A Want So Wicked (8 page)

“I think you're doing a bang-up job,” I say as tears gather in my eyes. “Even if the noodles are now cold because you can't stop talking.”

He ruffles my hair before leaning back in his chair, seeming more content that he did a few minutes ago. As I finish dinner, we don't mention my mother again. Or my episodes. Instead we slowly ease into proper table conversation.

I think about what he said, though. How my mother thought living was the most important thing. That was all she wanted—to keep living. To be happy. So maybe that's what I need to focus on right now: finding happiness.

“So a date, huh?” my father asks, sounding defeated. “Why couldn't you stay ten forever?”

I smile. “I really tried, Dad. So can I go?”

A date with Abe sends a mixture of feelings through me. I chalk it up to my courting inexperience, because I like Abe—I really do. And although he's a bit unsettling sometimes, he also seems to understand me. Is patient with me. He can't be as bad as his reputation, not after he took my non-kiss in stride. Not after he was so kind to Marissa while she was a total wench. Abe is a sweetheart despite the rumors. And who knows, he might not even be that slutty.

“Don't break curfew,” my father says. “I'm even tempted to make it earlier since I'll be at church.”

“No need to go overboard, old man.”

My father eyes me as if he's not sure he's making the right decision, but then he nods. “All right, kid. Have fun. And, please—”

I get up quickly and back away from the table, hoping to avoid any dating advice. I thank him and go to my room to gather clothes for later, stuffing them into my backpack as I smile. I'm going to make myself happy—despite the craziness around me. It's what my mother would have wanted.

CHAPTER 13

E
very time my conversation with Marceline tries to sneak into my head, I beat it back with a fresh dose of denial and rationalization. I'm not human? Right. I'm sure my father would love to hear that one.

I hurry out of the house, glad for the work distraction—anything to keep my mind off of earlier. When I get to Santo's, the place is filled with energy, Abe especially charming. He's making me laugh, making me forget about everything. I think that he is exactly what I want in my life right now. He's loud and mischievous, and like he told me my first day, he never gets in trouble. Abe makes me feel normal.

When my shift is almost over, Abe meets me near the walk-in where I'm filling the sour-cream gun, my plastic gloves sticky. It's calm back here, the sounds of the restaurant drowned out by the hum of the freezer.

“School starts in a few weeks,” Abe says. “You excited?”

“Ecstatic.”

“I bet you're supersmart. Do all your homework. Teacher's pet and all that.”

I wipe down the utensil and then pull off my gloves before tossing them in the trash. “I have been known to get straight As.”

Abe closes his eyes, grinning as if I sound delicious. “God, Elise,” he says. “I am going to have so much fun corrupting you. I'm practically giddy.”

“I can tell.”

He laughs. “Don't worry,” he says. “I corrupt in the best way possible.”

“Which is?”

He leans closer, holding my gaze. “Kiss me and find out.” He pauses there, a smile pulling at his lips. He knows I'm not going to kiss him in the back room of Santo's, but he must also read that I'm tempted. He winks and straightens up before walking back to his section.

We leave thirty minutes later, Abe driving Lucy's car again. Anxiety begins to knot in my stomach as we park on a crowded residential street. I'm not nearly as excited now that he's told me whose party we're going to.

“Are you sure you're all right with this?” Abe asks as we head up the driveway to Bridget's house—one of the girls from the campsite. I'm in a summer dress, my makeup heavier than I'd normally wear it. Abe looks at me nervously. “I don't want it to be weird for you,” he says for the third time.

“I'm fine.” I don't mention that I'm scared to see Marissa again after her display of nonaffection while we were at the camp. “Just one request,” I add. “If any of your ex-girlfriends try to start a fight with me, you have to step in.”

Abe chuckles. “No ex-girlfriends will be here. And I'm wooing, remember? By definition that means I keep you out of fistfights.”

“Sounds like you have big plans.”

Abe pauses on the front patio. “Very big.” And then he opens the door of the small block home.

Music fills the living room as we step inside. There are people scattered around, talking and playing cards. I follow behind as Abe weaves through the party. The walls of the house are painted bright oranges and yellows, tapestries hanging with Native American prints. Through the sliding glass doors I can see the keg set up in the yard. And in the kitchen there's a blender and bottles of alcohol lining the counter.

“Did you want a drink?” Abe asks, eyeing the keg out back.

“No, thanks.”

He turns, his eyes filled with a playfulness I haven't seen in him before. He grabs my arm and pulls me to him, smiling broadly. “I can't wait until you're mine,” he whispers.

