Evermore - Alyson Noel [74]
Just let me be normal, please just let me be normal again. Just go away, leave me alone. Because I hate you—I hate you—I hate you—I hate you—
When I finally look up, I’m surrounded by tulips—hundreds of thousands of tulips, all of them red. Those soft waxy petals glinting in the bright morning sun, filling up the parking lot and covering all the cars. And as I struggle to my feet and brush myself off, I know without looking: their sender is gone.
twenty-seven
It’s weird in English, not having Damen beside me, holding my hand, whispering in my ear, and acting as my off switch. I guess I’d grown so used to having him around I’d forgotten just how mean Stacia and Honor could be. But watching them smirk, as they text each other with messages like—Stupid freak, no wonder he left— I know I’m back to relying on my hoodie, sunglasses, and iPod again.
Though it’s not like I don’t see the irony. It’s not like I don’t get the joke. Because for someone who sobbed in a parking lot, begging her immortal boyfriend to disappear so that she could feel normal again, well, obviously, the punch line is me.
Because now, in my new life without Damen, all of the random thoughts, the profusion of colors and sounds, are so overwhelming, so tremendously crushing, my ears constantly ring, my eyes continuously water, and the migraines appear so quickly, invading my head, hijacking my body, and rendering me so nauseous and dizzy I can just barely function.
Though it is funny how I was so worried about mentioning our breakup to Miles and Haven that a full week passed by before his name was even mentioned. And even then, I’m the one who brought it up. I guess they’d gotten so used to his erratic attendance they didn’t see anything unusual about his latest extended absence.
So one day, during lunch, I cleared my throat, glanced between them, and said, “Just so you know, Damen and I broke up.” And when their mouths dropped open and they both started to speak, I held up my hand and said, “And, he’s gone.”
“Gone?” they said, four eyes bugging, two jaws dropping, both of them reluctant to believe it.
And even though I knew they were concerned, even though I knew I owed them a good explanation, I just shook my head, pressed my lips together, and refused to say anything further.
Though Ms. Machado wasn’t so easy. A few days after Damen left, she walked right up to my easel, did her best to avoid direct eye contact with my Van Gogh disaster, and said, “I know you and Damen were close, and I know how hard this must be for you, so I thought you should have this. I think you’ll find it extraordinary.”
She pushed a canvas toward me, but I just leaned it against the leg of my easel and kept painting. I had no doubt about its being extraordinary; everything Damen did was extraordinary. But then again, when you’ve roamed the earth for hundreds of years, you’ve plenty of time to master a few skills.
“Aren’t you going to look at it?” she asked, confused by my lack of interest in Damen’s masterpiece replica of a masterpiece.
But I just turned to her, forcing my face into a smile when I said, “No. But thank you for giving it to me.”
And when the bell finally rang, I dragged it out to my car, tossed it into my trunk, and slammed down the hood, without once even looking.
And when Miles asked, “Hey, what was that?” I just jammed the key in the ignition and said, “Nothing.”
But the one thing I didn’t expect was how lonely I felt. I guess I failed to realize just how much I relied on Damen and Riley to fill up the gaps, to seal all the cracks in my life. And even though Riley warned me she wouldn’t be around all that much, when it hit the three-week mark, I couldn’t help but panic.
Because saying good-bye to Damen, my gorgeous, creepy, quite possibly evil, immortal boyfriend, was harder than I’ll ever admit. But not getting to say good-bye to Riley is more than I can possibly bear.
Saturday, when Miles and Haven invite me to tag along on their annual Winter Fantasy pilgrimage, I accept.