Just being here at the clinic, I feel a zillion times better. It’s so familiar. Safe.
Monroe steps on the trash can, opening it with a metal clang. Just then, there’s a small itch at my shoulder. At the spot. I know I have to tell someone about the mark on my skin. I can’t keep this a secret. “Monroe,” I whisper, my throat dry. He pauses while removing his gloves, and looks over. I’m sure he can hear in my voice that something is wrong.
“Are you hurt somewhere else?” He shifts in his loafers, darting his gaze over my body. With a quick snap he pulls off his gloves and tosses them on the counter.
“Um . . .” My cheeks start to warm because I’m not quite sure how to say it. I have no idea how to tell him that my skin is flaking away. “It’s . . .” I can’t look at him anymore, and my shoulders slump. I can’t show him.
“Go ahead, Charlotte,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”
I look up and he’s watching me. It throws me off how he’s waiting, his lips pressed together, his eyes narrowed intently. Could . . . could he know? I start to unbutton the silver tabs on my blouse. My heart is racing. I don’t know what’s going to happen next and I’m terrified.
I push the fabric away from my skin, from the spot, and I hear him gasp. My stomach drops and I regret showing him, but he’s immediately next to me, running his finger over it, examining it. He’s not wearing his gloves anymore and I wonder if he’s grossed out.
“My God,” he murmurs, putting his entire hand over the gold, covering it up. I’m ready to cry. What’s wrong with me? But Monroe turns and his blue eyes are glassy. “It’s so beautiful.”
I blink quickly, feeling confused. “What?” I wonder if maybe I have a concussion, or if the Vicodin has made me loopy. There’s no way he just called this beautiful. I’m missing skin. It’s disgusting!
I push Monroe back and hurriedly button my blouse. Maybe I do need to go to the emergency room. But the minute I think it, there’s a knot in my gut. They would want to perform tests, call in experts. The Need is one thing . . . but golden skin? That’s not normal. Not even a little.
I raise my eyes to meet Monroe’s and his face is stoic, frozen, amazed. He slowly starts to shake his head from side to side, a soft smile on his lips. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s finally happening. It’s a miracle.”
“Happening? What is happening to me? You have to—”
Just then the door opens and Monroe and I both turn toward it. Harlin looks between us as he eases his way in. “Hey,” he says. “I wanted to check and see if everything was okay. You guys have been in here a while and I—” He stops, staring at Monroe. “She is okay, right?” Harlin’s unshaven jaw is tight I can see he’s about to burst from worry.
“Yes,” I say quickly, and hop down from the table, the deep bruising of my thighs making me wince. “Monroe stitched me up. How many did I need again?” I try to sound light. It’s more pretending. Lying. But I don’t want Harlin to know about how the spot has changed. Not yet.
Monroe takes too long to answer and then finally, like coming out of a dream, he whispers, “Four stitches.”
“Damn,” Harlin says, putting his arms tenderly around me. “What were you doing out there? I’m gonna buy you an ankle monitoring bracelet.”
I laugh.
“You’re free to go,” Monroe announces in a choked voice. He stares as if asking me to stay, but I can’t. I’m overwhelmed and confused. I just want to leave with Harlin.
I don’t talk as Monroe robotically recites stitch care instructions, and instead I just rest against Harlin. My mind is turning over Monroe’s words, trying to understand why he called the spot beautiful. Why he didn’t seem surprised or freaked out when he saw it.
When Monroe’s done talking I turn in Harlin’s arms, my body completely exhausted. “I’m starving,” I say. “Can we go grab something to eat?”
He sighs, like it’s the last thing he feels like doing. “It’s after ten.” When I bat my eyelashes, he laughs. “Fine, we’ll go to Sid’s. I think they’re still open.”
“Thanks, honey,” I say.
“Don’t pull out the ‘honey.’ That doesn’t work on me.”
“The eyelashes did.”
He squeezes me and nuzzles his face into my neck. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he whispers against me, and I feel the playfulness slip away. My worry grows. Could Harlin love me if he knew what was wrong with me?
There’s a sound of riffling papers and I look up to see Monroe holding sheets out to us. “Instructions,” he says. “Call me if there are any new . . . developments.”
I nod before taking Harlin’s hand and turning toward the door. Just before we leave, I glance back at Monroe and he’s watching me, his skin pale like he’s just seen a ghost.
Chapter 6
I can’t eat. Harlin’s talking about how he’d driven all over the city looking for me, and I’m holding a greasy slice of cheese pizza, but I’m not listening. I’m staring out the window at the blinking Gold’s Gym sign, only the ’s is out, so it says: Gold. Gold. Gold.
I turn my head from side to side, trying to loosen the muscles in my neck. The Vicodin has made sounds echo in my ears and I’m starting to feel sleepy. I glance across the booth at Harlin and he’s still talking, using his hands to accentuate how frantic he was during the search. And I smile because right now I have no Need. Just him.
“Hey,” I whisper. He pauses, his eyes bloodshot, his mouth open. I just stare at him until he laughs and leans back in his seat, shaking his head.
“You’re a handful, you know that, right? You make me completely crazy.”
“I know,” I say, and take a bite of pizza. “I make myself crazy.”
“I’m not gonna just let this slide, Charlotte. Not this time. You have to tell me where you were going tonight.”
I reach up to touch at my stitches, no idea how to answer. Sometimes I think it’d be worth losing him, just so I didn’t have to worry about losing him. But I know I can’t live without Harlin. I meet his eyes.
“I was checking out an old warehouse on Broadway,” I say. “I saw the flyer in Plato’s and I heard they were remodeling the building.”