Heartless (The Heartless Series) (4 page)

"Focus, Gracen. Focus on my voice."

As scary as it is, he has a nice voice. And I'm warm again. So warm. My eyes roll around. I need to focus on something.

Nothing will come into view. I need him to let me go!

Just as I think it, he releases my wrist and places both his hands on either side of my face. There is only one way I can look, so I do. His eyes. They are beyond beautiful. Beautiful is just another word for handsome. Another word for attraction or lust. These were more than that. They were kind and compassionate. Like they truly cared about my well-being. "Focus. You're okay."

Looking into his eyes, I think I might be. I'm not with Hart anymore. I'm…
here
. Wherever here is. I'm safe. I'm not being tortured. As far as I know, all vital organs are in their proper places. I just hope they stay that way.

I know who the guy holding me is. I'm just shocked that he's the one doing it. It isn't like I actually know him. Not really. I've seen him once, and he looks at me like
that.
I would say it makes no sense, but then again, what part of this does? I get tortured every night by a man named Hart. Last night, he brought a friend and that friend ended up next to me in class. And there was something else… something I was supposed to remember.

"Okay." A whisper is all I can nudge out. "I'm okay."

He searches my eyes and knots his brows. I guess to see if I'm telling the truth. I am, I think. I'm as fine as I'm going to be given the circumstances. Finally, he must agree that I'm at least in some sense fine, and he lowers me down on a soft cushion. He looks me over before he gets up from my side and crosses the room.

The warmth instantly goes with him. I miss it. All I have left is the cold. Not just on the outside either. I've always felt cold on the inside. Even when I didn't have the dreams. Even when I didn't see Hart every day. I feel cold. Like something, some part of me, is missing. If you asked Hart, he'd say it was my heart—ironic, I know—that was missing. I might be starting to believe him.

What in the world was I supposed to remember?

"How do you know my name?" I sound so far away to my own ears. Something isn't right. I mean, there are a lot of things not right, but there is something extremely not right. If that makes any sense.

"I'm Professor Mitchell's new T.A. You told me your name this morning when you got today's papers."

I did? I didn't even remember finding my seat much less talking to this guy, which I should have remembered because…

Eyes!

"Oh, yeah." I don't want to offend him and not remember his name. I guess a simple thing like that can wait. "Where's Marcy?"

"Gone." He comes over with a glass full of water in his hand and offers it to me. "Drink this." I take it and flinch when my left hand touches the cool glass. When I look down, I see exactly what I was supposed to remember. My palm is bleeding.

"Lucien?" My eyes start to roll back in my head because
blood
. Everything feels funny. I feel light and my vision tunnels.

"Yes, Lucien." He grabs my face again. He really should stop that. "I'm Lucien. What's going on?"

I hear the glass shatter on the floor.

I'm pretty sure I'm passing out.

"Hart says hi."

Chapter Five

I
WAKE UP IN A DARK ROOM
. I know it's my room because the TV is on HGTV—the only channel I watch to sleep. Don't judge. My bed is soft. My covers warm. Everything's normal.

Normal. Such a strange word.

I remember everything. Hart. Lucien. My hand.

My hand!

I roll over and pull the cord on my lamp. It doesn't give off an insane amount of light, but it'll do. I put my hand under it and just keep staring. No blood. No stitches. No wound. My hand looks like a hand. Plain and boring. Nothing. Not even a scratch.

"What in the world?" I whisper and roll over on my back, taking my cell phone with me. Had it all been a dream? Every bit of it? Hart I understood because Hart is Hart and is in my head every night. But the other stuff? School and Lucien and the girl?

No… I couldn't have dreamed all of that. It felt so real. If it was, this was a totally new level of crazy. If I believed the dream, that meant I was beginning to question reality. What was real and what wasn't.

I can't let that happen, because I know what will come next when I start questioning. The good doctor already has my room waiting for me. Padded walls and white jackets. I never look good in white.

