For Ever (29 page)

“Let me out,” I snap, still refusing to look
at him.

“You are terribly stubborn.”

“Yeah, you said that already.”

“It bears repeating.”

I turn slowly and look at him, but when he
reaches up to brush a tear off my cheek, I jerk away from him.

“Wren, listen to me very carefully. I came
back because I care about you, and I couldn’t stand the thought of
anything happening to you because of me. … And I left the other
night because I wanted more than anything to stay with you. To be
with you every second.”

I shake my head.

“That doesn’t make any sense.”

“Leaving seemed to be the best—the
only—action I could take for someone I … love. That alone should
have been enough incentive for me to stay away—”

Before he can say anything else, I lean over
the console and place my hands on either side of his face. Closing
my eyes, I stretch forward until my lips touch his. The immediate
shock of electricity makes me shiver, but not as much as when his
hands grip my waist. At first, I think he’s going to pry me away
from him. Instead he holds me still in his unyielding grip.
Eventually I pull back for air, and I blush, embarrassed that I
just lunged over the seat.

“Sorry.”

When I look back at him, Ever’s expression is
careful, but not angry.

“I had hoped to say that under better
circumstances,” he says mildly.

From far away I hear the bell. When Ever
appears at my door, I climb out of the passenger seat.

“Class?” I ask.

He nods and laughs quietly at my
disappointment.

“And here I thought you were against
delinquency. I
would
keep you here … which is all the more
reason for you to go to class.”

The look in his eyes changes, and my stomach
clenches. Unable to come up with a clever remark, I start walking
quickly, feeling anxious again. How am I going to explain any of
this to my friends? Disappearing and reappearing at will might be
normal for Ever. Not for me.

“You know, my friends are going to wonder
what’s going on with us.” I pause. Like they don’t already wonder.
“I mean things have been a little … unpredictable. Should I tell
them we’re friends, acquaintances, study partners … ?”

What would people believe? I wonder. Ever
leans down and presses his lips carefully to my forehead.

“Tell them I’ve waited forever for you.”

We’re standing in front of Mr. Gideon’s room
when I suddenly notice that the halls are empty. Oops. It had been
the
late
bell I heard earlier. Ever takes my hand again as
we walk into class. So much for a low-key entrance. Mr. Gideon
stops mid-sentence.

“Ms. Sullivan, I don’t recommend letting your
boyfriend’s attendance habits rub off on you.”

He shakes his head in mock exasperation. I
disengage my hand from Ever’s and hurry to my seat. When I look at
him, Ever smiles. I try not to grin back like an idiot, but it’s
difficult. I’m simultaneously embarrassed and euphoric. I look over
at Ashley and she gawks at me. At the end of first, when he walks
me to second, we both stop at the door to Mr. Bellarmine’s
room.

“I’ll see you at lunch?” he asks.

I stall, trying not to look as desperate as
I’m feeling. After being afraid that he was gone forever, I’m
hungry for every little second I can get alone with him, whether
it’s psychologically healthy or not.

“Your friends are going to want to talk to
you,” he smiles in that way of his, like he knows what’s
coming.

I frown up at him, and he touches my cheek
briefly before disappearing down the hall. It’s not a surprise that
he turns out to be right. At nutrition Ashley, Lindsay, and Taylor
are at my locker by the time I get there.

“Hey, guys,” I say cautiously.

“Don’t
hey
us,” Lindsay huffs. “Ash
said you walked into first—late—looking all couple-y with Ever
Casey.”

I manage a small smile.

“Um, yeah.”

“Okay, that is
awesome
!” Ashley says.
“Ever Casey …”

“Craziness,” Lindsay confirms.

“Good for you, Wren,” Taylor says
quietly.

I can hear the disbelief hidden behind their
excitement, but I can’t bring myself to get bent out of shape about
it. If I thought too hard about it, I wouldn’t believe it,
either.

