Heal Me (A Touched Trilogy Book 2) (4 page)

Was he back? Really back? If he was, did it change anything?

I wanted answers to all my questions, but I couldn’t ask him, because if he wasn’t, then it would simply be another outburst waiting to happen.

“So, why the surprise?” he asked as he reached back in the doorway and picked up his backpack. He pulled the door shut and the locked it before taking my hand again.

This was my chance. This was it.

“Oh, I thought I’d surprise you.”

Chicken shit,
Phoebe’s voice echoed through me. What was worse than hearing her voice in my head was that it was right. I was chicken. I hated confrontation and avoided arguing as much as possible. When we were little and Phoebe and Chloe started fighting, I always played peacemaker. With the two of them, it wasn’t bad. I could go in, give them a quick touch, and then tell them I would sacrifice my toy, or do their chore instead. Anything to stop the yelling and the fire in my body.

“This is great,” Dylan said, “because I wanted to ask if I could borrow your English notes today. Chloe bitched me out yesterday after I told her I left mine at home.” A slight twinge of annoyance came from him as we started toward the school. “No offense, but your sister can be a total bitch sometimes.”

“Well, English is her favorite subject, so I guess she just wants to do really well on this project.”

“Meaning, you don’t think I’ll do my best?” The twinge was back, only it lasted longer, pulling into me for a few seconds.

“No, of course not,” I said and tugged my hand from his under the pretext of fixing my hair. I couldn’t do any healing today. If I couldn’t keep myself together without sleeping like the dead, Dad was going to take me to the doctor and then I’d be surrounded by the sick and wounded.

“Whatever,” he said and thankfully shoved his hands into his pockets.

The rest of the walk was silent. I knew what I needed to say, but couldn’t find the courage. I wished I had Chloe’s vision to see how he would react, or even Phoebe’s innate ability to say anything regardless of the consequences. Instead, an overwhelming fear that I was only going to hurt him even more struck me.

Walking through the halls with him made everything else seem far away, like a dream I wasn’t sure how far to trust. His good mood returned and we stopped a few times so he could say something funny to a friend. I smiled and waited automatically. They weren’t my friends, so I only had to stand there and try to avoid bumping into them as they slowly gravitated closer to me like magnets. Most of their emotions weren’t enough to bother me, barely penetrating the fog Dylan’s behavior created inside me.

By the time he dropped me off at my History class, I was ready to kick myself. I was pretty sure Phoebe would kick me if she knew how I’d chickened out. The scene from that morning just kept replaying in my head and I continually tried to alter the words that had left my mouth, tried to maneuver my former self into doing anything other than following Dylan. Luckily, the teacher didn’t call on me for any answers, because I was oblivious to everything he said.

It wasn’t until the last ten minutes of History class I realized I had English next and that I hadn’t made plans with Micah about where we would work on our project. I figured I’d just go to Ms. Garcia’s class and see if he showed.

Fifteen minutes into English class and I sat at my desk in Ms. Garcia’s room alone. No one else was there, well, except for Ms. Garcia. Apparently all of them, including Chloe and Dylan, were taking advantage of the fact Ms. Garcia trusted us. I had my doubts about how many of them were actually working and not simply enjoying a free hour.

Micah was in the same group as them. He was MIA and yet there I was, sitting alone and feeling like a complete dork. He could have at least told me he wasn’t going to class.

“Lily, are you sure Micah said he’d meet you here?” Ms. Garcia asked.

“Well, we didn’t have time to talk after class the other day and since I was out yesterday... I just thought we’d be working here.” Not completely true. He’d told me he’d do everything, but I didn’t want her to think we weren’t working together on it. Or that he’d been so mean.

“Well, he was in here yesterday. He may be running late.” She shuffled some papers and then walked to the door. “I’ll be back in a few minutes. If he’s not here by then, I’d suggest taking a look around the school for him.”

A couple of minutes after she left, the classroom door swung open and Micah walked in, his face flushed. He looked startled to see me sitting at my desk, but he sat next to me without any other acknowledgement.

“You’re late,” I said after he’d unpacked his books.

“Really? Well, you skipped yesterday.” He snapped open his binder and took out some note-filled paper.

“I was sick, not skipping.” I hated being on the defensive. I didn’t need to explain myself to him, but I could tell he didn’t believe me. “I was. My dad almost took me to the hospital.”

“Sure. Well, since you’ve decided to grace me with your presence, why don’t you read over the script outline for the interview?”

