[Vᴏʟᴜᴍᴇ 1 - Cᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ]
Evelyn White was born with a gift - or rather, a curse: the first time she touches someone, she sees when and how that person dies. Meeting new people is sickening. Walking through a crowd is hell. Not to mention that when she...
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A game between me and Death always begins with the most mundane of things.
We passed each other in the hallway. She knocked my shoulder and her fingers brushed the back of my hand. For that moment, I was paralysed.
I didn't know her name.
I could barely remember her face.
Yet, I knew that in three days' time, at seven minutes past midnight, she was going to be stabbed to death by a man with blond hair and blue eyes, dressed in a black leather jacket.
One touch, that's all it takes. A single second of skin contact and I can tell you when and how your life will end.
My mother used to tell me it was a gift – that God had chosen me for something special. But if this is supposed to be a gift, then I don't want to know what constitutes a curse. Becoming an unseen, incorporeal extra in someone else's death scene doesn't exactly scream 'blessed' to me, especially when you're standing close enough to have the victim's blood and guts fly through you as they're being eviscerated.
I'll count myself lucky that the culprit in this vision wasn't some kind of slash-happy psycho. One clean, quick stab and that was it; she gurgled and convulsed with his hand over her mouth, choking on her last few breaths. It was almost merciful – if not for the fact that it was murder.
The vision ended. Time resumed its pace and I was brought back to reality by the delayed sensation of her shoulder smashing into mine.
She gasped and turned towards me, bowing her head and stammering an apology through her veil of dyed-red hair. I just stood there, clutching my shoulder like an idiot. What I should have done was grab her – warn her. But by the time my wits were gathered, she was gone – swallowed up by the sea of students making their way to class.
'Hey, Evelyn.'
A hand tapped my shoulder.
I let out a shriek.
Every eye in the corridor turned towards me, expressions changing instantly when their owners recognised my face. Fear. Suspicion. Resentment. Nothing unfamiliar – nothing I couldn't deal with. I pretended not to notice, but from the burning in my cheeks, I could tell that my face was bright red.
Sometimes I really hate Ryo.
He grinned as I shot him a look. 'Sorry,' Ryo said, in a tone that suggested he was anything but. 'Didn't think you'd be standing there daydreaming.'
'You know I don't daydream.' I have waking nightmares.
'Now now, Evelyn; don't lie. You've always got your head in the clouds. I bet it was about a bo-oy.' He drew the last word out in sing-song, like your mother or older sister would when prying into your love life.