Sitting on my bed, propped up against the
headboard, I am incandescently happy, because I may be home
studying on a Saturday night, but Ever is only feet away from me.
Trying to be inconspicuous, I raise my eyes over my textbook to
look at him. He’s already looking back at me, like I called his
name a moment ago.

“Would you stop doing that?” I stammer,
trying my best to look serious. It doesn’t work.

Ever is sitting on my desk chair with his
long legs stretched out so that his feet are resting on the edge of
my bed. He’s reading, too, but his reading material isn’t in
English. Ancient Greek maybe? Anything is possible with him, I
realize. And I have this creeping suspicion that he could recite my
textbook for History forwards and backwards.

He smiles.

“It is a difficult habit to break.”

“Rifling through people’s thoughts, you mean?
Doesn’t it get boring, after how long … ?”

I’m still trying to wrap my head around how
long Ever has
existed
. He doesn’t seem too keen on
discussing it, and I’m starting to wonder if he’s afraid that I
won’t be able to handle it. And maybe I can’t. Who knows? To me, he
looks eighteen. Okay, give—not take—a couple of years. And perfect.
It’s hard to describe just how perfect. Or it could be simply my
perception, but I doubt it, judging by everyone else’s reactions to
him. He remains breathtaking to me each and every time I look at
him.

“I don’t get bored with you,” he says
evenly.

“Well, yeah. We’ve only had normal
conversations going on, what? A week now? We barely spoke before
that.”

I try not to sound hurt about his previous
habit of ignoring me, but remembering it does sting a little,
regardless.

“I thought I was doing what was best, what
was safest for you,” Ever reminds me, his tone gentle.

“I know.”

He studies me for a few seconds.

“I don’t get bored with you because your mind
is very,” he stops, looking for the right word, “unique.”

I’m getting better at sensing when he’s
evading the truth. I shake my head.

“You were going to say something else.”

He laughs.

“I was going to say
random
, but—”

Reaching back, I hurl my pillow at him, and
his hand flashes out to catch it before it can break my lamp. He
sets it back on the bed and smiles widely.

“Now you see why I didn’t choose that
particular wording.”

“My mind is random?”

“Most people’s thoughts follow a basic linear
pattern. Most of the time yours,” he smiles again, “do not. It is
perhaps the reason for, or an effect of, your ability to pick up
others’ thoughts as you do.”

“What about you? You can do the same thing,
even better than I can,” I point out.

“A survival mechanism,” he says with a tight
look.

His eyes have dimmed in a familiar way that
tells me I’m not going to get much more information out of him on
the subject. I decide to press anyway.

“What do you mean?”

Ever’s broad shoulders rise and fall. I still
can’t get used to such a human mannerism coming from him.

“Why do so many creatures—predators and
prey—have an acute sense of smell?”

“To hunt or to escape, I guess.”

He pauses and then nods. “And they live
longer for it.”

I shudder. The more I learn about him,
however veiled the information is, the more I recognize that I know
next to nothing. Ever’s eyes shift away from me, and a second later
a knock at the door causes me to lose my place in my textbook. The
door swings open before I can say anything, and my mom pokes her
head into the room, smiling widely as her eyes scan us.

“Yeah, Mom?”

“I was just checking up on you guys. Are you
hungry?”

“I think we’re all right.”

“Oh, okay. I’m going to the store. You need
anything?”

“Not that I can think of.”

She’s stalling, debating whether or not it’s
okay to leave us alone.

“Ever, are you staying for dinner?”

He smiles at her.

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. I’ll be back sooner than you
think possible,” she says.

I suppress the urge to roll my eyes. Like she
can’t leave us alone for a half hour. But when I think of all the
times that just the thought of reaching out and touching Ever has
been painfully tempting, I begin to wonder if that’s true. Besides,
I don’t want to torture my mom. Neither one of us has had any time
to get used to the whole Wren-having-a-boy-over thing, even if Ever
is anything but a
boy
.

I clap my hands together and smile.

“You know what? I’m kind of thirsty.” I turn
to Ever. “Do you want to go downstairs and study in the living
room?”