My phone screen lights up. August 29 is the date. Yesterday was the 28th. So, either I spent the day in my bed sleeping or… Or
what?
Was there an
or
? Was there really a possibility of Hart being real and gaining the ability to stab me? Sure, he stabbed me all the time, but those wounds always stayed in the dream. This one came out with me.

I bled. I actually bled.

Or did I?

I fall back on my pillows. My head is pounding, and I need medicine fast. Apparently, I didn't take my medicine all day yesterday. If I did, I sure don't remember. So I'm off schedule and crazy to boot. Not a good sign.

@tinaM What are you doing up so late?

Late? What time was it? The clock on my phone reads 3:42 a.m.

There were many, many reasons.

@sullyGray I could ask you the same question.

When one doubts her own sanity, it's best to just pretend everything is okay and/or throw questions back at another person. Because that works so well. God, it has to work for me. At least until I figure all of this out.

@tinaM Studying

@sullyGray Uh-huh

I have to laugh because Tina isn't the most studious person. She loves to tell me that she'd rather have her eyes poked out by her kids than study. I've had my eyes poked out by Hart. It doesn't compare.

@sullyGray So… um… can I ask you a question?

She's going to think I'm stupid or nuts or both. This is exactly why I don't tell Tina anything, because I don't want to lose her as a friend. Heck, I don't even want to tell the boyfriend.

@tinaM As long as it isn't about math or algebra or history or school, you can.

@sullyGray That narrows it down

@tinaM You're stalling, and I have to sleep. What's up?

My fingers hover over the keyboard. There are so many things I want to say. So many things I need to say, but I'm afraid. I don't want to lose her. I don't know her from Adam, and she doesn't know me. Not really. If I tell her about the dreams, especially last night's, she may never want to talk to me again. And I need her. I hate to admit it, but I need her. She is the only normal I have, and if I tell her what's going on in my brain, then she might leave me. Might nothing. She will, and who would blame her? We just met through a mutual fandom group. She has every right and, if I tell her, reason to just shut me off from chat completely. Then what would I have? The boyfriend who doesn't exactly talk much lately? Hart? Is Hart truly my only friend?

A tear runs down my face. How screwed up do I sound?

I can't lose her. It might sound stalkery or unhealthy, but I don't care. I can't lose the one constant thing in my life. The one thing that keeps me grounded. The one person I can talk to about anything. Well, anything except this.

@sullyGray So I just watched the season 3 finale. My heart hurts.

And it did. Slightly. I cried. The dude went to Hell, and his brother cried over it. And I cried because they cried. But I watched that ending last week. I just needed something to tell her to cover up my stupid lapse in judgment. Sometimes, I wish I couldn't talk or communicate. That way I'd never say the wrong words. I know it's stupid and wrong to think things like that. I don't mean it. Not really. But it would be nice to say the right thing once in a while.

@tinaM LOL I told you. Just wait until a few seasons from now. Your feels will have feels.

And so we kept on talking about this TV show that had nothing to do with anything, but it was talking. And it was normal.

We finally say our goodbyes at a half past four.

I roll out of my bed reluctantly because my covers are so soft and warm. I need warm. Warmth makes me think of Lucien, which brings me back to the beginning. Did what happened really happen? If it did, how did I explain my hand not having a hole in it?

I can't do this anymore. I can't. I need my medicine. My head wants to explode. Since I don't want my head to explode, I head down the stairs as quietly as I can. Just in case
he
is there.

Sure enough, I hear the snoring. In the past week, he's only slept in his room maybe two times. The rest of the time, he's snoring on the couch. I'm not even sure why he insisted on a two-bedroom apartment. Not like he really uses his room. Truth be told, I haven't even been in there since I helped lug his boxes in. Knowing him, he hasn't unpacked them yet. Not sure if that should make me nervous or not.

All that is beside the point. I try very hard to walk quietly into the kitchen. Thank the Lord we can only afford an apartment with fake laminate floors and not real hardwood. Hardwood pops. This just squeaks. Apparently, he doesn't wake up to squeaking. I'm okay with that. Library workers for the win!

