I’m about to lay my head against the seat when I see Sarah’s high-rise condo on the water. I wonder if she’s home. She hasn’t texted or called back, and I’m worried as I jump up to get off the bus.
A doorman stands in front of the building—someone I’ve known for years—and I smile at him as I pass. But he just nods his head politely without any hello, like maybe he doesn’t know me.
Don’t let it bother you, I tell myself. Instead I cross the lobby to the call boxes and punch in Sarah’s number. When there’s no answer I try it again, but after a few minutes, I realize she’s not home. What if she’s in the hospital? I take out my phone, about to call her again, when the double doors at the front of the building open.
“Thank you, Gerald,” she says, waving her hand absently as she walks in. I’m completely relieved to see her. She’s okay.
“Sarah!” I yell from across the lobby as she heads for the elevator. She glances sideways at me and then stops, smiling softly. “I texted you,” I add when I catch up to her. From this close up she looks bad. Her skin is pale and pasty, like someone with the worst hangover in the world.
“My dad took my phone,” she says, looking at the ground. “God, I’m so sorry about last night. I really screwed up.”
“Why did you do it?” I ask. “Why would you drink so much? You could have died.”
“I was desperate. I just wanted it all to go away.” She meets my eyes. “The other night at this benefactors’ dinner, Seth asked me to go outside. While we were out there, he walked me over to the side of the building and we hooked up. Then—”
“I already know that,” I say.
“You heard?”
A frightened tingle runs over my skin. “No, you told me. At my house, remember?”
Her eyes widen. “No. I haven’t told a soul.”
“Sarah, you came to my room after I didn’t show up for lunch. I was home because I got hit by that car and you—”
“You were hit by a car? When did this happen?”
My breath catches in my chest and I step back. “No,” I say, putting my hands over my mouth. I can’t handle this. I can’t handle her forgetting everything.
She reaches out to touch my arm and her fingers feel like ice. “Oh wow,” she says, laying her hand flat on my skin. “You’re burning up. Maybe you have a fever.” She looks like she just realized something. “That’s probably why you’re confused. Do you want my driver to take you to the clinic?”
I’m not sure what to do, where to go. “No. I can’t go to the clinic,” I say, and turn away from her. If she’s forgotten, does that mean—?
Without waiting to think about it, I run outside and catch the bus to Harlin’s apartment. I need him.
“You look pale,” Harlin says as we sit on the couch of his apartment. “You should take off your jacket and gloves.” He still remembered me when I arrived, which wasn’t exactly great because he was far from happy to see me. But I apologized until I was sobbing on his doorstep. He couldn’t turn me away at that point.
I look sideways at him, confused at how normal I feel right now. Even though I’m still a bit out of it, my anxiety is amazingly low. It’s like a drug, being with Harlin. “Don’t you think it’s cute?” I ask, holding out the sleeve of my jacket.
He doesn’t smile, obviously still angry. “It’s cute, Charlotte. But it’s hot in here. You should take it off.”
I don’t want to fight with him. I want us to be playful. Happy. I narrow my eyes and put my hand on his knee. “Is that all I should take off?”
“I can hear you,” Jeremy says as he walks into the room, startling me. “Don’t make me sit between you on the couch.”
I immediately blush. Now Harlin laughs. “Did you just get busted trying to be a smartass?” he mocks, putting his arm over my shoulder. “That’s what you get. Now come here.” He pulls me into him.
I lay my head against Harlin’s chest, and feel his heartbeat. It’s steady and strong, like him.
“I don’t like when you’re mad at me,” I whisper.
“I’m never mad at you, Charlotte,” he says. “I just want things to be like they used to.” He kisses the top of my head. “I just want more time with you.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, because that’s the one thing I can’t give him.
The house phone rings and Harlin tenses but he doesn’t move to get it. Jeremy sighs heavily and walks by, drinking a carton of juice. “I’m not answering it,” he says. “I’m tired of making excuses for you, Harlin. Talk to her.”
