“What was…?” I trail off when I see what he’s looking at.
It’s a large, smiling picture of what appears to be Felix’s sophomore class photo. His brown hair is cut much shorter than he wears it now, causing his hazel eyes and elfish features to stand out in higher contrast. He’s wearing a light blue, plaid button up, and has the clean cut look of picture day. Surrounding the photo are announcements about grief counseling, the news article about his death, and dozens and dozens of notes, brittle flowers, and small plush toys.
It’s a hard kick to the gut to see him so vibrant… so whole. Before now, I never really thought about what he looked like alive. As a ghost, his skin is smooth almost like it’s been through a Photoshop filter and has a golden glow to it. Though he isn’t transparent, there’s still an ethereal quality to him. Here there’s a ruddiness to his cheeks, a fading summer tan, and hints of acne along his forehead. This was him as flesh and blood, and I ache for a version of him I never knew. Alongside Felix’s photo full of life, is Donovan’s and my reflection in the glass-- both of us looking like worn and haggard versions of better people.
I’m lost in the bubble that’s absorbed Donovan, everything around us turning into a muddled hum, and with my heart in my throat, I ask, “What do you mean? Why was it supposed to be you?”
In the glass, I see him glance at me for a moment, his expression tense, before looking back up. I wonder if his focus shifts between Felix’s face and our reflection like mine does.
“Life pretty much ends for me after high school,” he starts, his jacket creaking as he folds his arms. “Once I’m on my own, every day will be borrowed time from the demon that will eventually kill me. It’s just the way it is.”
My stomach twists hearing the finality in his tone. I don’t know what to do or say to try and make him feel better. He speaks in facts of a world I don’t yet fully understand.
“I just…” He clears his throat, the gravel thick in his voice. “We were all at least supposed to make it through high school, then… I was supposed to go first.”
With a sharp jerk of my head, I look up at him. My eyes widen and immediately burn from not blinking. “You… but you’re nephilim,” I stutter out, my mind reeling with the horror that it’s not that he believes he won’t live his full 250 years-- “You don’t think you’ll live a normal human lifespan?”
His jaw flexes. “No. I don’t.” After a long pause, he adds, “I’ll be lucky if I make it to twenty-five.”
The ice in my veins snakes through my body until my very core is frozen. “That young?” I whisper. “Dark nephilim die that soon?”
“No…” He shifts his gaze to mine, his eyes searching my face. There’s a caginess to his tone and expression that is very unlike him. “I’m different.”
Before I can ask him to elaborate, he sharply looks back at the posters and snorts derisively. “Those assholes didn’t even know him,” he grunts, nodding at the notes and flowers.And we’re changing the subject.“He died in fucking July, but you’d think he died the first day of school, the way everyone was crying and shit. All fake. They just wanted to get out of class.”
My tired mind spins with the speed he switches topics. “Why do you think it was fake?”
“Because to everyone but us, he was the math nerd with the geeky shirts,” he states, his eyes narrowing to glare particularly hard at a card with a heart on it and a note in a feminine script. “They only started to notice him after he was dead. At his funeral, people who couldn’t tell you his last name, suddenly appeared and had all these fond memories of Felix, but they were total bullshit. It was the same thing over and over again. How nice he was. How smart he was-- but really, all they wanted to do was get more dirt on how he died.”
I blink several times, my brain sluggish, as I attempt to wrap my head around all the information Donovan is throwing at me like daggers. My emotions feel like they’re on a delayed reaction timer, and I know an hour from now, I’ll probably be furious. At least it keeps me from asking about details of Felix’s death.So not the time.
He doesn’t seem to care that I have nothing to say, continuing to share with me the details of the funeral. “He was there, you know? Because who would miss their own funeral? And their parents funeral?” His shoulders square and his chest expands, as his muscles tense and flex with his anger. “It was a fucking shit show to watch-- real mourners mixed with these pricks. Felix cracking jokes the whole time about how he didn’t know he was so well loved.”
The hallways are empty as the final bell rings, announcing that we’re late for class. Despite it being my third day in a new school, I ask, “Want to skip class and do… something?”
He snorts and shakes his head. “And miss fucking up Mr. Harris’ day?”
“It was a thought.” I shrug, at a loss for what else to say.
I don’t know how to handle my own shit, so I’m completely ill equipped to help him with his. It feels like weights drag at my limbs, as I question whether I’m worthy to be friends with the guys. They know how to be there for each other. How to comfort each other. I don’t know how to do any of these things.
Donovan packs away his feelings, looking down at me with an expression of his shielded emotions and the amused glint he gets when he’s about to piss someone off. “Ready? Harris is going to hate that we’re strolling in late and still know all the answers.”
I work hard to plaster a matching smile on my face. “Do you think it would annoy him more if I answered all the questions in a dumb blonde accent?”
He chuckles, turning to head towards class. “Only one way to find out.”
I take hurried steps to match Donovan’s long strides, and I ask before I can think too hard about it, “What’s Felix’s last name?”
His adam’s apple bobs heavily in his throat. “Jacobs. His last name is Jacobs.”
Chapter 10
Callie
“Romeo and Juliet are fucking morons,” Donovan complains, crumpling up what looks like his practice paper from English.
“Please tell me that was your thesis statement,” Nolan laughs, earning a glare.