I don't turn the light on in the kitchen. It makes it more difficult to find anything, but I manage. I might have gotten lucky with the floor. There's no way I'll get that lucky with the light. He'll wake up for sure. And then he'll want to talk. Talking is good, except I don't think I can at the moment. I just want my medicine and my bed and my sleep. A dreamless sleep, please. No nightmares. No Hart. No girl. No eating of any of my innards.

I just want to flippin' rest. Everything can be figured out in the morning, hopefully. I just need one night of peace. I don't think that's too much to ask.

The kitchen light might be too bright, but I do take the chance and turn on the light over the sink. My medicine is there anyway, and I don't think he can see it from the living room. It's either that or the possibility of taking an extra pill by mistake. No thank you. The world wants me to be correctly medicated.

I find my five bottles and pop those bad boys in my mouth. One of each pill. At the same time. No time to waste taking them individually. I have to get out of there before he wakes up. I don't want to talk to him. I mean. I don't mind, but lying and keeping this from him is hard. I wish he was one of those supportive boyfriends, and maybe he would be if I gave him a chance. Maybe I'm pushing him away because I figure our relationship will inevitably end. And yeah, he's been a little distant this week, but school has started and I'm sure he has a lot of stress on him. He's never been mean. I mean, a few random remarks here and there, but… I don't know.

I don't know how to explain it.

Maybe I'm projecting.

Maybe there's nothing wrong with Sam.

Maybe it's all with me.

Maybe I'm the problem.

The crazy one.

Maybe Sam is a saint for putting up with me at all.

Maybe the little things he says, the little digs, are true. Maybe…

A few of the pills get stuck in my throat on the way down. My body wants me to cough and cough hard. They are stuck, and they need out. But I can't. There's no way. If I cough, he'll wake up for sure, and I absolutely can't have that.

So, while nearly dying, I hit my chest hard enough to make the rainbow of pills fly back up my gullet and out into the sink. Four of those pretty bastards are lying in a row. Four. Only one went down. I hear movement in the living room. There's no way I can chance this anymore. I sweep up the pills, hold them in my hand, turn off the light, back against the wall, and hold my breath. Maybe, just maybe, if I'm incredibly lucky, I can hide here in the shadows. He'll never find me, unless he goes to the fridge for a drink.

Holy. Cow.

The couch cushions protest. That means either he's rolling over or getting up. I hope he's just rolling over. I shut my eyes and pray over and over for him to just stay asleep. Just stay asleep. Just tonight. I'll talk to him in the morning. I'll be a good girlfriend. But I just have too much going on tonight.

I wait for a few more minutes and don't hear anything. Not a creak. Not anything. I let out a very shaky breath and tiptoe out of the kitchen. I toss the pills in the trashcan next to the door, because they are useless to me now. Another prayer. Please let the ONE PILL I did get to take do me some good. I think it's my nightmare-killing pill. I think. I hope. Yeah, anxiety is horrible, and I hate it. Yeah, depression kicks my butt. But at least those two things don't eat my liver every night. My nightmares do and if I can do anything to keep Hart Blackwell away, well then I'm all for it.

I make it to the stairs before he speaks to me. Sam. "Why are you sneaking around? It's almost as if you don't want to wake me up or something."

Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!

I plaster a smile on my face before I turn. My heart beats incredibly fast in my chest, so fast it starts to make me feel dizzy. I hold on to the rail with one hand and lean my body on the cold metal to keep upright. I'm not scared of Sam. He'd never hit me or anything like that. I'm scared of arguing with him. I'm scared of him being disappointed with me. I'm terrified of letting him down.

I understand how stupid that sounds.

"You looked so peaceful. I didn't want to wake you up."

The moonlight filters through the window and lights up his face just enough so I can see his expression. Not the most pleasant of expressions. His lips are barely a line. His jaw is tight. And his big brown eyes, those big brown eyes that first caused me to fall in love with him, stare at me like I have fifty heads. "What time is it?"

"A little after four. I forgot to take my medicine, so I got up to take it."

He tilts his head. "Aren't you supposed to take that on a tight schedule?"

I shrug. "Yeah. I guess. But I fell asleep when I got home and just woke up."