Evermore (The Immortals #1)(6)

The whole time I was cooped up in that sterile white room, I received regular visits from a psychologist, some overeager intern with a beige cardigan and clipboard, who always started our sessions with the same lame question about how I was handling my "profound loss" (his words, not mine). After which he'd try to convince me to head up to room 6I8, where the grief counseling took place.

But no way was I taking part in that. No way would I sit in a circle with a bunch of anguished people, waiting for my turn to share the story of the worst day of my life. I mean, how was that supposed to help? How could it possibly make me feel better to confirm what I already knew that not only was I solely responsible for what happened to my family, but also that I was stupid enough, selfish enough, and lazy enough to loiter, dawdle, and procrastinate myself right out of eternity?

Sabine and I didn't speak much on the flight from Eugene to John Wayne Airport, and I pretended it was because of my grief and injuries, but really I just needed some distance. I knew all about her conflicting emotions, how on the one hand she wanted so desperately to do the right thing, while on the other she couldn't stop thinking: Why me? I guess I never wonder why me? Mostly I think why them and not me?

But I also didn't want to risk hurting her. After all the trouble she'd gone to, taking me in and trying to provide a nice home, I couldn't risk letting her know how all of her hard work and good intentions were completely wasted on me. How she could've just dropped me off at any old dump and it wouldn't have made the least bit of difference.

The drive to the new house was a blur of sun, sea, and sand, and when Sabine opened the door and led me upstairs to my room, I gave it a quick cursory glance then mumbled something sounding vaguely like thanks.

''I'm sorry I have to run out on you," she'd said, obviously anxious to get back to her office where everything was organized, consistent, and bore no resemblance to the fragmented world of a traumatized teen.

And the moment the door closed behind her, I threw myself on my bed, buried my face in my hands, and started bawling my eyes out.

Until someone said, "Oh please, would you look at yourself? Have you even seen this place? The flat-screen, the fireplace, the tub that blows bubbles? I mean, hello?"

"I thought you couldn't talk?" I rolled over and glared at my sister, who, by the way, was dressed in a pink Juicy tracksuit, gold Nikes, and a bright fuchsia china doll wig.

"Of course I can talk, don't be ridiculous;" She rolled her eyes. "But the last few times—" I started.

"I was just having a little fun. So shoot me." She stalked around my room, running her hands over my desk, fingering the new laptop and iPod Sabine must have placed there.

"I cannot believe you have a setup like this. This is so freaking unfair!" She placed her hands on her hips and scowled. "And you're not even appreciating it! I mean, have you even seen the balcony yet? Have you even bothered to check out the view?"

"I don't care about the view," I said, folding my arms across my chest and glaring. "And I can't believe you tricked me like that, pretending you couldn't speak."

But she just laughed. "You'll get over it."

I watched as she strode across my room, pushed the drapes aside, and struggled to unlock the french doors.

"And where are you getting all these clothes?" I asked, scrutinizing her from head to toe, reverting right back to our normal routine of bickering and grudge holding. "Because first you show up in my stuff, and now you're wearing Juicy, and I know for a fact that Mom never bought you those sweats."

She laughed. "Please, like I still need Mom's permission when I can just head over to the big celestial closet and take whatever I want. For free," she said, turning to smile.

"Serious?" I asked, my eyes going wide, thinking that sounded like a pretty sweet deal. But she just shook her head and waved me over. "Come on, come check out your cool new view."

So I did. I got up off the bed, wiped my eyes with my sleeve, and headed for my balcony. Brushing right past my little sister as I stepped onto the stone tile floor, my eyes going wide as I took in the scenery before me.

"Is this supposed to be funny?" I asked, gazing out at a view that was an exact replica of the gilt-framed picture of paradise she'd shown me in the hospital. But when I turned back to face her, she'd already gone.





Chapter Four



It was Riley who helped me recover my memories. Guiding me through childhood stories and reminding me of the lives we used to live and the friends we used to have, until it all began to resurface. She also helped me appreciate my new Southern California life. Because seeing her get so excited by my cool new room, my shiny red convertible, the amazing beaches, and my new school, made me realize that even though it wasn't the life I preferred, it still had value.

And even though we still fight and argue and get on each other's nerves as much as before, the truth is, I live for her visits. Being able to see her again gives me one less person to miss. And the time we spend together is the best part of each day.

The only problem is, she knows it. So every time I bring up the subjects she's declared strictly off limits, things like: When do I get to see Mom, Dad, and Buttercup? And, where do you go when you're not here? She punishes me by staying away.

But even though her refusal to share really bugs me, I know better than to push it. It's not like I've confided my new aura spotting/mind-reading abilities, or how much it's changed me, including the way I dress.