A Need So Beautiful (A Need So Beautiful #1)(20)
Author: Suzanne Young

“I’m not a good girl by any stretch of the imagination,” she says. “So I said yes, pushed him up against the wall, and we started going at it.” She looks at me. “He’s a terrible kisser, by the way.”

“I could’ve guessed that. He’s a mouth breather.” Maybe not really, but she’s my friend and I’ve got her back.

“Anyways . . .” She sighs. “In another ‘what the hell was I thinking’ moment, he asked me to do more. I did. And after we returned to the dinner, I didn’t feel too offended when we separated to opposite sides of the room. I figured he had his obligations. I had mine. But then”—she stops to hold up her finger—“as he’s leaving, he comes over to me, leans in close, and whispers, ‘That was great. Thanks.’”

The joking is gone. All that’s left is humiliation and I feel it for her. It’s not the same knowing that I get with the Need. This knowledge is from being someone’s best friend. From knowing their every insecurity. I wish the Need would have stopped her from going to that dinner last night.

“So today,” she says with a sad smile, “well, today is all about Sarah Sterns, the BJ queen. I should really have business cards made.”

I drop my eyes, ready to cry. At St. Vincent’s your reputation is all you have, both to the other students and the nuns. There’s a chance that Sarah’s mother (or God forbid, father) could get a call this afternoon, outlining the rumors.

“I’ll have Harlin kick his ass,” I say quickly, looking at her. “I’m not sure if he would, but I’m willing to ask.”

She smiles. “No. Besides, Harlin doesn’t really strike fear into the hearts of men, if you know what I mean. He’s more of a lover than a fighter.”

I smile. “True.”

Sarah exhales, tugging on the ends of her hair. “I wish your powers worked for me and not dead strangers.”

“You make me sound like a superhero.”

“Maybe you are. And your secret identity is Charlotte Cassidy—fashion victim. You’re like a hot Peter Parker.”

I laugh, but inside I’m miserable. I want the Need to work for her. For my family. Monroe called this a blessing, but it feels more like a curse.

Sarah wraps her arms around herself and stands up. “The worst part is,” she says, “I thought he liked me. I thought today he’d sit next to me at lunch, carry my books—all that clichéd crap.” Her tears brim over just as I jump up to give her a hug.

“I’m going to knee his balls so hard when I see him,” I murmur into her shoulder.

Sarah straightens and wipes at the mascara under her eyes. “I’m fine,” she says. “That won’t be necessary.”

“No. It really is. He can’t do that to—” A sly smile stretches across Sarah’s lips and I feel my anxiety release a little. “What did you do?” I ask.

“Nothing.” She holds up her hands innocently. “I mean, I may have mentioned to a few people that his you-know-what”—she pinches her fingers together—“was so small, it didn’t really count.”

I burst out laughing, totally proud and ashamed of her all at once. “Did you really?”

“He deserved it,” she says, and brushes her hair over her shoulder. “Now. Are you going to come hang out with me or not? I can’t go back to school today. I figured we could go hang out at my place. Daddy’s in Seattle today.” She grins. “But before we go out in public . . . do you have any hats?”

I touch my stitches softly. “Does it look that bad?”

She shrugs. “If you weren’t blond, it probably wouldn’t be so noticable. But because you are, it looks a bit tragic. Ready?”

“Can I shower first?”

Sarah groans. “Fine, but hurry up. My driver’s waiting outside and he’s a total bastard when I take too long.” She reaches over to grab the greasy Frankie’s bag off my bed and brushes the crumbs into it. And again, I resent the Need. I resent how it controls who I can help. But no matter what it makes me do, this is my life. And I want to get back to living it.

I stand naked and stare into the full-length mirror in my bathroom, horror on my face. All of the skin on my shoulder is gone. There’s no blood. No scab. Just . . . gold. A golden glow from the spot where Harlin used to kiss me. Massage me.

I fight back the tears but they leak out anyway. I don’t want to believe in the Forgotten, but this, whatever it is, isn’t right. It’s not . . . human. I cover my mouth with my palm, trying to quiet the sobs.

This can be fixed. I’ll go to Monroe and I’ll demand that he fix it. He’s a doctor. He won’t let this happen to me. Not if I beg. I close my eyes, letting a tiny bit of calm stretch over me.

There’s a knock at the door and I jump.

“Hurry up,” Sarah calls. “Alex just got home from school and he’s starting to piss me off out here.”

“One sec,” I answer automatically. When Sarah’s here, I have to forget about this. I have to cover it up. I’m still Charlotte Cassidy. I’m still me.

I turn on the hot water. I can’t wash where my stitches are, and I’m scared to get water on my . . . shoulder. So I reach my hand in and grab the washcloth, wetting it and then running it under my arms. I wash myself like this and then use my fingers to comb my hair, trying to work out the dried blood. When I’m finished, I turn off the water. It’s not great, but it’s better.

I finish up with brushing my teeth and then gather the top of my hair into a barrette to cover the stitches. Lip gloss. Earrings. I look almost normal as I slide my arms into my fleece robe, because I certainly can’t walk out in a towel. Not when part of me is missing.

Quietly, I creak open the bathroom door and peer out. Down the hall I can see Sarah’s school uniform, the skirt too short, as she leans against the kitchen counter, bitching at Alex. They’re arguing about whether or not her bag is a knockoff. It’s definitely not. Alex just likes to irritate her.

I tiptoe out and then bolt for my room, closing the door and locking it so I can get dressed. I tear through my closet, needing something thick enough to hide the light. I find a gray wool sweater and slip it over my head. Then I grab some jeans and pull them on before stuffing my feet into a pair of boots. A little overdressed for a semi-warm fall day, but it’ll do.