It’s then that I remember the lawyer, Kendra. And how she’ll make sure that the man who killed their father will pay. It’ll fix them, I think. Fix the fractures of their family. I wish I could tell them. But I know it’ll do more harm than good right now. I hate keeping this secret.
Harlin says nothing and I start to feel uncomfortable as the phone rings again and again. Finally, just when I think I’m going to lose it, it stops. The room is quiet until Jeremy swears under his breath.
“Don’t start,” Harlin says, pulling away from me and straightening up.
“I’m not starting anything,” Jeremy answers. “But you can’t avoid it forever.”
“Thanks, Dr. Phil.”
In a swift movement Jeremy reaches out and slaps Harlin upside the head. I move over on the sofa, but Harlin is frozen. Silent.
“Watch your mouth,” Jeremy snaps. “I’m not Mom. You can’t just—”
Harlin jumps up from the couch, shoulder-bumping Jeremy as he walks toward the door. When he gets there, he pauses but doesn’t look at me. “Charlotte?”
I glance at Jeremy but he’s still staring at the spot next to me where Harlin was sitting. Then he meets my eyes and tilts his head toward Harlin, telling me to go. I stand and murmur good-bye to Jeremy.
Once in the hallway, I touch Harlin’s arm and feel his body relax. He turns suddenly and wraps himself around me, burying his head in my hair. I stumble back, but hold him. He’s squeezing me tight and I put my fingers on the back of his neck, whispering in his ear that I love him.
After a minute I take my arms from around him and rest them against his chest. His hazel eyes are sad, tired, and I’d do anything to make it better. But I can’t tell him what I know. I can’t even promise to stay with him now that the Need is almost done with me.
I get on my tiptoes and kiss him. He lets me, not making any moves as I first kiss his top lip, and then his bottom one. When I pause and look at him, he still doesn’t reach for me. “Stop being mad,” I whisper before trying to kiss him again.
He doesn’t let me and instead holds me back by my arms. He lowers his head so it’s even with mine and looks deeply into my eyes. “Tell me what’s going on with you.” His face is serious, but his eyes are pleading. “Please.”
What can I say? What can I possibly tell him that will make sense? “I love you,” I say. “That’s all there is, Harlin. I just love you.”
His mouth opens in surprise, or maybe he’s thinking of arguing, but before he can respond, it happens. I’m struck with a shooting heat over my body and I’m doubled over before I can stop it. Harlin drops to his knees, holding me to him.
I’ve got to pull myself together, get to the Need, but it’s so painful this time that I’m not sure I can. Harlin’s voice is starting to echo and I know that if I don’t move soon, he’ll call an ambulance. And I can’t go to the hospital.
It’s hard, but I straighten, feeling like daggers are in my gut. I pull away from Harlin and lean on the cracked plaster of his hallway wall.
“What’s happening?” he says, sounding frantic.
“Cramps,” I answer, unable to fully look at him.
“You’re lying, Charlotte!” he yells. Suddenly he grabs me by the elbow and spins me around. I’m so alarmed that I temporarily forget the Need. All I can see is how upset I’m making him. “My God,” he says, tears falling from his eyes. “Are you dying or something? Is that why you won’t tell me?”
“You’re lying,” he whispers, like he’s given up. His face is drained of color as he watches me. Harlin raises his hand and puts his palm on my cheek. I turn into it, but don’t take my eyes from his. “I can’t do it anymore,” he says. For a second his face breaks with the start of a cry, but he shakes his head quickly instead. “I can’t be with you anymore.”
“What?” I push his hand away. He can’t mean that.
“You keep lying to me,” he says. “Over and over you lie, sneak around. That’s not a relationship, Charlotte. You’re killing me.”
Before I can argue, he leans forward and kisses the top of my forehead, pausing long enough to make it seem final. And inside, the Need can’t compete with the loss I feel. I’m losing everything.