He held the papers out to me and I snatched them away. He was definitely not rubbing me in a good way. I scanned the outline he’d written and was surprised by how good it was. It was interesting and I hadn’t thought that possible for an interview with Stella. I caught a spelling mistake and fixed it with my red pen. It looked nice, bright against the white and black of the page. It might have been childish, but no way would he miss that I had caught him in the wrong.

I pretended to read over it again while studying him from the corner of my eye. He’d enrolled about a month ago, but I hadn’t
really
noticed him until the partner situation came up. He was definitely hot. He looked older than seventeen, with short black hair, a slight dimple in his cheek, and a hint of stubble. There was a speck of green in his brown eyes, and his eyebrows were thick, raising up even as I watched. It was unjust that such a hot guy could be such a jerk.

“Done?” he asked, motioning to the papers.

“No,” I said, returning my eyes to the notes. I reread a sentence and then reworded it, just to make my point with the red pen that left a beautiful squiggle of letters along the middle of the first page. “I like it.”

“That’s what I thought.” There was the snide comment I’d been bracing for. I didn’t respond, just stared at him, until he was shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “What?”

“I’m sorry you’re not happy I’m your partner and I’m sorry you don’t like me even though you don’t even know me, but I am not an idiot and I plan to work on this with you. If you have a problem with me then ask Ms. Garcia to switch your partner or take an F. Your other option is to suck it up and deal with me.”

“I already asked her to switch me and she said no.” At least he was honest.

My hands trembled with a fury I had never felt on my own before. It was a strange sensation, so different from the rage I pulled from others. The only time I experienced negative emotions was after healing someone, when my drained body allowed their feelings through. But they were distant and I could compartmentalize them into logical pockets of reasoning, almost separating myself from it even though my body could feel it. Those feelings usually dissipated within seconds, even if the energy they drew from me left me weak for hours.

This fury was close and tightened my chest, filling my eyes with tears of helplessness. I hated the sensation and I hated even more the realization that I couldn’t control my physical response to it.

After a moment of staring at him, I grabbed my things and walked out of class. His eyes watched me, but he didn’t follow and my anger built. Even if I didn’t want him to, he should have followed. I walked toward my locker, but veered away when I spotted Chloe and Dylan hovering around. Positive that Chloe saw me, I quickly turned another corner and headed along the electives hall. It curved slightly halfway down and then opened to a small common area with a table and a restroom where I could hide.

Talking to Dylan right then was not what I wanted. I hadn’t changed my mind about breaking up with him, but I needed to figure out how and having Chloe there was definitely not going to be part of my plan, especially with her conviction that he and I would be together for a long time.

Maybe I was still a bit chicken, too. If I had to deal with his swinging moods while I was upset with Micah, I might have ended up saying something I’d regret.

“Lily?” Owen’s voice came from across the hall.

“Hey,” I said, stopping my fast track to escape.

Owen had always been more Phoebe’s friend than mine, but lately he’d run into the Nathan wall of time consumption. We’d hung out during our study period a few times and it was nice to have someone other than my sisters and Dylan to talk with. He also had a pretty mellow affect and I’d never had to use my gift on him. Something that didn’t happen with many people.

“You skipping, too?” He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest.

“No, just...” I sighed. “Just avoiding a certain person.”

“Phoebe, huh?” he asked with a laugh.

“No, Micah actually.”

It took a moment before recognition passed over Owen’s face and he nodded. “The new guy?”

“Yeah. He’s supposed to be my partner for this English project, but for some reason he’s decided that I’m completely incompetent. So, he wants to do everything except write my name on it.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“No. Yes.” I sighed, releasing some of the anger I felt. “It’s not so much that he wants to do it all, it’s that he thinks I can’t do it. He practically told me I was too stupid and lazy to do anything.” I felt humiliated even telling Owen about it.

“Want me to beat him up?”

I laughed at the idea of the two of them fighting. Owen might have been half a foot taller than Micah, but he was a stick compared to the muscles Micah was carrying. He also had a tree hugging hippie thing going on that just didn’t inspire any confidence that he could even get a hit in, let alone win.

“No, but thanks for the offer. I’ve never had anyone volunteer to beat someone up for me before.”

“Well, you remind me of my little sister.” He reached out a ruffled my curls. “Her hair was as curly as yours. My dad always called her moppet.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister.”

Instead of answering, he pulled his hand back and ran it through his own dark curls while shrugging a shoulder.

