IMPORTANT: This is going to be a dark-themed story. Not totally dark that it would require an M rating, but dark enough to require a T. I'm going to try to bring out the darkest side of Ian here. Nothing big, but the cruel part of him would be a bit more accentuated. And there would be a bit of violence, but very, very minor.

Loving Shadows

Chapter 1

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"Amy?" Nellie called from the door. "Me and Dan are going to hunt for doughnuts. Want to come with?"

"Dan and I," I automatically corrected her. "And, no thanks. I want to rest for now."

Dan snorted. "How much do you bet that she's going to think of lover boy while crying on the bed?" he asked Nellie in a stage whisper, purposely loud enough for me to hear. I scowled and threw a pillow at him, but he dodged and threw it back at me. I was on the bed, but I had no intentions of crying and even thinking of the mentioned 'lover boy'. I planned on sleeping, and given the current events, dreaming of choking Dan.

Nellie chuckled. "How much do you want to bet that she's going to do something horrible to you in your sleep?" she challenged. I smiled with gratitude at her show of support.

Laughing and placing bets, the pair of them left the room. I sighed contentedly as I leaned back on the bed, staring at the discarded pillow still lying on the floor with no intention of picking it up.

Silence is golden, but at the same time annoying, because with silence came the nothingness to distract me from my thoughts. My mind unwillingly wandered to Dan's comment.

Lover boy. Ian Kabra.

I felt like throwing up at the mention of that name. The stupid idiot who thought he could get away with trying to break my heart.

At first, I found him very handsome, with his cinnamon colored skin, alluring amber eyes, and jet-black hair. He was, after all, a British boy. Who wasn't a sucker for the British accent? I would like to think that I was above such mundane weaknesses, that I wasn't one of those annoying fan-girls who squealed at the sound of Robert Pattinson's voice, but, unfortunately, I was not. I was drawn in by the same weakness as most girls.

Thankfully, I wasn't tricked by his accent alone. How stupid would I be, if I had fallen for his lies so easily just because of the way he spoke? Except that my other reason was almost as bad as the first.

The sad truth is that Ian Kabra was probably the first boy to have shown any sort of interest in me, and for that I was flattered. Enough to make me forget about the consequences of trusting your enemies, especially those who have expressed the desire of torturing and killing me.

Being the romantic idiot that I am, I was immediately crushed when I found out that he was just using me for the clue. I'd forfeited the motto that Dan and I should have taken to heart: Trust no one. It was a lesson I learned time and time again through deceits and false hopes. And by disregarding common sense, I almost paid the price of my life, as well as Dan and Alistair's. It was only by luck that we all managed to escape that wretched cave. Even more luck that we were relatively unscathed.

I was a fool, I'll admit. Looking back on the past, I realize that I should have taken the time to at least be friends with the jerk, instead of dreaming up romantic and impossible fantasies of what-could-have-been and trying to make them come true. If I had been thinking with logic, I would have taken the time to find out more about him. But if I had been thinking with logic, I would have kept in mind that we were enemies and any familiarities between us would not have mattered in the hunt, therefore I would never have trusted him in the first place. It was a paradox, the relationship of the opposite sexes. One that I should have avoided at all costs.

But I am not avoiding it. My thoughts keep going back to that moment when, in some weird degree, I trusted Ian. My hormones led my mind to forget all instances in which he was trying to kill me and only remember the one instance in which he saved my life. That stupid incident with the Yakuza.

In my mind, I knew I had just been looking for more excuses – anything that would work – to be close to him. He saved me from the Yakuza, true, but he did it not because he cared about me – we don't even know each other now, much less then – but because he needed me to get the clue.

And me, little, stupid, naïve me, had to fall for his British accent and smooth talk. That's what I get for being so shy. I don't know how guys really are because I've never really hung out with one – aside from Dan – so I don't know when they're being Mr. Suave or being Mr. User.

When Ian said the word 'lovely', he probably meant, 'Lovely, everything's going as planned. She's falling for me.' He probably thought that the stupid kiss would seal the deal.

The worst part is still to come.

The worst thing is, Dan already warned me and I didn't listen.

