.
Just keep on going until I’ve found my way home again.