Heal Me (A Touched Trilogy Book 2)

by Angela Fristoe

  “The actual healing doesn’t hurt so much.” I curled my legs up beside me on the couch and tried to give her a reassuring smile, apparently unsuccessfully, because she looked even more worried. “It’s draining and emotionally it can be unbearable, but the burning comes even before I touch someone. When they’re struggling to maintain their control, when all they want is for everything to go away. The longer it takes before I can touch them, the longer they let things fester, the more it hurts, until I have to do it simply to keep my sanity.”

  Phoebe sat down beside me, a thoughtful look on her face.

  “That’s crappy, Lils. No, I mean totally crappy. What good is a gift like healing if you’re constantly in pain? The worst I get is some cramps when someone is really trying to cover their ass. You really got screwed, didn’t you?”

  I loved how Phoebe could be so brutally honest and still make me laugh.

  “It isn’t all bad,” I said.

  “So you enjoy burning up like you’re sitting on Nanna’s birthday cake?”

  “No, but occasionally someone will let something good slip through.”

  “What do you mean?”

  I tried to remember an instance. Not an easy thing since occasionally actually meant rarely.

  “Well, do you remember when you won that art contest in ninth grade? You drew a picture of the three of us and they hung it in the local art gallery.”

  “Yeah, I won a new Playstation, too.”

  “I was the first person you hugged after you found out and I could actually feel your happiness flow through me. It was such a light feeling, like I was sitting in the warm sun just soaking it up.” A small smile curled my lips. It was strange trying to describe how good she’d made me feel that day, almost as if I was guilty of stealing some of it.

  “What’s Nanna said about it? The burning, I mean.”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing as in she has nothing to say? Or nothing as in you’ve never asked her?” She leaned toward me and I avoided her hard gaze. “Lily! Why haven’t you ever asked her?”

  “It’s kind of a hard question to ask.”

  “How about starting with ‘Hey is it normal for me to feel like I’m burning alive anytime I’m around a person who feels like crap’? Nanna’s going to know. If you don’t want to ask her, what about Uncle Silas? He’s a healer, too.”

  “It’s not the same. He’s one of those miracle workers. You know, the big ones, like making the blind see, or healing a broken arm.”

  “That was my arm and trust me, he may have fixed it, but it hurt like hell the entire time.”

  “That’s my point. We may both be healers, but we’re not the same kind. He permanently fixes, I just transfer.” I scooted off the couch and shuffled over to the bookshelf that was cluttered with photos. My favorite was the one of Mom and Dad just weeks before she had us. She was lying in bed, while Dad smiled at the camera and massaged her feet.

  “You have memories of her, don’t you?” Phoebe asked from her perch on the couch.

  “Not really memories, more like impressions.”

  “Of?”

  “I knew she was dying. Sometimes when I’m on the verge of sleep, I’ll get this sense of weakening, like I’m draining away, and there’s nothing I can do to stop it, but it’s not me really. It’s her.”

  “Was she in pain?” She rose and came to stand behind me, staring over my shoulder at the picture.

  It was difficult to swallow as my throat tightened. Mom was a touchy subject with Phoebe and even after all the crap she finally let go of, I wasn’t sure how she’d react. She’d always been jealous of Chloe and me for having memories of Mom. Would she still feel that way if she knew the truth of what I remembered? I doubted it, and I honestly felt it better that she wish for what I had, than to know the truth of what it was I felt. With Chloe, I could have lied, but lying wasn’t an option with Phoebe, so I decided to ignore her question.

  “I tried to help her, but I couldn’t do anything. That’s the worst part of this gift. If I could actually do something other than make someone forget their anger or hurt for a bit, or make a scratch or bruise fade, then everything I go through would be worth it.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Her hand hovered above my shoulder a moment before she pulled it back. That reaction was part of the reason I’d never shared the details of my gift with anyone. Once they knew I actually took their emotions from them and into myself, they wouldn’t want me to do it again. God knew I wouldn’t want someone else knowing exactly what I was feeling all the time.