I'm silent, unsure of how to respond when he leans down to kiss my cheek. He backs up, his eyes still ablaze with whatever emotion just raged through him, and says he's going to get a drink. When he walks away, I decide to find the bathroom to check my makeup. Maybe take a few calming breaths while I'm at it.

Abe is a bit overwhelming. It's apparent how enamored he is of me, but I'm not entirely sure why. He could date most anyone here, girls that seem more his style. But it's clear that all he wants is me.

Only I'm not certain of how I feel in return.

I walk down the hallway, excusing myself around the people standing and talking. A few eye me curiously, and it reminds me that I'm out of place—or even more obvious, out of place with Abe.

When I find the right door, I rush in and quickly shut out the noise of the party. I cross to the sink and rest my palms on either side of the counter, studying my reflection. Next to me the shower curtain sways, and I start. Then I hear the soft sound of a girl crying.

“Are you okay?” I ask, taking a tentative step forward. There's no answer, and I wonder if I should give her some privacy. But I decide to first make sure she's not injured. Slowly I pull back the curtain and there, sitting in the bathtub, is a girl about my age with short brown hair, mascara streaked down her face. She turns to me fiercely as if she's about to cuss me out, but she stops short. Instead she dissolves into another crying fit, covering her face.

I should definitely find her friends. But as I start to move away, I feel it—a pull to help her. A desire to help her. I glance down at the girl and the tingling begins in the tips of my fingers, as if I'm bringing it on myself. As if I'm willing . . . the Need.

A light glows around us and the knowledge hits, flowing through me. I can see her entire life. I close my eyes, terrified that it's happening again but unable to stop the warm feelings of love coursing through me. Love that's not mine.

Sixteen-year-old Anahi Cabrone is five months pregnant. She hasn't told anyone, concealing the pregnancy by eating less to avoid weight gain, wearing baggier clothes. She hasn't even told her boyfriend, Daniel—a twenty-three-year-old cook—afraid he'd break up with her.

But tonight her father found out about the baby, about her secretly dating Daniel. Anahi's parents made an appointment at a private clinic outside of town, one that will still do a procedure so late-term. Anahi came here to find Daniel. To tell him. To make him run away with her. But instead she found him with another girl.

“Anahi,” I murmur, my heart heavy with her sorrow. She feels alone and hopeless. She doesn't think she can go on. I see an image of her mother—when she was the same age as Anahi—pregnant with her.

The light had come to her mother then, helping her to face her own decision. And now it's back to help Anahi, giving her the comfort she needs. I lower my eyes, the fact that I'm understanding this nearly devastating. I don't know what this means for me. I don't know if I can keep denying these episodes anymore.

But the words run through my head, pushing me forward. “I know this isn't an easy choice,” I tell Anahi. “But it is
your
choice. Go home; talk with your parents. Make the decision for yourself, but not out of desperation, or sadness. Or guilt.”

Anahi is quiet for a long moment, and then she nods, wiping absently at her cheeks.

The visions in my mind flash forward to Anahi arriving home, her parents waiting at the door for her, having been terrified that she'd never come back. And this time, they'll listen to her. They'll talk.

Anahi tries to stand, and I help her out of the bathtub, steadying her. The minute I let go of her arm, the light is gone. Anahi blinks rapidly as if just realizing where she is.

“Oh,” she says, furrowing her brow. “I . . . I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone else was in here.”

And suddenly I'm back to myself, staring at this girl who is equally alarmed to see me. She touches her stomach protectively, but then quickly lets her arm fall to her side, as if afraid she'd given away her secret. She turns then, confused, and leaves.

I wait a minute; only silence outside the open door. My heart thuds in my chest, and I step forward to look out. The people in the hall are still, the sound on mute. Nothing moves.

The memory floods in.

I can't fight the Need. I'm lying on the floor of a car, tears streaking down my face. The pain is unbearable—unimaginable. And when I push aside the shoulder of my dress, I see it and it stops my heart. Skin—dead and gray, rotting me from the inside out.

I suck in a breath, falling against the wall, and the party snaps back into motion. The room sways with movement, music in the background, murmurs of conversation. I lean my head against the bathroom wall, squeezing my eyes shut.

This is my life—not whoever these memories belong to. Not the voice that's inside of me, pushing me forward. Forgotten or not, they can't have me. I fight my tears, wishing it all away. I want my life back now.

I straighten then, knowing that I'll have to go see Madame Marceline tomorrow. I can't wait until Sunday. I'm going to tell her to make the voices go away. Make the memories go away. I'm following my happiness now. Because whoever I used to be—if I've actually lived before—is gone. And like my mother taught me, there isn't time to mourn the dead.