“So, what are you gonna do about this guy?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just let him do the whole thing by himself. That’s what he wants.”

“Who cares what he wants? He might hand in crap. That’s going to be your grade, too.” He pointed a long finger at me. “You should stand up for yourself.”

“Says the guy who’s been letting Karin practically stalk him at close range for over a year.”

“That’s different. Karin’s my friend. She’s not rude to me and she definitely doesn’t make me feel like crap.” He gave a careless shrug. “Just look at what happened to Tonya.”

Looking at Tonya was not an easy thing to do lately. It had been nearly three weeks since her ex-boyfriend had beaten her so badly she’d been in the hospital for a week and she still had faint bruises on her face from where he’d stomped on her.

“This isn’t the same thing. Nowhere near the same thing.”

“No, but it’s still not right. It’s all about respect. If she’d expected respect to begin with, she never would have stayed with him or gone back to him.”

“Hello, Dr. Phil.”

“Hey, what can I say? The guy’s got some good advice.” He gave a half smile and more of the pressure in my chest eased.

Being around Owen was so simple. He didn’t expect anything like Dylan. I wished I could have been dating him, but he was definitely not my type. He was just too much of an artsy, outdoorsy person. He said I reminded him of his sister and it was easy to see him as a brother figure. Which would be a nice change from two bossy and truly know-it-all sisters.

He swung his book bag over one shoulder, glancing at the glowing red clock suspended midway down the hall. “Guess I better split before Mr. Palmer catches me skipping German. Bianca and I were going to catch a movie Friday night if you want to come. We’re thinking of seeing that new superhero movie.”

Movies meant going to the theater where Dylan worked. Not something I wanted to do if I’d mustered my courage to break up with him by then.

“Thanks, but I think I’m going to be working on this project.”

“Going to force Micah to share the load?”

“I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet, but you’re right about it affecting my grade as well as his.”

“Good for you, Lils. You know, sometimes being a bitch like Phoebe or Chloe is a good thing. In small doses of course,” he added when he saw my skeptical expression.

Chapter 3

Going to Micah’s house that afternoon felt strange. Other than Dylan, I’d never been alone with a guy in his house before. I wanted to call and tell Micah he needed to meet me at the library, but that would be silly. Of course, there was the also fact that I didn’t have his number. I only knew where he lived because I’d followed him home. Ten minutes of hovering outside like a stalker watching his mom leave, had done nothing to build my confidence.

Marching up to his front door, I squashed any lingering reluctance and pressed firmly on the doorbell. There was the faint pad of footsteps and then the curtain covering the long window next to the door twitched. One of Micah’s hazel eyes peeked out.

I expected the door to open, but it didn’t. There was no sound of him walking away and I realized he was debating whether to open the door. It was almost a full minute before he swung it open.

Eyebrows drawn tightly down and lips pursed, he was definitely not happy to see me.

“What do you want?” He shifted forward so that he was right in the doorframe, preventing me from seeing inside.

“Our project is due in a few weeks and we’ve only met once.”

“I’ve already started on the script. I’ll let you know when I need you to do your part. Don’t worry, it won’t be too much.” He moved back and went to close the door.

My hand shot out and stopped the door from closing in my face. Anger vibrated through me. “I don’t know why you think I don’t want to do any work on this, but I barely know you and I’m not about to trust my final grade to you. So, we’re going to meet after school and on the weekends until we have it done.”

“I can’t.”

“Or won’t,” I muttered.

“Look, I have to be home after school. I don’t have a choice.” He almost seemed sincere when he said it, but his continued resistance was wearing me down again.

“Whatever. Do it on your own. At this point I’d rather take a zero than have to try to work with you,” I said, completely fed up. Owen had suggested fighting this one out, but that just wasn’t me.

I turned to leave, but Micah caught my arm in a gentle grip. An odd sensation filled me and I nearly panicked at the unfamiliarity of it before I identified it as my own relief. There was no transfer of anger or frustration - of anything. It wasn’t that Micah had a lack of emotion, because I could sense it flowing through him, he just had it under control and wasn’t passing it off to me.

Almost everyone, even people like Owen who were more laid back about things, gave something, even if it was just a content flow. Most didn’t even realize how easily they would relinquish the negativity they felt, even if it resurfaced almost instantly, like Dylan.