I hop off the bed, noting that my mom’s
relief is thick enough to slice with a knife. Ever and I follow her
downstairs, where she grabs her purse and car keys. She kisses me
on the forehead and leans forward to whisper thank you. I give her
a wry look before shutting the door after her.

“Was that as weird for you as it was for me?”
I ask as I turn around.

Ever is sitting on the couch looking
unworried.

“She cares very much for you.”

“Yeah, she’s my mom.”

Even as I say this, it occurs to me that this
isn’t a universal given. I’m lucky in a lot of ways, and I don’t
tell my mom that often enough.

“And
you
are every mother’s worst
nightmare,” I add half-teasingly.

Ever cocks his head, like he’s mulling over
this possibility.

“Older, tempting,” I elaborate. “And you have
a motorcycle, which I’m never telling my mom. Not in a million
years.”

Actually, if I had a running list of things I
would never tell my mom, the motorcycle might end up higher on the
list than Ever not being completely human. He smiles crookedly.

“I’m tempting?”

“Yes, very.”

My voice squeaks, and I turn and rush into
the kitchen for the glass of water I’m now in desperate need of.
Ever may be able to sense my attraction to him—actually I’m sure he
can after snooping around my head every day—but it’s another thing
for me to come out and confess it. I don’t know why; it just
is.

Returning the jug of filtered water to the
refrigerator, I lean back against the door just as my brain
registers someone standing just inches from me. With a shriek, I
drop the glass. My heart is still pounding and I’m breathing hard
when Ever hands me the glass, not a drop spilled.

“You can’t sneak up on me like that,” I gasp.
“I thought you were …”

I don’t even know what I thought. Logically,
it couldn’t have been anyone but him. But logic and all its handy
rules exited my life a long while back. Ever watches me as I take a
gulp of water from the glass he just handed me.

“Better?” he smiles. “I’m sorry if I
frightened you.”

He takes the glass from me and sets it on the
counter. Then, very slowly, he brushes my hair behind my shoulder
and bends down until I can feel the brush of his lips on my neck
just below my jaw. I shiver, and a moment later he pulls away and
straightens to his full height. He studies me, the green of his
eyes darker than a moment ago.

“Your mother was right about leaving you
alone with me.”

The humor in his voice barely disguises the
undercurrent of tension that makes me tremble. Walking back into
the living room, I plunk down on the couch and hesitate. I don’t
want to burst the little bubble we’re in, but I’ve been putting off
the inevitable for too long. I have to ask more questions—questions
I may end up not wanting the answers to. I look up at Ever and find
his expression stony.

“Have there been many others like me?”

“Yes.”

“How many?”

“Enough.”

I swallow.

“Millions?”

He shakes his head, and I realize I don’t
want a number. I look down at my hands and force the next words out
of my mouth. Because I need to hear him say it.

“And you killed them?”

“Many, yes, if they were about to be taken.
Others, I destroyed that part of them that could hear or see beyond
the capacity of the normal human mind.”

I swallow and think about my life, if I had
died that morning. Because of Ever.

“Wren … I’m sorry.”

“Are you sorry you did it, or sorry that I
know?”

My voice is barely a whisper. When I look up,
Ever’s eyes are again filled with a shame and remorse I can’t
comprehend. In that instant I feel a wave of pity for him—a
killer—and it makes me wonder if I’m a bad person for it.

“What would have happened if you hadn’t done
it?” I ask quietly.

“They would have been taken, and eventually
they would have outnumbered us. Most of those like you ended up in
asylums before we found them. Theirs was not a pleasant
existence.”

My face goes pale as he continues.

“Many were unable to shut out what they heard
and saw, or it came to them any time they were near other people.
They could close their eyes, turn away, and they continued to
absorb everything going on in the minds of those around them. Sleep
would become impossible, and it drove many to suicide. In modern
human culture they were often diagnosed as schizophrenic. Before
that, they were burned as witches or demons—”

I hold up my hand.

“Stop. … I can’t take any more right
now.”

Ever doesn’t say anything for several
seconds.

“I should leave you.”