  “You do realize that this is probably the longest conversation we’ve had in a long time,” Phoebe said with a forced laugh. “I wasn’t sure you could string so many words together.”

  “Well, unlike you I only talk when I have important things to say,” I teased back, glad the seriousness was dissipating.

  “Can I ask something about Dylan?”

  I glanced back at her and nodded, figuring why not? I’d already spilled my guts.

  “Was he right about Micah being the reason you broke up with him?”

  I wanted to give an immediate no, but with Phoebe, I had to be sure. Had he been part of it? Not initially. That was for sure. But now? I definitely felt guilty about almost kissing him, wanting to kiss him, but beyond that, there wasn’t anything between us. He may be hot, and he was losing a bit of the ass-wipe attitude, but it was hard to forget how mean he’d been to me that first week.

  “No,” I finally said.

  Phoebe stared at me and then gave a slow nod. I took it as a good sign that she didn’t call me a liar. Because I wasn’t sure if I was.

  The next few days proved how relentless Dylan could be. He was at my locker when I arrived at school, and followed me to class. He must have skipped most of his because every time I left a room he was there, waiting and pleading. By lunch on Thursday, I was barely able to carry my tray to a table. Dylan was a few steps behind me and I realized if I stopped moving he would touch me, trying to form some connection between us.

  I’d known it would be a hard break, but I’d never imagined he would be so aggressive in trying to get me to change my mind. It was a rollercoaster, one minute he was begging me for another chance, and then the next he was accusing me of dropping him for Micah and then Owen and even Nathan.

  A few tables ahead, Owen sat with Bianca and Karin. When he saw me headed their way, he waved me over and I knew I didn’t want to miss having my own friends anymore. I’d gone too long simply joining in with Dylan and his buddies. I stopped and turned to face him, my tray firmly positioned in front of me.

  “Stop it, Dylan.” My tray rattled, causing my milk box to tip over into the pile of mashed peas.

  “Not until you talk to me about this.” He took a step closer and I automatically moved back.

  “There’s nothing to talk about. Not anymore.”

  “You make it sound as if you tried to tell me before that you were unhappy.” Accusations had become Dylan’s favorite defensive plan.

  “I did try, you just weren’t listening. You keep saying you love me, well then love me enough to leave me alone. Because every moment I’m around you, I love you less.” The words were hard to say and even harder to feel as they hit Dylan with full force, but when I walked away this time, he didn’t follow. The searing in my hands and arms had gradually faded by the time I sat beside Karin. Instead, I was filled with the nausea at the words I’d let spew forth. This officially was my lowest moment as a human being.

  “You look a little pale,” Karin said with concern.

  Bianca snorted. “I didn’t think it would be possible for her to look whiter than she normally does.”

  “Not all of us have the benefit of a healthy toned gene pool,” I said. Bianca’s Asian heritage gave her the lovely tanned skin that was perfect year round, and Karin, while not naturally tanned, wasn’t covered by hundreds of sun kisses and was able to take advantage of both the sun and ta
nning beds. Even Owen had a touch of Greek blood, giving him an olive complexion.

  I battled my impulses to turn and search for Dylan. I was sure he had given up, at least temporarily, but I was reluctant to look, just in case.

  “He’s gone.”

  I jumped at the sound of Micah’s voice behind me. He sank into the seat on the other side of Karin and I looked around her to give him a glare.

  “Can you never approach me from the front?”

  “Well, if the view from the back weren’t so appealing maybe I would.” He took a large bite of his apple and completely ignored my shocked gasp.

  How was I supposed to take that? Was he saying I had a nice butt? Or was he saying he didn’t find my face appealing? I tried to think of a snappy comeback, but nothing came to mind, and then it was too late. He’d started talking to Bianca about some local rock band and I was shut out.

  Karin asked me about a class I was taking and I ended up drawn into the most boring discussion ever about Physics, while Bianca, Owen, and Micah had all the fun discussing music. No wonder Phoebe and Tonya always tried to ditch Karin. It was a mystery why Owen hung around her. Of course, I didn’t have enough friends to be turning my nose up at her simply because she was boring.

