Page 19 of Inescapable Darkness

I have no plans to be here that long. But Carla is apparently satisfied with my answer, because she strides away to threaten whoever opened those cabinets without her permission.

Once she’s gone, I set my cup down with the other full ones on another counter. Drinking dulls my senses. And dulled senses are dangerous.

Leaving the kitchen behind, I slip back into the crowd in the hallway. After some careful maneuvering, I manage to get through the worst of it and find myself in a slightly less packed spot by the doorway to the living room. I stop at the threshold, leaning once shoulder against the wall while looking in through the open doorway.

Lots of people are sprawled on the couches and armchairs while others are dancing on the open areas of the floor. The ones seated by the grand dining room table on the other side of the room appear to be playing some kind of drinking game. Playing cards are scattered across the dark wooden surface and a guy claps his hands together in victory and laughs before pointing at a girl sitting across from him. She shoots him a look that promises vengeance before picking up her cup and drinking deeply from it.

Laughter and chatter mingle with the thumping music and fill the room, making it vibrate with life.

I have to grip the doorframe hard with one hand as a sudden stab of pain spears right through my chest.

Sucking in a breath through my nose, I try to swallow past the sudden onslaught of regret and disappointment and…longingthat crawl up my throat.

I wonder what that would be like. To be a real person with real friends who do stupid shit just because it’s fun.

Even before I had to hide from the Hands of Peace, I was never a real person. I’m just a collection of the people I’ve had to be in order to complete my missions. All I’ve ever done is to put on mask after mask in order to blend in. Isabella Johnson is just the latest one in a very long line. So why do I suddenly feel so sad about it?

As if my subconscious had summoned them, my eyes suddenly land on three people seated on one of the dark blue couches.

Rico, Kaden, and Jace.

Though I suppose that Jace is not exactlysittingon it. He alternates constantly between standing up, sitting down, and leaning forwards. The red plastic cup in his hand moves with his motions, and what looks like beer spills from it with his jerky movements. Throwing his head back, he laughs loudly at something a guy on the couch opposite him said. Then he abruptly leans to the side, running his hand over the thigh of the girl who is sitting on the couch’s armrest beside him. Reaching up, he wraps his hand around her jaw and pulls her face down to his. She slides her fingers through his messy brown curls as she kisses him back with equal fervor.

Apparently, he’s always like this. He drinks too much, parties too hard, talks too much, gets into fights too easily, laughs too loudly. And if rumors are to be believed, he has already fucked his way through half of Blackwater, even though he is only a few weeks into his second year, because he always gets bored and loses interest in everyone very quickly.

Even from all the way across the room, I can feel the restlessness inside him vibrate through the air like shockwaves. Part of me wonders where it comes from. The other part is just thankful for any distraction that pulls him away from helping Rico come after me.

Kaden, on the other hand, sits beside him like an ice sculpture. But his normally so expressionless eyes are now constantly flicking through the room as if he is searching for something. Or someone.

A flash of panic shoots through me when I realize that it might be me. But then his cold gaze slides directly over me, and he doesn’t react.

I relax slightly as I shift my attention to the final person on the couch.

Rico.

He is sitting at the other end, one elbow propped up on the armrest and his chin in his palm. From my place partially hidden behind the wall, I study his expression. He is staring across the room at something to the left of where I’m standing.

I narrow my eyes.

No, he’s not staring at anything in the room. He’s lost in thought.

And he looks…

Panic, and another stab of pain, sears through me.

He looks like he’s feeling exactly what I felt a few minutes ago.

Pushing off from the wall, I abruptly stride along the hallway and away from the living room.

I can’t be here. I can’t watch this damn guy sit there and look like that.

In all my life, I have only ever spared one person. Saved one person. Him. And I know exactly why I did it, even though I refuse to admit it to myself.

For the past six years, I’ve thought about this guy. Wondered what he was doing. What his life was like. If he had somehow recovered from his parents’ murder and had gone on to live a happy and full life despite it all. For six years, I’ve been living vicariously through him. Through the life I imagined for him.

Rico Morelli. The one life that belongs to me.

Shaking my head, I blindly try to push my way through the crowd.

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