“I will do no such thing!” he yells.
“You’re such a prick,” Harlin says to him, and then turns away, putting his arm protectively around me.
My mouth twitches with a smile. My boyfriend is so eloquent. For a second, I wonder if Sarah’s dad is going to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead he storms over to the receptionist.
“I want her released now,” he says, pounding on the desk. “I’m taking her to a real hospital.”
Rhonda sucks at her teeth and types something into the computer as the door to the back opens. Monroe walks out, pushing Sarah in a wheelchair. “Don’t bother, Rhonda,” he says toward the front desk. “I’ve already taken care of it.”
Sarah looks terrible. Her mascara has run under her eyes and her hair is matted and tangled. Her lips are red and smudged. She glances up to meet my eyes and gives me a little shrug before she’s surrounded by her parents.
I listen to Monroe talk to them. He tells them that she has a mild case of alcohol poisoning but that he gave her charcoal to vomit it up. That she needs fluids and rest. Monroe finishes by putting a steady hand on her shoulder and telling them she’ll be okay, physically. He doesn’t know that her father has driven her to this. And that I didn’t stop her from drinking. I wish I had.
Her mother holds Sarah’s arm as she stands up, and her dad brushes back her hair. And for a second, I see a different side of them. Like maybe they love her. And to be honest, I’m jealous that she has a family to care about her. I have Mercy and Alex, but what about my real family?
Again I shake away the strange thoughts popping in my head. Mercy is my mom and I’ve never doubted her love. What is going on? I don’t feel like myself.
Harlin’s hand slips into mine and I’m suddenly comforted. He’s always there when I need him. He’s my steady heartbeat.
Sarah and her parents pass by, her father staring straight ahead like I’m not worth his time. But Sarah glances over and offers a sad, small smile. She looks humiliated.
“Sarah,” I start to say, but suddenly Monroe is in front of me, a stern expression on his face.
“We need to chat,” he says.
“No.” Harlin wraps his arm around me. “You’re done with her. She’s had a long night and—”
“Harlin,” Monroe says, looking at him patiently. “This is about Charlotte. You can wait out here if you like, but I need to speak to my patient. Now.” Then Monroe glares at me like I should agree.
But if I agree now, my boyfriend will be furious with me. He already doesn’t trust me. I straighten and look at Monroe.
“I’m sorry, but—” I start to say, just as he reaches into his pocket. He pulls out the black journal, but doesn’t mention it. Monroe’s right. We do need to talk.
I turn to Harlin. “I have to see him,” I whisper. “I promise it won’t—”
His face clouds over quickly. “Of course you do, Charlotte. Don’t let me stand in the way of your secrets.” Harlin breaks away from me and I’m devastated as I watch him leave. But at the last second he pauses at the glass door. He looks over his shoulder at me, his face drawn. Tired.
“I love you, Charlotte,” he says simply. And then he’s gone.
As the door closes I wipe at the tears that have spilled over onto my cheeks. I’m ruining everything by lying to him about the Need.
Monroe shifts uncomfortably. “Help me stop this,” I hiss. He glances cautiously at Rhonda, who’s watching us, before reaching out to grab me by the arm.
“Get in my office. You have a lot of explaining to do.”
I sit across from him as he opens his desk and puts the journal in there, locking it. He pulls a small bottle from his pocket and swallows a pill quickly from it. Then he looks up at me, his blue eyes narrowed. “You stole from me.”
“I had to. You wouldn’t tell me anything.”
“I told you what you needed to know.”
“Where are the final pages?”
“They’re not your concern.”
“The hell they’re not!”
Monroe exhales hard, and then studies me for a second with a look of disgust. “Take off your shirt,” he says.
I’m startled. “No.”
He tsks. “Don’t be difficult, Charlotte. I want to see what you’ve done to yourself. Show me your skin.”
He knows. Somehow he knows about my dying flesh, and suddenly I don’t want to show him. Anger wells up inside me.
“Come on,” he says impatiently.
“Go to hell.”
“It’s there, isn’t it?” he asks. “You feel the shadows on your soul, don’t you?”
My eyes snap to his and I nod slowly. “It’s hate,” I say. “I feel hate.”
“Let me see.” He walks around his desk to stand in front of me, his mouth a thin line of concern.
Slowly I unbutton the navy jacket, biting hard on my lip as I slide it off my shoulder. Monroe gasps. I turn to look where he’s staring. My gold—it’s nearly gone. The glow is replaced with something horrible. An unthinkable gray, so cracked and dead, like it’s sucking the life out of me—splintering the skin as I watch.
“What’s happening?” I cry out, truly afraid.
“What have you done?” Monroe stumbles back, knocking into his desk.
“The Need hit at the event, but I didn’t go to it. I helped Sarah instead. I thought that if I fought the impulses, this would all go away. That I could beat it like Onika did.”
“You’re fighting it?” he asks in a hollow voice.
“I don’t want to disappear, Monroe. I’m not ready to go.” I start to sob. “People are forgetting me sooner. Even Alex and Georgia. Even Mercy. I’m fading. And I’m not ready to go.” My voice breaks and I pull my jacket on and wrap my arms around myself.
“I can’t watch it again,” he says, almost to himself. “I can’t.”
I sniffle and look up at him. “Watch me dissolve?”
“No,” he says, like I’m confused. “Watch you fight to live. You don’t understand, Charlotte. You can’t stay here.”
“But I want to.” I sound like a begging child.
“It’s not possible. And if you fight . . . it’s horrible. It’s so horrible.”
“Is this what happened to Onika? Did the Need do this to her?” Was Onika dead underneath the beauty that I saw, like in my vision? Was the real her this grotesque?