Pretend With Me (Midnight Society #1) (8 page)

My body felt sore. My back and neck ached. My
shoulders felt as if weights were placed on them, and my
legs were groaning in pain. I was tired yet, my mind
refused to let me rest. It kept bringing up topics I would
rather bury.
I was so confused right now. I loved Daren and I
always will. He was my first love and after losing him the
way I did, I didn't think I'd be able to love another person
again. I didn't want to, because that would mean moving
on, and I just couldn't, not after he'd died for me. But
there was also this thing with Eric. How was I going to get
out of this marriage? How did I stop these feelings for
him? Did I even want to?
* * *

I was stuck somewhere in the middle of sleep and
reality. I was dreaming and in my dream, I was covered in
blood, kneeling at his side, begging him to wake up. I
literally felt the tears streaming down my face, leaving a
burning trail on my cheeks. I heard myself screaming.
Then hands were violently shaking me as though its owner
wanted to crush me. I opened my eyes pushing at the
hands, not wanting to be touched.

“Hey,” Eric said, his face inches from mine. “It’s just a
dream. You're fine.” He was still shaking me as I fought
him. It took a moment for us to both stop, and when he
released me I sat up on the bed, wiping my face dry. “I
heard you all the way in the other room. You okay?”

“Sorry,” I muttered, not answering as images of my
dream and the reality behind it flashed in my head, making
my stomach turn. I shot out of the bed and into the
washroom. I had barely made it to the toilet before most –
if not everything – that I had eaten came up.

After I was done, I went to the sink. I felt sick and
worn out, and it wasn't just because of the dreams or lack
of sleep. I opened the tap and washed my mouth.