“Don’t do this,” I murmur as he backs away from me toward his apartment door.
“Good-bye, baby,” he says in a hushed voice. He pauses and I wait for him to tell me that he didn’t mean it. That this isn’t happening. Harlin stares at the floor for a long moment, and then goes inside.
I stand there, my body aching, but my heart feeling worse. Harlin and I had plans. We had a future. I want to bang on his door, explain everything and make him understand. I’m not sure I can go on without him.
But suddenly a thought occurs to me. Maybe this is better, leaving him like this instead of slowly dissolving away. I close my eyes and start to cry. There is a hot burning up and down my arm as if I’m on fire. I push up my sleeve.
The skin falls away as the fabric rubs against it, leaving my entire arm a brilliant, glowing gold. There’s no way to hide this now. There’s no way.
I start for the stairs, wanting to get out of the hall before someone discovers me. I’ll follow the Need and Harlin will forget me. They all will.
It’s almost over.
Chapter 21
I burst through the doors of Harlin’s apartment building onto the sidewalk and feel the familiar whoosh of air. I stop and wipe the tears from my face. Right now I just have to get through this, so that I can go home. I just want to curl up under my covers and block it all out. Pretend everything’s okay.
But being okay is hard to do when the Need is ripping through my gut. I glance around the busy street and pause. There.
I stumble toward a white van parked at the curb. The side reads ST. LUKE’S HOSPICE. A woman walks around from the driver’s side and swings open the back doors. I stop, waiting to see what it is that I’m supposed to do.
She pulls out a black duffel bag before closing the door (although it doesn’t shut completely) and steps over the curb. She smiles politely at me as she passes and I turn to watch her walk into the apartment building next to Harlin’s.
When she’s gone, I look back at the van. I’m supposed to open it, see something. I’m so tired now, physically, mentally, and emotionally. I feel like a shell, almost like my own will is gone. At least that’s how I feel in this moment.
I walk off the curb and stop in front of the back doors of the van. I wonder if after this, if when this is done, I’ll be over.
Resigning myself to this horror, I glance around the back of the van. There are boxes and paperwork everywhere. I search for something to stand out, and soon my vision begins to blur. I reach out my hand like I’m blind and start feeling things, waiting for what will come into focus.
I’m not sure how long I’m there until I brush my fingers over a clipboard and suddenly my chest constricts, squeezing me tight. I look down and focus on one spot.
Warren Bradley—1850 W. Mission Blvd. Apt 715
And then I’m released. I stumble back, my vision clearing but my head spinning. I look up to check if the worker is coming back. I don’t see her and I quickly shut the door with a click before jogging down the street.
I start to wonder who Warren Bradley is, but then I decide I don’t care. My heart is aching. I’ve just lost Harlin.
I don’t mind walking the twenty or so blocks to the apartment. It may be the last walk I take. The wind is getting colder, whipping over my face but I like the feeling. It contrasts with the sickness in my gut, the one that’s making me do this. The Need that has ruined everything.
I get to the building and look up to the seventh floor. The intricate brickwork outside culminates into a large archway, leading to a set of glass double doors. There’s a bronze plaque fastened at the entry, telling me it was built in 1890. I wince as a stabbing pain makes its way from my head down to my toes, but I don’t double over from it. I almost welcome it at this point. It means I’m almost done.
I walk into the lobby and notice the round tile swirling into a pattern beneath my feet. The walls are rich in mahogany wainscoting at least shoulder-height. I find the elevator and am grateful that there’s no one riding up with me. I don’t think I can stand still in an elevator and pretend I’m normal. I’m not normal. I’ve never been.
It seems like forever, but when I get to the seventh floor, the wind blows past me and I smile. I’ve made it.
I walk down the carpeted hall. Landscape paintings in gilded frames hang on the walls; heavy wood doors block out all sounds of life from within the apartments. With each step I feel myself slipping further and further away.
When I’m in front of Warren Bradley’s apartment, I stop. He’s waiting for me.
