A Want So Wicked (A Need So Beautiful #2)(27)
Author: Suzanne Young

I barely register what’s happening as Abe’s mouth is on mine again, softly whispering how much he wants me. It’s then that it begins—the numbing sensation.

What starts as a soft tingling in my lips begins to spread through my face. My neck. I put my hands on Abe’s chest, trying to move him back as he continues to kiss me. A shock of cold, like ice water pumped into my veins, tears at my flesh.

Finding my strength, I push Abe off and jump up from the sofa, wrapping my arms around myself.

Abe looks startled and reaches for me. “Elise?”

I don’t know what’s happening, but I have to get away from him. I turn and run toward my room, my body cold. Everything aching. It’s not Abe’s fault; it was just a kiss. A kiss can’t do this. It’s another sign that something is seriously wrong with me.

When I reach my room, I slam my door and lock it. Still shivering, I slide down until I’m on the floor, legs stretched out in front of me. I’m filled with absolute sadness, as if my heart is broken—no, shattered. I’m drowning in misery. And then an old memory slips in place.

He loves me. He loves me like no one else can, no one else will. He is mine forever. And with that knowledge, I know that I can let go. Because he’ll never forget.

“Elise?” Abe says softly on the other side of the door.

“I can’t,” I try to say, covering my face with my hands. I want the memories to stop, but at the same time I miss him—the guy in my thoughts. I think I might die, I miss him so badly.

“I’m sorry,” Abe says. “It wasn’t supposed to happen like that. You’re . . . different.” He exhales. “Please come out.”

I lift my head then, staring straight ahead toward my reflection in the bottom half of the closet mirror. “Who are you?” I ask myself silently, tears streaming down my cheeks. But nothing happens; the reflection doesn’t change. Instead, I’m just sitting on my bedroom floor, a guy outside my door begging to talk to me. But I’m a freak. And I tell him to go home and leave me alone.

“We need to talk, querida,” Abe says, sounding miserable. “I can’t just let you go. Not now.”

Headlights of a passing car illuminate the room, and when it does, I notice a glimmer under the bed. I reach for it, both comforted and saddened when I find it. It’s my angel statue set in a clear stone.

On the other side of the door, Abe’s feet shuffle. “Look, I’ll leave. But . . .” He stops, as if uncertain of what to say next. So when he doesn’t say anything at all, only closes the front door as he leaves, I start to cry harder.

I climb into bed, pulling the covers up over my head. I want to hide from the dark thoughts chasing me. I clasp the stone angel to my chest as I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing all of the creepiness away. Wishing I could live a normal life again. And when I’m done wishing—I pray.

CHAPTER 14

I’m in the middle of a road, a tumbleweed rushing past me. It’s daytime, but the overcast sky sets everything in a gray light. I’m the only thing glowing—a golden light under my skin.

I’m dreaming. Dread twists in my stomach, a feeling of something not right.

“What are you, Elise?”

Startled, I turn to see Abe, handsome as ever in a black suit as he walks toward me.

“What do you mean?” I ask, but my words come out too soft, too weak. I’m afraid as a sense of foreboding, a pressure, builds around us.

“You can tell me,” he adds, smiling gently. “I know you’re not like the others.” He holds open his arms, coming to wrap me in a hug. I let him, trying to process what’s going on as his fingers trail over the bare skin of my arm.

“I’m sorry to invade your dreams,” he says, his lips against my temple. He kisses the skin there, then the high point of my cheek. “But I had to see you,” he murmurs. “I want you, Elise.” His lips graze mine. “I want you to stay with me.”

But in this world, in this dream, I suddenly know that’s not possible. “I can’t be with you,” I say, putting my arms between us to break away. Abe keeps me close to him, bringing his face near mine.

“Silly girl,” he says, a devious twinkle in his eyes. He runs his hand down my neck, over my collarbone, before sighing longingly. “You already belong to me.”

“Elise?”

I wake with a start and see my dad standing in my doorway, holding it half-open. The green numbers on my alarm clock read that it’s after midnight. “Hey,” I say, taking a second to get my bearings, the dream evaporating almost instantly. I sit up and touch my lips. They’re cold.

“Just got home and wanted to make sure you were okay,” my father says, sounding exhausted. He sits on the end of my bed, the light from the hallway casting shadows over the room. “Okay, maybe I wasn’t so much making sure you were okay as I was checking to see that you were home. I hope the date went well?”

“Date?” Fear rushes through me as I remember what happened with Abe, what happened when he kissed me. “It was fine,” I say, quickly brushing back my hair. But it’s not fine. It’s so freaking far from fine that I’m trembling, barely able to keep myself from screaming.

“Honey,” my father says, touching my arm. “You’re so pale.”

I’m not sure how to answer, how to explain that a psychic told me I wasn’t human and now I’m starting to believe her. How can I tell my father that memories are trying to take me over—memories that aren’t even mine? Instead I reach out and hug him, letting him hold me until I stop shaking.

“Elise,” he says. “Has something else happened? If you’re still having those episodes, we should take you back to the doctor. We’ll find every specialist we can, drive up to Phoenix, even. Someone has to know what’s going on with you.”

It never occurred to me what it would really mean to try to find a logical solution. But now I understand—I’ll be trapped in a hospital bed, undergoing surgeries and tests, blood work and X-rays. I’ll be like my mother in her final days. Only my affliction won’t be so easy to diagnose. What will they do to me?

“I’m just really tired,” I say, straightening up. “Santo’s has been way more physical than I thought, and I’m working too many hours. The low vitamin D only adds to that. . . .”

My father seems to consider this, nodding after a moment. “I think I should set you up with one of the other counselors at the church,” he offers. “If this is mental somehow—”