“Jen are you okay?” I turned to find Eric standing in
the doorway.
“No,” I muttered, exhausted. “Go away.” Instead of
doing what I asked he walked into the small room and
stopped at my side.
“What's the matter?”
“Nothing,” I lied turning back to the sink.
“Did you take your medication?”
Before I could stop myself I said “No.” I had stopped
taking my meds completely since I found out his father
was my supplier.
“Then that's why you're throwing up.” He reached into
the medicine box and came out with a small, ambercoloured looking bottle that I knew all too well. “You
didn't take it yesterday either,” he commented and began
uncapping it. Before he could finish, I snatched the bottle
from his hands.
“I can do it myself,” I said facing him and he dropped
his hands to his side waiting expectantly. “Do you mind?”
His eyes narrowed at me, taking me in. I held his gaze.
“Okay,” he sighed giving up, shuffling out of the
bathroom and shutting the door behind him. As soon as I
heard the click, I slouched over to the door and turned the
lock, then went back to the sink.
I waited for a minute and then uncapped the bottle,
taking out three of the pills. Another minute passed as I
stared down at the brown oval shaped pills that suddenly
felt too heavy in my hands. I shook away the doubt in my
head and turned towards the toilet dropping them in. As
soon as they hit the water, they began to dissolve, staining
the water a faint pinkish color. I flushed the toilet once,
recapped the bottle then replaced it in the medicine box
and walked out of the room.
Eric was sitting on the bed practically burning a hole
through the bathroom door. When I walked out, he
perked up. Sometime while I was in there he had pulled on
a t-shirt. “So are you okay now?” he asked scrutinizing my
every move. “You don't look too good.”
My heart kicked off. “I'm fine,” I lied in the most
normal voice I could manage.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I breathed out, trying to calm my frantic heart.
If I was going to pull this off, I needed to be as normal as I
could. “I'm just... hungry,” I sighed, again another lie. I
wasn't in the mood for food or anything else for that
matter. I really wanted to go back to bed.
“Okay,” he nodded. “Come on.” He stood up and took
my hand, leading me to the kitchen. “So what do you
want?”
“I really don't care Eric, as long as it’s food.” He
nodded and gestured for me to sit. Normally I would stand
just to piss him off, but I was too tired, so I did as he
ordered and then dropped my head on the shiny countertop.
Thoughts of my mom flew into my head. I
remembered how sometimes on morning she would fix
me breakfast. Of course all she ever had time for was milk
and cereal before she had to go to work, but I missed it. I
missed her. All we'd had together was three weeks and
most, if not all of that time weren't good.
“Jen,” I raised my head, and as I did Eric shoved a
bowl of cereal in front of me even though it was just after
3am, and way too early for breakfast. I felt my jaw hit the
floor. “Jen, are you okay?” he frowned. Things were
coming back to me - questions and conversations,
impossible ones. “Jen?” he asked uncertainly.
“How did you know?” I asked narrowing my eyes at
him.
“How did I know what?” he whispered.
“Don't give me that shit, Eric. You know what I'm
talking about.” My temper was slowly rising. I hated being
lied to.
“Okay... Jen please can we just leave that alone...” he
begged rounding the counter to come at my side.
“No!” I snapped, jumping off the stool, backing away
from him. “I have had dreams about this place – this
house – my entire life, and you bring me here... of all
places you bring me here...” I trailed off knowing I was
sounding crazy.
“This house has been in my family for generations Jen.
This is like a second home,” he explained though
something was brewing behind his perfect blue eyes. My
back bounced against the wall giving me nowhere to go,
yet still Eric kept walking towards me.
“Eric,” I whispered, holding my hands up, palms facing
him, warding him away. “My parents lied to me my entire
life... the only person I fully trust is dead… don't, please...”
Tears streamed down my face as I bowed my head and
dropped my hands, giving up. He was never going to tell
me the truth.
A second later, I felt his hand on my chin, raising my
head up so I could face him. I let him. He studied me for a
minute, then sighed giving in. “I,” he inhaled. “Since my
eighteenth birthday I could read people... their body
language...” he whispered.
He didn't say anything more, giving me time to digest
it. I swallowed not looking at his face. The seconds
dragged on, and I realized he was waiting for me to say
something. I pushed past him, wiping my tears away as I
walked over to the sofa, sitting down, hugging my knees
close to my chest.
After a second of being frozen, he turned to face me
slowly with pleading eyes. I pointed to a spot on the sofa
next to me and he hesitantly shuffled towards it. He sat
down being careful not to touch me. I couldn't understand
why.
“What do you mean 'read people'?”
“I know what people around me are thinking - their
exact thoughts... images... I know exactly what they're
going to say or what movements they’re going to make... I
see things in people... things they themselves can't see... I
read everything - body language, expressions... everything,”
he explained slowly.
“Are you...” I blinked not sure how to phrase the
sentence. I was going to sound insane. “Are you... doing it
to me right now?” I whispered, afraid to speak.
“No,” he shook his head. “I never read you, not
willingly.” His voice was firm and truthful.
My heart hammered against my rib cage. “What do you
mean 'willingly'?”
“Sometimes your body language is so... loud and strong
that I read you... without trying to,” he explained and I
nodded, feeling relieved.
“How... is this even possible?” I started after a
moment.
“It's something that happens in my family.” Again, I
nodded.
“Why..?” At this he sighed and turned away from me.
This was the question he didn't want me to ask. His
reaction only fuelled my curiosity though. “Eric,” I said
crawling up to his side. I turned his face to me. “Why?”
He shoved me aside and got off the sofa. He then took
a few steps away from me while running a hand through
his hair. “I can't tell you yet.” He didn't turn back to me.
“Why?” I asked again.
“Because I just can't.” His voice came out strained and
annoyed, but I knew it wasn't directed at me. He turned to
me and his face was pleading for me to let this go, but I
couldn't just drop this.
“How does it work?”
He sighed, sitting back down, again being cautious not
to touch me. “I focus on someone and then I just know
what they're thinking... what the things they do mean...
exactly what body movements they are going to make
next... I focus on the little things you do - like the way
someone moves their finger or walk... talk, let out a