  I really did try to focus on what she was talking about, but it was nearly impossible to get Dylan out of my head. He’d been such a big part of my life for so long I wasn’t sure how to stop thinking about him. It had been a futile hope that breaking up with him would be the end of it.

  Two weeks after I’d broken up with Dylan, I’d taken to hiding back in my room again, something I’d hoped would end once I wasn’t so exhausted from healing him all the time. My sisters were driving me nuts, constantly walking on eggshells around me, as if one sad or angry word was going to set me off on a healing tangent. There was no peace at home. School was even worse, because he was always there. Not following me anymore, but with us sharing a few classes, it was impossible to avoid him completely.

  The worst part though came on a Friday afternoon when he managed to corner me between my locker and the electives hall.

  “Lily, I’m sorry. Please.” He truly did look sorry, but he was like a scratched record, replaying the same words over and over until what was once a beautiful song becomes the most annoying thing you’ve ever heard, and I didn’t want to add that to my anti-Dylan list.

  “Dylan, I-”

  “I know,” he said, cutting me off. “It’s over. I guess I just wasn’t ready for it. I knew you weren’t happy. Who can blame you? I’ve pretty much sucked at the whole boyfriend thing. You’re better off without me.” There was no emotion in his voice. He said it in an almost dull and factual way.

  How was I supposed to respond to that? Denying it might send mixed messages and make him think that we might eventually get back together. Agreeing with him would most likely bring on some kind of rage. So, I stayed quiet and I think that hurt him worse than if I had agreed. At least then, he could have pushed a bit of blame onto me.

  “Do you remember when we went to the county fair and got stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel?” he asked. I nodded, unsure of where he was going. “We sat there at the top and every time the cart rocked you prayed. You had a death grip on the bar and nothing I said made you feel better. I tried to crack a joke about how falling to your death would be painless, that you’d die of a heart attack before you hit the ground, and you said sometimes the worst part of dying would be the fear.”

  I remembered the conversation, or at least bits of it. Mostly I was reminded of the overwhelming sense that someone else on the ride was about to puke, and another was so terrified I could barely move.

  “You were right,” he said. “Fear is the worst part, but I don’t think I mind anymore.”

  He walked away, and I frowned at his back, trying to figure out what he meant. For me, that was sometimes the problem with extremely intelligent people like Dylan. It sounded like they were saying something so profound, but none of it made any sense to anyone other than them. It was pointless to try figuring out what he meant. Besides, I shouldn’t even care what’s going through his mind anymore.

  I was finally free.

  Chapter 6

  Later that evening I headed over to Micah’s place. We still needed to practice our script some more before we filmed it. I was still nervous about the filming, but figured it was better than having to perform it in front of the class.

  Hanging out at Micah’s was quickly becoming a habit. Neither of us really had any other close friends and it was nice to have someone to talk to who wouldn’t bring up Dylan. When I got to his place, neither of his parents’ cars was in the driveway. There were lights on in every window and I thought jokingly that maybe he was scared of the dark. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I knocked again and waited. My cell phone rang and I pulled it out. Micah’s name spread across the screen.

  “Hey, where are you?” I asked into the phone.

  “Inside. Come on in, the door’s unlocked.” He hung up before I could say anything else.

  I turned the knob and it opened easily. “Micah?”

  “Give me a minute,” he called from the hall. He was in the room at the end of the hall. Curiosity ate at me side by side with panic. Even though his voice didn’t carry any anxiety, my hands tingled with the searing heat of his emotions. It was hard to read what they were. Pain, definitely, but there was also frustration and...joy? How could joy exist within the same person with all of that hurting?