I knock tentatively. There’s a rustling from inside, but no answer. I knock again, taking short breaths because it’s all I can get in my lungs.
Still no answer. Now I’m beginning to panic because I want in. I want to be done. I’m so tired.
Reaching forward, I turn the door handle and it opens with a click. Under normal circumstances, breaking and entering would seem a bit much, but right now, the Need is so overwhelming, I push open the door.
The room is dark and it takes a minute for my eyes to adjust. There are windows in the living room that I can see from here, but they have shades pulled down, blocking out the light. It smells like antiseptic.
There’s a cough from the living room. “You’re early. My meds aren’t due for another hour,” a man says in a raspy voice.
There’s a jolt and I’m pushed down the hallway toward him. I’m suddenly scared, scared of who Warren is, scared of what I’ll be after this. My mouth is opening, trying to let words escape but they’re caught in my throat.
Warren Bradley is lying in the dark in a hospital bed. There is no light in here. I hear him suck in a breath and it’s loud, labored. Monroe has told me many times about that sound. The death rattle.
I swallow hard and walk toward him. Even though Warren is not glowing, he has a dull glaze of yellow aura when I get close enough. Next to his bed is a lamp, and I turn it on.
He’s staring at me. His lips are dry and cracked, yet he smiles. “You could have skipped me today,” he says. Warren wears his graying hair in a buzz cut, and he’s tucked up to his neck under a white sheet. I think that once he must have been really handsome. But now . . . now he’s skinny and frail.
“I don’t have any medicine,” I say. My heart is beating hard against my chest and I see his glow flicker, but it’s not coming to me. The Need isn’t coming out.
Warren furrows his brow. “You’re not with hospice, are you?” A look crosses his face, a mixture of fear and relief. “Do you think you could open the blinds?” he asks quietly. “I’d love to see the sunlight again.”
His request surprises me and I walk over to raise the shades. The room fills with light and I see how nice it is. Lots of antiques, a brightly woven rug in the middle, and shelves and shelves of books. When I look back at Warren, he’s watching me.
“You’re not what I expected,” he says.
His wo
rds freeze me. “What?”
Warren starts to shift in the bed, pulling himself slowly into a sitting position. When he’s settled, he waves me over. “Do you think you can sit with me for a while?”
I nod and drag a chair to his bedside. We watch each other until my Need seems to perk up again, pulsing though me stronger every second.
“You’re sick,” I say, in my own weak voice.
He smiles sadly. “I am.”
“What is it?”
“This time? Pneumonia.”
I close my eyes and try to see him, see his story, but nothing comes. I begin to wonder if I’m in the wrong place when he holds out his hand to me.
Does he know me? I feel like I’m missing something, but without hesitation, I reach for him. The minute we touch, the world goes black.
I am a boy, my parents are driving the station wagon and we’re going to Disney World. I’m so happy. My brother is next to me, talking about his girlfriend, but I just gaze out the window. The scene changes and I’m in high school. I have a lot of friends, but no dates. People don’t understand.
Sadness overwhelms me. I’m sitting at my father’s bedside and he is an old man now. I’m crying but he keeps his face turned away from me. He won’t speak to me. Even now, he won’t speak to me.
And then I find Roderick. He’s the most loving man I’ve ever met, and he takes care of me. We take care of each other. We’re thinking of adopting, but then I’m at the hospital . . . with Roderick. He’s been diagnosed, but no one can know yet. Only me. We’ll deal with it together.
“What’s your name?”
Warren speaks and it breaks my vision. I sway in the chair and stare at his dull glow, the only thing I can see. I wait for the words to come, and after a second I can speak. “Charlotte.”
He smiles. “I’ve been waiting for you,” he says.
Tingles race over my skin. “You have?”
He nods. “Saw you once, when Roderick died. You were in the hospital with him. Of course, not as you are now, but I recognize you still.”
A Need So Beautiful Page 17