breath... the perfume someone wears...
“I'm not explaining it right...” he sighed frustrated at
himself. “Do you know that TV show, The Mentalist?” I
nodded. I had heard about it, but never actually watched a
full episode. “It's kind of like what the guy does. He looks
at every detail, no matter how small or insignificant... just
at the end, I know exactly what you're thinking. It's
completely unemotional and mental.”
“Okay,” I frowned. “Read me?” I had to make sure
that this was real and just wasn't a hot, crazy, psycho dude.
A smile suddenly appeared on his face. He was trying
to hide it though. “So you think I'm hot?”
“I never said that.” It was an automatic response. His
smile grew brighter and he gave up on hiding it.
“You like my smile,” he said beaming. I bit my lower
lip, annoyed now narrowing my eyes at him. At the exact
moment my expression changed, his did too, perfectly
mimicking me. I swallowed and he did the same, then
hesitantly I raised my hand up in front of me and he
copied my movements, instantly bringing his hand up just
inches away from mine. I dropped my hand staring as he
did the same. “With you it's different though...” he
whispered.
“How?”
“It's… stronger. I see you, and you're not like
everybody else. There are... cracks and dark spots running
through you… But I don't know why..?”
“Stop,” I whispered and he nodded. “That's not all you
can do though?” I asked already knowing the answer.
“When we were fighting you moved so fast I thought I
imagined it. I didn't, did I?” Again, I already knew the
answer.
“No, you didn't.”
“What else can you do?” My voice was hesitant and
overly controlled.
“My senses are heightened… kinda like yours.”
A deep frown pierced my face. “How'd you know 'bout
that?” His only response was a gentle smile as he raised a
finger, tapping his head. My God, what was he? How was
this even possible?
“Now I have something to ask you?” This shocked me,
he was the one with the creepy, voodoo mind reading
thing, and he was interested in asking me questions? This
should be the other way around. “Do you hate me now?”
It took me a long while to answer. How could I hate
him? I hadn't hated him when I wanted to, and I didn't
hate him now. “You promise you don't read me?”
“No,” he whispered.
“Then I don't hate you-” That was as far as I got. Eric
grabbed me, hugging me fiercely. I realized now why he
had been careful earlier, he'd thought I was judging him.
He cupped my face and planted a quick kiss on my
forehead.
“You said it started when you were eighteen?” I didn't
mean to make it a question, but somehow it came out as
one. “Why eighteen?” It seemed that turning eighteen in
Eric's family meant a lot more than just having the power
to vote. I had to marry him before I was eighteen, and he
got his mind ability thing at that age too. I couldn't help
wonder if there was a link between the two. But what was
the connection, if there was any at all?
“Eighteen is the age you're finished growing in my
family. When you're mature and strong enough to handle
your... gift it comes. Usually that happens at eighteen... but
I've known of two cases where it happened at a younger
age.”
“What about the rest of your family?” He nodded
hesitantly. “My mother can see into a person's past, and
my sister can feel what other's feel–”
“A sister?” I blurted out surprised. “You have a sister?”
His only response was a light smile as he noded. “How
come you've never told me about her?”
“You've never asked,” he said simply. My eyes
narrowed at this. What else had I not asked about? Did he
have a twin brother with a second head?
“And your dad? What can he do?”
“His is the only active power in the family. He can send
a sort of electrical charge through someone. It turns his
opponent's strength against them, the stronger they are,
the stronger the charge is.” I thought about that for a
second, and came up with nothing. I didn't have a
response for him.
I knew Eric and his family was different, but I couldn't
wrap my head around just how different they were. I was
starting to think that they were aliens or some mad
scientist's victims. I guess it would explain why they were
all so beautiful and flawless. And the gracefulness that Eric
carried himself with.
Great, I was going either insane or engaged to an alien
that planned to use me to breed his evil alien spawns. I
shook the thought away at once; Eric was not evil, maybe
an alien, but definitely not evil.
“So,” I said distracting myself. “Tell me about your
sister. What's her name, her age? What's she like?”
“Her name is Christy Wilson and she's four.”
“Four?” I exclaimed. “But you said that..?”
“She's one of those exceptions. She can feel what
others can and it's hard for her to control so she can be
random and all over the place.”
“How does that work?”
“Well...” he mused, “it takes her over completely... she
doesn't just feel the strongest emotion in the room that
she's in... Christy also sees it... She says it's like seeing
someone's skin glow different colors when they're feeling
different emotions. Her entire world shifts depending on
what others are feeling... what she sees... feels... even tastes
in the air... but she's only four so with time she'll learn to
control it.”
I smiled at this even though it was sad. Imagine always
being on an emotional high. He talked about her with so
much love though that I could tell he would do anything
for her. His love for her was unconditional; that much was
clear.
I scooted closer to him, cupping his face with both my
hands. God he was beautiful in every way, even his strange
family and mind tricks. How could one person be this
much? “Eric Wilson,” I whispered, my eyes searching his
face. “What are you?”
He didn't answer right away. Instead his burning blue
eyes locked onto mine, holding me still as the seconds
ticked away. It was almost a full minute when he finally
whispered, “The same as you... just a bit different...” Eric
then raised his hand to my face and gently ran a finger
down my cheek.
I wanted so much to kiss him. The air around us had
suddenly become charged with whatever magic that existed
between us. My heart was pounding and my throat had
gone dry.
Eric must have felt it too because a second later he
leaned in towards me, brushing his lips against mine, gently
at first. I was kissing him back instantly. The reaction
wasn't something I could help. Then the next thing I knew
was that we were both on the sofa, completely absorbed
and wrapped around each other. Eric was the first to pull
away, but he didn't go far. His lips remained inches from
my mine; one of his hands still wrapped around me as the
other touched my face lightly. I could feel the warmth
radiating from his body. I could still taste him on my lips
and I didn't want this to end.
“I promised I wasn't going to force you into anything,”
he whispered, while playing with a strand of my hair that
had fallen from the messy ponytail it was in. His liquid
blue eyes never left mine.