A Need So Beautiful (A Need So Beautiful #1)(17)
Author: Suzanne Young

I’m like you. Only more evolved.

The voice in my head is from my dream, even though the memory of it is foggy along the edges. I can’t quite remember, like it’s just out of reach. I can still hear those words, though. I can still hear that voice.

I furrow my brow, considering what it means. Monroe had said that “they” should have told me by now. Maybe that’s what the voice is. Maybe it’ll tell me who I am and how I can save myself. If there’s someone else like me out there, it means I don’t have to die, right? Maybe I’m not the light after all. I feel almost relieved, so I stand and begin walking to the bathroom to get ready to meet Sarah. For the first time since finding the gold, I have a sense of hope. I’ll get the answers and then I can—

The force of it hits me. A shiver that runs from my toes to the top of my aching head. An intense burning in my shoulder. A vine that twists around my gut.

The Need. It’s back.

Chapter 8

I stumble out of my room, something pulling me fiercely toward the door. I’m still in my pajamas, barefoot. As I pass the kitchen, I hear Alex.

“Where are you going? I think you should wait for Mercy.”

I’m burning up from the inside, needing to get out. I look sideways at him and try to smile. “Can’t. Tell her I’ll call her later.”

“Not your secretary.” He shakes his head and turns to open the fridge. I’m glad that he doesn’t notice my bare feet. If he did, he might try to stop me. But there’s somewhere I have to be. My body is demanding it.

As I get to the front door, a burst of wind blows through me and I pause. I still feel pulsing under my skin, in my shoulder. But this is where I’m supposed to stop. I open my apartment door and peer out into the hallway. It’s empty.

I stand there, not sure what to do. Is it Alex? Maybe I could just go back and grab my shoes, still make it to Frankie’s. I’m about to try when I hear the squeak of hinges. I glance down the hallway and see the door of apartment 5468 ajar, but no one comes out. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen who lives there.

The Need pulls me out and I shut my door quietly, the sound of my bare feet padding on the floors. The door to the other apartment is still open.

I wheeze, heat searing my shoulder, and I push my T-shirt aside to look at the spot. It’s glowing.

“Oh God,” I murmur, trying not to cry. Unlike a few moments ago, the skin around the spot is now peeling at the edges; my skin rubbed away, exposing more gold. It’s the size of a grapefruit, my entire shoulder an inhuman shade with an indescribable shine.

I tremble with the horror of my transformation. I’m wearing away, just like Monroe said I would. What if it can’t be stopped and the gold reaches my face? How can I live? I lean against the faded green wall, feeling like I’ve just been punched in the gut. I don’t want to go anywhere. I want to ball up and cry until I’m cured. But the Need rips me forward and I stumble down the hall again.

When I hear the creaking of a door, I stop. My breath comes out in short jagged gasps and my skin feels as if it’s burning off.

There is a little girl in the doorway—her long blond hair loose and wild around her face. She looks frightened.

“Hi,” I say, unsure. Suddenly there is a burst of wind and I stagger forward, hoping I can help her. Hoping she can make this stop.

She doesn’t answer and instead stares at me with wide blue eyes. My body aches, but I squat down in front of her, getting to her level.

“What’s your name?” I ask. I wait but I can’t see her past. Her want. She’s just a little girl in front of me. But I can tell by the pulsing that this is where I’m supposed to be. Only, it’s not her.

“I’m Olivia,” she says in a tiny voice.

“Hi, Olivia.” I smile, waiting for something to happen. The little girl reaches to wipe her nose with the back of her hand. “Are you alone?” I ask tentatively after a moment of awkward silence. She shakes her head.

I’m considering my next move, when I hear it. It’s a soft moan from inside. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up and I try to look past her into the apartment. But it’s dark, the windows blocked with heavy blankets.

I lean closer to Olivia. “Who’s in there?”

Her mouth twitches. “My mom.” There’s another moan from behind her, this one followed by a gurgling sound. My vision starts to blur and I know I have to get inside.

“Take me to her,” I say, reaching out to hold the little girl’s hand. I’m unsteady and I wonder if my head smack last night has changed the way the Need works. It’s unusual for me to be so weak.

“But Mommy doesn’t want to—”

“Now,” I say roughly, pushing open the door. The entire room is on a tilt, slowly tipping from one side to the next. The images are fuzzy. The little girl a blur in front of me. An eerie calm comes over me, but just below the surface, I’m scared. Scared that Monroe was right and I might slip away and dissolve right here.

Olivia doesn’t say anything as she leads me into her apartment. The cracked plaster walls are bare. The smell is rancid, like rotting food. I glance toward the kitchen and see a sink of overflowing dishes before my vision starts to fade into darkness. I gasp. This has never happened before, not like this. I’m blind.

From somewhere in the apartment, I can hear moaning. The little girl is holding my hand, and I squeeze it, completely dependent on her for direction.

“She’s on the floor over there,” Olivia whispers and lets go of me. Just then, a weak yellow light surrounding a figure comes into focus. It’s her. My Need.

I stumble toward her, wondering if now all of my Needs will involve glowing light. I hope that my vision will come back after I do what I’m here for. But what if it doesn’t? I swallow hard and push the thought away. My body pulls me toward the edge of the room.

“Are . . . are you okay?” I ask the person lying on the apartment floor, when suddenly my mind is filled with images. Her name is Callie. I first see her as a young girl, her golden blond hair in pigtails. But the man touching her is much older, and it’s as if I am her. I’m being molested.

I cringe, whimpering at the images when the next one flashes by and I’m in high school, injecting heroin into my arm and sighing as I lean back into a dirty couch. There are users and dealers all around me, groping me. But I don’t care. Just as long as I’m not home.

It’s a few years later and my belly is round, but I’m happy. I’ve never been so happy. And then the images change. I can see Callie again, her hair brushed and clean, as she walks hand in hand with a little girl—Olivia. They’re smiling and laughing. I tilt my head, wondering what could have happened since then to make Callie an addict again.