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I kiss her again before she can argue or doubt herself. And for a few seconds, everything else disappears. “You make me proud, never forget that,” I whisper as she looks at me.

Her empty eyes have returned, but they quickly shift into guilt, and for some reason, that gaze terrifies me.

“And you, you make me feel okay,” she whispers back.

At that moment, something cleared in my very being, Mireya Vitelli has now total control over every pulse of my heart and every cell in my body.

From the moment I saw her on that rooftop almost a year ago, crying silently and hiding her pain from her own self.

I knew that she would ruin me and still, I dived blindly into it.

116

Damien

Class of 1972

Play - Mount Everest by Labrinth

“Champagne, sir?” The waiter asks and I waste no time plucking two flutes from the silver tray.

“Thank you,” I tell him, as I hand one to Mireya and hold the other with my free hand.

He nods his head briefly before walking towards the other guests who are entering behind us.

“Don’t you ever get tired of socializing?” Mireya asks curiously as we both take our time walking further into the room.

“Events like these are all a part of the job,” I say, tilting my head toward her. “You play the part—you plaster a fake smile, nod and pretend that you’re having a good time, that’s it.”

“I hope that I don’t have to go to these sort of events, it’s tiring,” she sighs and I watch her roll her eyes dramatically.

“Well if you play your cards right, you won’t have to,” I say as a smile lifts my lips. My gaze tears away from hers as we bump into a few investors that help fund St. Ellesta that I know.

Hayzel comes in and Mireya disappears from my sight to join her friend at the entrance. I take it as a sign to start what we came here to do.

Jessica Green is standing next to the headmaster, and I wait for her to move before walking toward her.

“Jessica,” I say as I stand in front of her.

She smiles and nods gently, “Damien. Don’t you think this party is quite draining?”

I laugh, replaying what Mireya told me a few moments earlier. “I agree, St. Ellesta can give this feeling.”

“Oh you know, I was born here, grew up on this island. I studied and graduated from St. Ellesta too,” she says. “I know how strange and overwhelming this place can be.”

“You have a child don't you?” I ask, and she turns her head to look at me.

“I do, but she moved off the island when she turned eighteen,” she answers me.

Interesting.

“Was it your choice?” I add, watching her reaction.

“She wanted to, I think, for college but mostly, I wanted her too… sometimes as much as the island is beautiful it can get a little…” She takes her time as she continues, “Unsafe.”

“Oh, Scott,” she says as she's interrupted by another donor. She exchanges formalities and when I pretend to get up, I deliberately knock her clutch to the floor in the process.

“Sorry, I'll get it for you,” I say, bending to pick up the spilled remains of her clutch, and place them neatly back into its place.