Dan warned me.

It was so obvious that Ian was just using me, that even my eleven-year-old brother could see it. Any one could have seen it coming. Every one except me, apparently. I'm such an idiot. I am so desperate for the companionship of guys, any guy, that I would fall for any jerk that compliments me. Including murderers.

No, scratch that. Especially murderers. Ian is a murderer, right? Even if his first few murder attempts fail?

Yes, he is a stupid murderer-to-be.

Dear God, I've spent the past ten minutes thinking about him. There must be some form of medicine – drug or herb or whatever – to prevent these hormones, because they've been prompting me to think about these things – obviously, it wasn't healthy to one's well-being.

How many times must we – by 'we', I mean Dan and I – be betrayed before the message finally sinks in?

Dan.

It hurt to think that I could very well have been the indirect cause of his death. If Dan had died in that cave in Korea, it would be pointless for me to have been rescued because I'd have been eaten up by my own guilt. There'd been too many times in this hunt where Dan had almost died because of me.

This was wrong. I discovered so many thoughts and revelations just because I spent ten minutes thinking of Ian and what he did. I'm crazy. Ian actually made me crazy. Originally, I only go crazy when he's around. Now, I'm going crazy even when he's not here.

Ian screwed up my life in so many levels.

I tuned around and abandoned any attempts to try and go to sleep. I'd probably end up dreaming of him too. Instead, I padded over to the television and grabbed the remote resting on top of it. I angled the bed which was closer to it so that it faced the television more.

Flipping past the useless channels – namely Velvet and ETC – and headed straight to the educational and informative channels. I don't know why so many people spent the better part of their lives following the celebrities. It was sad, the way their whole world revolved around what Justin Beiber, Miley Cyrus, Selena Gomez, and the Jonas Brothers were doing. What was even sadder was that there actually are people paid to stalk these celebrities. What was so special about them anyway? They were normal people who got filmed doing something and looking perfect at the same time. Their perfection wasn't even real; it was usually edited using Photoshop or some other digital enhancer. I preferred Discovery Channel myself. It always had something useful in it. What was so useful about how much Paris Hilton spent on her shoes?

Or maybe I was just so bitter about celebrities because Jonah Wizard was one.

I was half-way through watching Mythbusters when I heard the door open and close behind me. I didn't even bother to check who it was, rationalizing that the only person who would enter was Dan and-slash-or Nellie. I ignored them both, continuing to watch Jamie and Adam attempt to walk on water – which was actually a mixture of cornstarch, water, and blue food coloring.

Whoever entered cleared their throat behind me. I turned around, prepared to snap at them, when I was met with a sickening sight.

Natalie's dart gun, which I assumed was fully loaded with some head ache inducing sleeping formula, was pointed right at my face.

No, it was just floating there in mid-air with no one holding it up. What do you think? Natalie's dart gun is only handled by Natalie herself, and sometimes her brother. There I was, sitting on the bed with Mythbusters playing on the television, and a dart gun aimed at me by none other than Natalie Kabra herself, who was currently smirking as though she'd just won the lottery. (Oh, the irony – Natalie would never win the lottery because she had no need to enter one.) Her brother Ian was wearing the same expression while standing lazily behind her.

"Hello, love," he drawled in his British accent. "Been thinking about me?"

You have no idea, Ian.

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Okay, this is the rewrite for Thinking of Me. It's not the one with the supernatural twist. It's basically the same story as the original, except I have a vague idea of the plot now. I didn't want Amy to be completely 'in like' with him at the start of the story, hence this version. I tried to make her in character, but I'm awful at it. Please correct me if you notice any errors.

Yes, I realized that she was a bit stiff at the beginning, but I had just finished rereading Artemis Fowl, and his formal mannerisms somehow rubbed off on me.

IMPORTANT: This is going to be a dark-themed story. Not totally dark that it would require an M rating, but dark enough to require a T. I'm going to try to bring out the darkest side of Ian here. Nothing big, but the cruel part of him would be a bit more accentuated. And there would be a bit of violence, but very, very minor.

I had to make sure you would read that bit.

Flames are welcome, reviews more so.