  I took off my shoes and sat on the couch. The heat of Micah’s emotions filled me and I knew whatever was wrong with him had surfaced again. This was beyond what I typically picked up from him. Most of the time when I was over, there was nothing. Sometimes, though, I’d felt it lingering in the air, as if for the moment the feelings were dulled. This was different. This was so powerful that it filled the air of every room. I tried to sort out what it was, but nothing made sense. My palms slid back and forth along the top of my thighs, trying desperately to rid them of the searing.

  I tried to wait in the living room, but the longer I waited, the more it hurt. I had to do something to stop the burning. Slowly, I walked down the hall and then stopped to stare through the slim opening, which let me see just a hint of pale pink walls. Micah’s back came into view then disappeared only to return again and again as if he were rocking back and forth on his feet.

  Stepping closer, I nudged the door fully open and went into the room. It’s pink and butterfly decorated walls were such a peaceful contrast to the horrible emotions flowing through it.

  Micah turned to face me, a baby cradled in his arms. Hopelessness ravaged his soul even as he smiled down at a little girl maybe a few months old.

  “Is she…?” The word dead wouldn’t pass through my lips, instead it stuck in my throat, nearly choking me. I was trapped in the moment, engulfed in every ounce of suffering Micah was going through. What scared me the most, though, was that the sadness I felt wasn’t coming just from her or even Micah, but from me.

  “This is Hannah.” He shifted the baby so I could see her chubby face. She smiled and waved a fist in my direction. He placed Hannah on the change table and, with an efficiency that surprised me, changed her diaper. Once her little pants were back in place he cradled her to his chest, swaying back and forth until she gave a massive yawn. He gently laid her in the crib on her back, leaving her legs and arms to flail briefly before she relaxed and settled into sleep.

  The entire time, I stood frozen in the door, watching the scene play out in front of me, unable to move due to the emotions filtering through me. Micah looked up at me, the smile he wore for Hannah gone.

  “What’s wrong with her?” I asked.

  “What?” He stared at me, a startled expressing wrinkling his brow.

  “There’s something wrong with her. What is it?” I hated my bluntness, but I needed to know if only to explain the terror and ferocious pain.

  He paused for a second,
maybe wondering how I knew. Looking at Hannah, it was impossible to tell she was sick.

  “There’s nothing wrong with her. Why would you think that?”

  She was perfectly fine, so why was my heart being ripped from my chest? Why was I so dazed that I could barely breathe? It took a moment to realize that I was feeling Micah’s emotions as clearly as if I were touching him. If there was nothing wrong with Hannah, then why was his pain so intense?

  Needing some separation, I took a step back and bumped into the door. Before I could right myself, Micah reached out to steady me, lightly touching my arm, and the transfer hit me full force. I sucked in air, hoping to brace myself, but it didn’t help. Agony swept through me, and what was left of my heart seemed to crumble under the weight of it. This time when the blackness came, I didn’t fight it and simply closed my eyes, hoping for a swift escape.

  Butterflies twirled before me. They were such amazing insects. So delicate, their wings thinner than paper, and they had a beauty to them that suggested frailty. They could withstand the harshest winds and rains, but one small tear of their wings could bring about their death.

  A few years ago, my dad took us up to Montana for summer vacation and we were caught in a thunderstorm while camping. We’d sat in the SUV, watching the hail ping off the top of our tents. I remember seeing a Monarch butterfly flittering around the window, as if it were dodging the hail. It disappeared for a moment and then fluttered by again, only this time its wings were no longer symmetrical. Its path was erratic and slow. It faded into a bush and I watched as it took shelter from the pea-sized hail. When the storm ended, the butterfly flew off, recovered from its near death experience.

  These butterflies, though, weren’t flying free. They were trapped, stuck to a pale pink wall that stayed their movements. Keeping them sheltered in Hannah’s room.

  It would have been easy to look at Hannah and see her as a beautiful butterfly like the Monarch I had watched, but she wasn’t. She was not weathering a storm, and she wasn’t in a shelter recovering. She was healthy and happy, completely safe wrapped in her little pink cocoon world. Micah knew it and I could feel it, from him, from her, from the room itself. So why did I still feel the horrible burning? Why did pain hover just outside my reach?