Six Months Later

"I can't believe you're ditching me for six weeks when it's our final year in high school." My BFWDNKID, Madison, that is "Best-Friend-Who-Does-Not-Know-I'm-Death", mutters remorsefully as we pack my suitcases into my black SUV ready for me to make the journey to the Rocky Mountains, Idaho. My adoptive father, Lucas Mitchell, had inherited his father's organisation when he passed away several years ago and had since been running it with my mother, Lynn.

Camp Shadows is a camp that foster kids, the kids who usually live in the shadows of others, come to get away from their foster parents temporarily and some of the stress that comes with it. The Creators thought it would be smart for me to learn more about the how the people whose souls I collected lived this century, so they thought it would be only fitting if I grew up as one of them, making me take on the form of a six-year-old foster system kid. Back then, I had loved the atmosphere and idea of a place that foster kids could go and didn't have to feel like people were paid to love them, at least that was the consensus I had received from the other kids.

For some reason, the Mitchell's seemed to take a liking to me and when they offered to adopt me, the Creators thought it would be a great cover. As long as I can remember, Lucas and all the other counsellors used their own money for the majority the camp had to offer as they received little government funding.

Since I've been old enough, I've been volunteering; whether that be as an Arts and Crafts teacher, music teacher, a Kitchen hand and, as of last year, a Camp Leader. Technically, I don't need school, knowledge comes pretty easy when you're centuries old. Not that anyone at school knows it, but I've already got enough credits to have completed my senior year last year with Matt, but since he died I told my parents and the principal that I wanted to finish with my Maddison and my other classmates.

With that reminder of her, my thoughts return to Madison who has been tapping her perfectly manicured fingertips to my forehead to regain my attention for probably the last thirty seconds. I shake her off, "I know," I comment, "But as always before you know it I'll be back and making up excuses as to why you're skipping half your periods."

She sighs as we return to packing, "You know me so well." Technically I could have the packing done in a second, one of the perks of being Death, but it's somewhat relaxing taking the time to do it with Madison. We laugh and hug each other before she eventually helps me load mine and Mum's luggage into the car and before I know it, we're pulling out of the driveway and are on our way with Mum riding shotgun since she hates driving long distance. We ride in silence for a few minutes before Mum decides to turn on the radio and we find ourselves singing along occasionally. It's not until we're almost there that I remember something.

"Hey," I cautiously venture, "did Dad tell you who was filling Matt's role at the camp?"

She looks at me with sympathy and I can see the internal struggle that goes back and forth in her head before she forces a smile and offers up what she knows, "Your father did tell me he found someone but didn't mention his name."

I could tell Mum was excited, even though she was trying to hide it, for fear that any show of happiness would cause me to break into a million pieces. She hasn't seen Dad for weeks because he always leaves for the camp early to help get it ready for the kids.

She takes a second to glance over in my direction once again, taking in the delicate silver flower ring encrusted with a topaz stone in the centre of the flower on my ring finger. She'd seen it many times before and yet every time she sees it, she looks up at me afterwards with the same look of concern. The sparkle that had been in her eyes at the thought of seeing Dad is gone now, replaced with uncontained grief. "Honey, you have to take the ring off now, it's been six months. He's not coming back." Not anytime soon, anyway, I thought but didn't voice aloud. Did she seriously think I wasn't aware that he was dead? It was times like this that I wish I could scream and tell her the truth, prove that I know more than anyone that he's gone. How hard it is, knowing exactly where the person you love is, but not being able to reach them because it's against the rules. The misery that came with being reminded he's gone hits me as hard as that truck did him, pushing the air from my lungs. I'd come to terms with the fact that I couldn't stop living just because he died and I'd started hanging out with Madison again. However, Mum was concerned that I still couldn't bring myself to play my guitar or piano, she didn't understand that he was my inspiration, my muse.

"I know, Mum." I will the tears to stay at bay as I plead with her, being mindful not to take my eyes off the road for too long, "I'm just not ready to take it off just yet. Please understand."

Out of the corner of my eye, I see her expression soften immediately as she admits she does understand, "You and Matt were together for so long, nothing could have prepared you for this." Once again, she was wrong, something could have prepared me for this, but I ignore it as she continues to speak, "If it was me in your place I would keep the ring on for years, so I do understand, don't think I don't know this is hard for you. You loved him so much and were so free and happy with him." She reaches over and squeezes my hand gripped onto the steering wheel, covering the evidence of my white knuckles. The rest of the drive we sit, going in and out of conversations, even managing to laugh once or twice.

After just over seven hours of travel and two pit stops for toilet and candy breaks, we finally arrive at the campsite.

"I forgot how long it takes to get here," Mum comments as she hops out of the car, "my bum is numb." I nod my head in agreeance as we laugh and head for Dad's office which is part of the main lodge which we dubbed the 'Mess Hall'. Before we can even manage a few steps, Dad is walking out the doors of the wooden building.