Micah was obviously not happy, but he was containing it, as if it was holding him together. Apart from my skin heating up from the continued contact, there was just a glorious nothing. When he drew his hand away, I wanted to grasp it with my own to reestablish that connection, to feel the tingle of my skin that wasn’t a signal that I was about to be overtaken by someone else’s emotions.

“I’m not lying,” he said. “I do have to come home after class. I guess if you really want to work on it with me, we can do it here.” He pulled the door open wide and made an awkward gesture for me to go in.

“Fine,” I said and tried to exert some of my own anger into my walk, but I was too relieved that I wasn’t going to have to eat my words about taking a zero. And there was also an excitement at the realization that I could only feel myself with him. He led me to the kitchen and I set my backpack next to one of the kitchen chairs. That excitement died quickly as a horrible sensation gripped my stomach, twisting it into a painful knot.

There was something wrong in this house. Sadness and loss emanated through the entire home. Every bit of self-preservation screamed at me to leave, but just as I was about to turn and run Micah spoke.

“We can work in here. I can only do about an hour and then I’ve got other stuff to do.” Stuff. Could he be any vaguer?

If I left now, I’d only be confirming his beliefs about me while looking like a complete fool at the same time. Pulling my notebook from my bag, I glanced around the room, trying desperately to focus on anything other than the searing pain in my belly. Ignoring that kind of thing wasn’t uncommon for me and I knew I was good at hiding what I was going through. A few boxes sat in the far corner, a sign they were still unpacking a month after moving. The top one was open and a picture frame stuck out. A much younger, smiling Micah was sandwiched between what must have been his parents.

“So...” I tried to think of something to say, anything to break the uncomfortable silence dominating the room as he watched me from where he leaned against the kitchen island. “Do you like Beachgrove?”

“Sure.” He crossed his arms.

“Why did your family move here?” Maybe the weather would be my next brilliant topic.

“My mom was transferred to San Diego. They figured it was better for me and...for me to be in a small town.”

“Where did you live before?” I shifted on the numbingly hard chair. I might have been doing the asking, but I definitely felt like the one being interrogated with his eyes drilling into me. The feeling in my stomach was fading and I wondered if whoever in the house was ill had fallen asleep or had left without me noticing.

“Seattle. Are we done with the twenty questions?” he asked.

I nodded, my face probably flaming so red that I looked like a speckled trout. My endless array of freckles had to be a punishment for some horrible deed I’d done in a former life.

“Good, then let’s get started.” He spread his project plans across the worn tabletop and we began going over things.

I hesitated giving my honest opinion, mainly because when I worked with Dylan, he was the genius behind our wonderful presentations and projects. Which explained why when he’d started slacking, both our grades dropped. But I knew Owen had been right. Standing up for myself and proving that I was capable was something I needed to do.

We had been working for almost an hour when Micah finally looked up at the clock. He glanced down the hall to a series of closed doors then briefly back at me.

“Do you want a drink?” he asked, getting up and going to the fridge.

He pulled out a soda and held it out to me. I took it even though I knew I wouldn’t drink it. Caffeine was my ultimate nemesis. A can of soda would end a few hours later with me battling a migraine. Chocolate wasn’t nearly as bad, thank God, because some things were worth the risk.

I placed the soda on the table in front of me, unopened. Micah popped his can open and took a long sip, his eyes focused again on the hall, searching. Maybe he needed something from his room, but was too embarrassed to do it in front of me, or maybe he thought I was going to steal the forks and knives while he was gone. That would fit well with his opinion of me. Either way, it was annoying enough that I wanted to give him an out.

“Where’s the restroom?” I asked, knowing I was yet again demonstrating the strength of my freckles. He pointed to the first door on the right.

As I closed the bathroom door behind me, I could hear him making his way down the hall. I stood at the sink, staring at my reflection. Using the restroom had been only an excuse to get away from him for a minute.

Looking at myself, I tried to see the obviously dumb and lazy girl he saw. People usually assumed from my lack of height that I was naïve simply because I looked so much younger, but never stupid or lazy. Maybe I’d changed as much as Dylan had over the last few months. My grades had suffered nearly as much as his and I was definitely not active like I had once been. There had been a time when Dylan and I would go walking or cycling almost every day after school. Now I was barely keeping my eyes open long enough to make it through the school day.

I turned away from myself and gave the toilet a flush, then ran the water as if I were washing my hands. When I came out of the bathroom, I looked towards the kitchen, but couldn’t see Micah. A slight sound came from a room at the end of the hall. I glanced toward it and, through the open door, I could see Micah moving around.

