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?”
“No,” I say quickly. But that’s not true. Because really, I am dying. And I’m about to let him down the same way his father let him down. I’m going to leave him too early. I’m going to leave him heartbroken. I pull my elbow out of his grip and stand close to him, ignoring the pull that’s yanking me toward the exit.
“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.