A Need So Beautiful (A Need So Beautiful #1)(30)
Author: Suzanne Young

He’s forgotten seeing me that night. What if he forgets everything? I’m suddenly scared of losing him. “Alex?” I ask, needing some assurance. “Remember that time when we were kids and I accidentally tripped you and you fell down the stairs? You needed like eight stitches in your arm?”

“Yeah, Charlotte. Still have the scar.”

I laugh out loud, thankful. So thankful that he can remember. “Sorry about that.”

“Sure you are. Now are you getting up or not? Mercy made you breakfast.”

Then I realize that if I stay in this room, I won’t be building new memories. I’ll let myself fade away. I can’t fight the Need yet, but I can fight against being forgotten. Maybe that’s what Onika did. Monroe did write that she started going to classes again.

And if I go through the motions—school, going out—I’ll be reinforcing my existence. They can’t forget me if I never leave.

“I’m getting up right now,” I say seriously to Alex. He furrows his brow, possibly confused by the Terminator tone in my voice.

But at least it’s something for him to remember.

I grab my robe off the back of my desk chair and wander out into the hallway after Alex leaves. My stomach growls from the smell of eggs and bacon. When I get to the kitchen, I see Mercy, setting a plate on the counter and scooping eggs out of a pan when she looks up to see me.

“Morning, honey,” she says with a sad smile. “Are you feeling better today? Monroe called earlier and said you might be a little confused because of your head injury.” She tsks, and comes to check on my stitches again.

“He called here?” Somehow it bothers me that he’s checking on me. As if he’s trying to control me. I don’t like it.

“What else did he say?” I ask, putting a forkful of food into my mouth.

“That you were very upset last time he saw you. He didn’t say why. . . .” She pauses. “Are you having problems with Harlin, honey?”

“No.” I resent that Monroe would even put that idea into Mercy’s mind, which I’m sure he did. What better way to explain my depression than a breakup? I want to call him right now and tell him to drop dead, but I know I don’t have time for that. I don’t have time for Monroe, he’ll remember me no matter what. Right now I just have to have a normal day. Reaffirm my existence. I have to live if I want to be remembered.

“Harlin and I are perfect,” I say, even though that may not be exactly true. But I plan to fix that. I plan to be the best girlfriend ever.

“I’m glad. He’s sweet.” Mercy sits down across from me and sips from her coffee. I watch her, pain aching inside me. Mercy is the only mother I’ve ever known. What if she forgets me? What will I do without my mother?

“By the way,” she says, putting another piece of bacon on my plate, “I thought we could go shopping later. Maybe for shoes? I’m tired of seeing you in those scuffed-up thrift-store finds.”

“Oh no. I’m not walking around in chunky heels or strapless leg breakers.”

“Fashion is your friend, Charlotte.”

“You sound like Sarah.”

Mercy playfully rolls her eyes. “Then God help me.” We sit quietly, both smiling as we share a meal but then suddenly, I’m struck with loss.

“I love you, Ma,” I say.

She puts down her coffee cup and beams at me, looking completely surprised. “I love you, too.” Her eyes fill up with tears. “You’re still my little girl, no matter how old you get.” She smiles and wipes quickly to keep from smudging her black eyeliner.

And I try to smile back, but I’m crying too. Because unless I can stop this, I won’t be her little girl anymore. I’ll be no one.

Sarah is waiting for me on the stairs of St. Vincent’s Academy, tapping her black leather shoe. It’s nice seeing her like that, annoyed. It means things are still the same.

“Morning,” I say, jogging up to meet her.

“Morning? What the hell is with the cheerful? And where’s my latte?” She glances at her watch because I’m close to twenty minutes late, which is why I didn’t make the usual coffee stop.

“At least I’m here today, right?” I bat my eyelashes as she grabs me by the elbow and walks me into school.

The halls of St. Vincent’s smell like furniture polish and incense. The ceilings are tall, and dark wood floors stretch ahead of us.

“Here’s the current situation,” Sarah says, applying lip gloss as we walk. “Seth heard I made an unflattering comment about his . . . anatomy and physiology, and he’s not pleased.” She grins anyway. “And now he wants to meet me at lunch.”

I turn to her. “You are not meeting him.”

“I know I shouldn’t,” she says. “But I’m kind of curious, you know? I mean, he could bitch me out anytime, but he wants to meet outside in the courtyard. Alone. I think he feels bad.”

I can’t decide if I’m mishearing her or if she’s stupid. “Sarah, he told everyone that you—”

“I know, thanks for reminding me.” She scrunches her nose and shakes her head. Out of the corner of my eye I see someone point. I look over to see Carver Braun and his buddies snickering as we pass. I take the opportunity to flip him off and then go back to Sarah.

“Look,” I say. “I just can’t understand why you’d put yourself through it. I mean, it’s not like you’re desperate for a date. You could have anyone you want.” The bell overhead rings loudly and I glance up at it before looking at Sarah. When I do, she’s staring at me.

“Really?” she asks. “Name one.”

I run through the student body in my head when I realize . . . there is no one. Sarah has dated most of the normal, a few of the not-so-normal, and all of the bad boys. She might have to start looking at the community college.

“Not all of us have found the guy, Charlotte,” she murmurs, and reaches to adjust the strap of her backpack. I have a guilty feeling, one that occasionally comes when it’s obvious that Harlin and I aren’t like everyone else.

I don’t respond; just start walking toward my class and leave her behind me, not sure how I can make it right.

“Charlotte,” she calls, like she’s ready to apologize. “Meet me before lunch!” she adds just as I turn the corner into physics class.

Ow. I slam face-first into a muscular chest, dropping my bag off my shoulder. “That hurt,” I say, touching my nose and then glancing at my fingers to make sure it’s not bleeding. There’s a husky chuckle and I look up to see Brandon Whaler, resident tool.