I press back the panic that's bubbling up and smooth down the front of my dress. I can't freak out here. Not now. I won't tell Abe about this.

And something inside tells me I never should.

 

Abe is sitting by himself on the couch sipping from a red plastic cup, looking bored. When he sees me move through the crowded hallway, he lifts an eyebrow.

I join him on the couch, immediately smelling something minty. Abe brings his cup to his lips, pausing to examine me. “Where were you?” he asks before taking a sip.

“Bathroom.” I meet his quizzical stare. Now that I'm back out in the party, my exchange with Anahi is an afterthought. Abe shifts next to me suddenly, and a splash of beer spills over the lip of the cup and onto my leg. It's cold, snapping me awake. I groan and slap Abe in the chest. “Abe!”

“Sorry.” He sets the cup on the coffee table. “Here, let me get that.” He starts brushing the alcohol off my bare thigh just below the hem of my dress with the sleeve of his shirt. His fingers brush my skin. “You're so warm,” he murmurs, taking his time.

“I think you got it all,” I say.

Abe leaves his hand on my leg an extra second before going for his drink. We're quiet and he leans his shoulder against mine as we watch the party, conversations floating around us like white noise. Just as I'm starting to relax, someone calls his name.

“Abe!” the high-pitched voice yells again. Bridget's standing in the hallway wearing a red tube top and a short denim skirt. We both get up and she rushes to hug Abe, squeezing him a little longer than necessary.

“Hi, Elise,” she says, turning to me. “Nice to see you.”

“You too.” I can tell that she'd rather I wasn't here with Abe, but she's doing her best to hide it, so I try not to hold it against her. I check the time on my phone to see how close it is to curfew.

“Did you know that Marissa took off?” Bridget asks Abe, grabbing his arm for emphasis. “Craig thinks she left with a guy, but we haven't seen her since the campsite. All of her stuff is gone from her apartment, too.”

“Really?” Abe says, surprised. “She didn't tell anyone where she was going?”

“Nope.”

My shoulders tense as a thought nags at the back of my mind, the idea that something horrible has happened to Marissa. “Do you think she's okay?” I ask, butting into their conversation.

“Yes,” Abe answers automatically, not looking over.

Bridget scoffs at my concern. “She's fine. She does this crap all the time. Abe, remember when she disappeared for a week last year? I had to step in and take over all of her shifts.”

“It's true,” Abe says. “Marissa is unpredictable at best. We don't worry about her little tantrums anymore.” Abe sounds calm, collected. His dark gaze reassures me.

Bridget giggles next to us. “I bet she was pissed about your new girlfriend here. Believe me, she doesn't share. None of your girls do. We all just love to hate you.”

“I can be fun to despise,” he says evenly.

“Oh, I know.” Bridget grins. “You're fun for
a lot
of things.”

I shift uneasily, embarrassment spreading as I realize I'm at a party with the town Casanova. I was stupid not to listen to Lucy's gossip, even if she also told me to make out with him.

“It was wonderful seeing you, Elise,” Bridget calls out. “And Abe, find me later, okay? I'd like to have some of that fun we were talking about.”

But Abe doesn't answer immediately. Instead he stares at Bridget until her face drains of color. “You're making Elise uncomfortable,” he murmurs, his tone controlled. “That makes
me
uncomfortable.”

Bridget starts to apologize, but Abe raises his hand, cutting her off. “I know,” he says. “But you should get back to your party now, Bridget. You wouldn't want it getting out of hand, not with the history this neighborhood has of gang violence.”

Bridget nods, and I'm suddenly struck with a worry—as if that was an actual threat, even though Abe didn't necessarily say it that way. But the anxiety fades as Bridget rushes away without looking back at us.

When she's gone, Abe turns to me. “If it helps, I never slept with her.”

My lips part to ask “Well, then what
did
you do with her?” but I stop myself. It was before I met him, possibly before I even moved here. It's really none of my business, even if it makes me jealous—sort of.

“I'm sorry,” Abe says. “Maybe this party wasn't a fantastic date idea. 7-Eleven might be more our speed.”

“You can't help that you're popular.”

“Ah,” he answers, as if discovering the problem. “Is this about my reputation? I assure you, the rumors are untrue.”

“Really?” I ask, turning to him.

He pauses. “No, they're true. I lied. But that's the past, Elise. If I'd known you were coming—” He stops, laughing to himself. “Let's just say, you are exactly what I want. You're everything I want. And I want you . . . right now.”