"Hello, my love," Dad murmurs as he gives Mum a swift kiss on the lips, laughing when I pretend to gag, before preceding to have a more passionate kiss. I quickly avert my eyes, giving them that privacy and instead find myself facing a boy who's standing a few feet away, chopping up firewood. Not that I should be calling him a boy, because Gods, he was all man. This guy must have kissed the Creators asses so bad to have looks like this, he literally could have passed for a Greek God, tall, golden-skinned and with the glossiest head of black hair I'd ever seen. His thick, dark lashes fanned his high cheekbones as he swings the axe down before him, shielding the colour of his eyes and for some unexplainable reason, all I could think was that I needed to know what colour they were. My immediate guess would be an icy blue, piercing like his appearance, or maybe a molten brown, dark and smouldering.

As if hearing my inner thoughts, he lifts his head from his task and I had to stop my mouth from gaping. His eyes remind me of the endless green landscape of pine that surrounded us and for some reason that made me feel warm inside. I force myself to drag shift away from his entrancing eyes, my gaze travelling lower, noting his plump lips. As if teasing me, he chooses that moment to swipe his tongue quickly over them before he returns to chopping wood. A huge shiver racks my body and I ignore the fact that for a split-second I forgot about Matt and wanted to kiss those soft, teasing pink lips. My eyes look further still and—Oh, Gods—he wasn't wearing a shirt. It's freaking 23.6°F and he's not wearing a shirt, not that I was complaining. I watch in silence as his muscles strain with each swing of the axe and for a second my breath catches.

It's just a guy, you've seen enough of them to know what they look like. Idiot. I snap myself out of my staring and see that both my parents are looking at me with wide hopeful eyes. "What?" I ask, feigning innocence, "I was just admiring the Big Oak thinking how great the view from one of its branches would be for a sketch." Even though I can tell they don't believe me, they let it go, but not before they invite the unnamed Godlike guy over.

"Reid, mate," Dad calls out and I watch as 'Reid' lifts his head in acknowledgement, "come meet my daughter."

He casually walks over, still minus the shirt, and I turn to Dad with a raised eyebrow. "Mate? Quite casual for someone you've known for what—a day?"

"Not that it's your business, Sunshine, but I've been helping your father our here for going on two weeks now. Where have you been?" I hear him behind me, his voice deep and even as snide as his comment was it came off as if it were as sweet as honey. His breath on my neck sends another shiver down my spine and I turn, finding his unearthly green eyes that I loved minutes ago now staring straight back at me. I can't seem to break away from his captivating gaze. Coughing, I look away and instead turn my eyes to his nose; his goddamn perfectly shaped nose—I might add. I mentally groan and my girlish thoughts, this was not helping my case at all.

"Excuse me?" I ask, daring him to repeat his comment but I can tell he's not one to back down.

"I said—" He begins, just as I anticipated.

"I know what you said," I mutter, cutting him off and I'm sure my teeth are bared as if I'm a bloody animal.

"Now, now, that's not very lady-like, Angel. Don't you know it's rude to interrupt?" He scolds wagging his finger back and forth in front of my face like a condescending aunt after you've stolen a cookie out of the cookie jar. He finishes his scolding method by flicking me on the nose and if that wasn't just a little bit sexy coming from him.

Instead, I scoff, rolling my eyes a hand making its way to rest on my hip, "First it was Sunshine, now Angel? Seems to me like you were dropped on the head as a baby." He couldn't be any further from the truth. "Well, Douchebag, I think you better introduce yourself properly so we call each other by our actual names." I stare at him, my eyes narrowed and he just smirks.

"Feisty, I like it, Angel. But I already know who you are, Little Eddie Mitchell."

My parents, who had been watching the entire exchange between the two of us in complete silence now had their eyeballs popping out of their sockets at the nickname, knowing full well only one person had ever called me by it. They shook their heads and my Mum reached a hand probably to stop me from doing anything rash. Too bad.

"Don't ever call me that again, you won't like the consequences if you do."

"It can't be any worse than Douchebag..." The smirk hasn't left his face, but now his eyebrow rises.

"Umm, Eden, I think I left the oven on inside so your mum and I are just going to go tend to that," the two of them back away slowly before they turn and rush into the lodge as if they can't get away fast enough.

"You know what," I state, acting remorseful, "It was wrong of me to call you a Douchebag," I make sure to pause so that I can see his eyes brighten, thinking he's won this little tiff, "because Douchebag is too nice a word for you. A better word would be, I don't know, Dickhead." A sweet and innocent smile overtakes my features but he only shrugs in response.

"Charming, but I've had worse." I almost want to storm off fuming when that freaking smirk doesn't leave his face. What a pompous asshole. I start to begin another rant but it's his turn to cut me off, "Look this has been a very interesting conversation that I will cherish in my heart forever," to which I flip him off as he continues, chuckling under his breath, "I'm also sure you have a wide variety of names and gestures at your disposal, but I'm not interested. I've got work to do." He flicks his wrist in a shoo motion and if I was still the six-year-old I was when I first came here I'd stomp my feet and throw a tantrum. But I'm not so I try to maintain as much dignity as I have left and stalk towards the lodge.

I swing open the door, but before it slams closed behind me I hear his last words, "See you around, Angel." I feel the hairs on my neck stand up, really despising the nickname but thinking it's better than the alternative of 'Eddie'. Stupid. Dick.

I take a second just in front of the door now closed door, just collecting my thoughts before I mutter under my breath, "I hope not," stalking off once again.