From his behavior in the kitchen, he obviously hadn’t wanted me to see what was in there, but that didn’t stop me from wandering down to check it out. As I drew closer to the door, a flare of heat sparked in my fingers and rapidly spread through my palms and up my arms. Something was seriously wrong with Micah. I froze, not wanting to get any closer to the room.

“Micah?” My voice came out barely above a whisper.

He came back into the hall, closing the door softly behind him before I could see anything.

“What’s wrong?” I asked automatically.

“What? Oh, nothing.” He glanced back at the door he’d closed. “Just checking on something.”

I didn’t move, even when he took a step toward me, expecting me to. Whatever had just happened to Micah was burning me alive. My body warred with itself, instinctively wanting to end the burn, either by running away, or by taking his pain.

Micah gave me a strange look, then reached out a hand and touched me.

Everything that had been building since I’d seen the room exploded inside me as all the emotions he’d contained so completely earlier released in a flurry of red and violet. The colors receded as quickly as they had come and blackness swelled. The last thing I saw was a water spot on the wall, swirling above his head.

When my eyes opened, a sliver and white tiled ceiling stared back at me. I started to push into a seated position, but the rolling of my stomach had me on my back before I’d gone more than an inch. A pounding pressure built in my head, making it feel as if it was about to explode with even the slightest movement.

“You okay?” Micah asked.

I slowly rolled my head to face him, moving with excruciating care. Vomiting at that moment would have only exponentially increased my humiliation.

“I think so. I just need a minute.” I swallowed thickly, wishing I had a glass of water. Passing out was not my favorite pastime, although considering the frequency of my episodes, I should have at least been a bit used to it by that time.

“Care to explain?” he asked.

“Not really.” I looked away, glad he wouldn’t know about my gift. It typically didn’t bother me if people knew, but Micah wouldn’t like the idea of me knowing his emotions.

He'd moved me at some point, because the stark white walls of the hall had been exchanged for pale blue walls decorated with posters of cars and half-naked super models. I’d only ever been in Dylan’s room and his just had maps and diagrams of the constellations, so I glanced around curiously. The room wasn’t exactly spotless, but it wasn’t a Phoebe level disaster either. Although, she was hard to beat in the messy category.

“Want me to call someone for you?” Micah asked, bringing my focus back to him.

“No, I’m fine, honest.” The nausea had ebbed, so I slowly rolled up until I was sitting on the edge of the bed.

“If you say so,” he said. His hand stretched toward me and I flinched away. While at first he had been a glorious vacuum of feeling, whatever he’d done or seen in that room had turned him into the biggest, baddest ball of emotional transference I’d ever experienced.

“I should go.” I stood, swaying as the blood rushed to my head, and I didn’t have time to stop him from grabbing my arm, but he was under control again and nothing came through. The little tingle fluttering through me brought on my guilt, because I shouldn’t be feeling like that with anyone when I was still dating Dylan. “I just need to get home.”

“What about the project?” he asked. I’d shown him I was willing to contribute; now I had to keep that going and running away wasn’t going to help.

“Can you meet tomorrow after school?” I asked, struggling to hide my yawn.

“I’m semi-grounded right now. It’s why I have to leave right after class. My folks freak if I’m even a little late.”

“I don’t mind doing it here. If that would be okay with your parents?”

“Yeah, sure.” His doubtful tone made me suspect that I hadn’t really convinced him of anything and he wasn’t counting on me to show. “During English tomorrow we can try to find a film student to help out.”

“Why don’t I ask Nathan?”

“Chloe told me yesterday he was already working on her and Dylan’s project,” he said.

Great. I’d hoped Chloe would have taken pity on me and given me a fair chance to work with Nathan, but no, she probably saw my passing out the day before as her opportunity to finally be the better student. And really, it’s not like I was the better English student. Chloe typically kicked my butt in that subject. Which is why it was doubly unfair of her to swipe Nathan, but I wasn’t going to bad mouth my sister to a practical stranger and tell Micah that.

“That’s good. He and Dylan are pretty good friends.” I straightened my shirt and then smoothed a hand over my hair. It felt frizzier than normal where it framed my face. I must have been sweating at some point during my black out.

“Isn’t Dylan your boyfriend?” Micah stood over me with his arms crossed over his chest. He looked bigger than before.

I hesitated a moment, then shrugged. It seemed like enough of a non-committal response that it would cover me just in case he spoke to Dylan before I did.