Текст книги "The Evolution of Mara Dyer"

Автор книги: Michelle Hodkin

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 23 страниц)

30

NOAH STOOD UP SUDDENLY THEN, AND CROSSED the room. He locked his door as he met my eyes.

“Risky,” I said.

Noah was silent.

“What about our parents?”

“Never mind them.” He moved back to his bed and stood beside it, looking down at me. “I don’t care about them. Tell me what to do and I’ll do it,” he said. “Tell me what you want and it’s yours.”

I want to close my eyes at night and never be afraid that I’ll open them up and see Jude.

I want to wake up in the morning safe in my bed and never worry that I’ve been anywhere else.

“I don’t know,” I said out loud, and my voice had this awful, desperate tinge. “I’m afraid—I’m afraid I’m losing control.”

I’m afraid I’m losing myself.

The idea was a splinter in my mind. Always there, always stinging, even when I wasn’t conscious of it. Even when I wasn’t thinking about it.

Like Jude.

Noah held my gaze. “I won’t let that happen.”

“You can’t stop it,” I said, my throat tightening. “All you can do is watch.”

It was a few seconds before Noah finally spoke. “I have been, Mara.” His voice was aggressively blank.

My eyes filled with infuriating tears. “What do you see?” I asked him.

I knew what I saw when I looked at myself: A stranger. Terrified, terrorized, and weak. Was that what he saw too?

I drew myself up. “Tell me,” I said, my voice edged with steel. “Tell me what you see. Because I don’t know what’s real and what isn’t or what’s new or different and I can’t trust myself, but I trust you.”

Noah closed his eyes. “Mara.”

“You know what?” I said, crossing my arms over my chest, holding myself together. “Don’t tell me, because I might not remember. Write it down, and then maybe someday, if I ever get better, let me read it. Otherwise I’ll change a little bit every day and never know who I was until after I’m gone.”

Noah’s eyes were still closed and the planes of his face were smooth, but I noticed that his hands had curled into fists. “You cannot fathom how much I hate not being able to help you.”

And he couldn’t fathom how much I hated needing help. Noah said before that I wasn’t broken but I was, and he was learning that he couldn’t fix me. But I didn’t want to be the injured bird who needed healing, the sick girl who needed sympathy. Noah was different like me but he wasn’t broken like me. He was never sick or scared. He was strong. Always in control. And even though he’d seen the worst of me, he wasn’t afraid of me.

I wished I wasn’t afraid of myself. I wanted to feel something else.

Noah stood beside his bed, his body taut with tension.

I wanted to feel in control. I wanted to feel him.

“Kiss me,” I said. My voice was sure.

Noah’s eyes opened, but he didn’t move. He was considering me. Trying to gauge whether or not I meant it. He didn’t want to push me before I was ready.

So I had to show him that I was.

I pulled him fiercely into his soft bed and he did not protest. I rolled beneath him and he braced himself above me and his arms were a perfect cage.

We were forehead to forehead. From this angle, it was impossible to ignore the length of his lashes, the way they skimmed his cheekbones when he blinked. It was impossible to ignore the shape of his mouth, the curve of his lips when he said my name.

It was impossible not to want to taste them.

I arched my neck and my hips and stretched my body up toward his. But Noah placed one hand on my waist and very gently pushed me back down.

“Slowly,” he said. The word sent a thrill through every nerve.

Noah leaned down slightly, just slightly, and let his lips brush my neck. My pulse raced at the contact. Noah drew back.

He could hear it, I remembered. Every heartbeat. The way my breathing changed or didn’t. He thought my heart was pounding with fear, not desire.

I had to show him he was wrong.

I arched my neck off of the pillow and angled my lips toward his ear and whispered, “Keep going.”

To my complete shock, he did.

Noah traced the line of my jaw with his mouth. He was braced above me and touched me nowhere else. Then he hooked one finger under the collar of my T-shirt and pulled it down into a slight V, exposing a triangle of skin. He kissed the hollow at the base of my throat. Then lower. Once.

I was spinning. Pinned to his mattress by the space between us but I was desperate to close it—desperate to feel his mouth on mine.

“Now?”

“No,” he whispered against my skin.

His mouth made me ache, sweet and furious. It was impossible to keep still, but when my body instinctively curved toward his, he drew away.

“Now?” I breathed.

“Not yet.” His lips found my skin again, this time beneath my ear.

Just when I thought I couldn’t possibly take any more, Noah lowered his mouth to the curve of my shoulder, and his teeth grazed my skin.

I was ignited, on fire, flooded with heat and ready to beg.

I thought I saw the smallest hint of a half-smile on his mouth, but it was gone before I could be sure. Because Noah’s gaze dropped from my eyes to my mouth, and then his lips brushed mine.

The kiss was so light I wouldn’t have believed it happened if I hadn’t watched. His lips were cloud soft and I wanted to feel them more. Harder. Fiercer. I ran my fingers through his perfect hair and wrapped my arms around his neck. Locked them there. Locked him in.

But then he unbound them. Pulled away and kneeled back until he was at the foot of the bed. “I’m still here.”

“I know,” I said, frustrated and breathless.

A smile lifted the corner of his mouth, lazy and sublime. “Then why do you look so angry?”

“Because,” I started. “Because you’re always in control.”

And I’m not. Not around you.

I felt and probably looked like a wild thing while Noah kneeled there like an arrogant prince. Like the world was his, should he choose to reach out and take it.

“You’re so calm,” I said out loud. “It’s like you don’t need it.” Need me, I didn’t say. But I could tell by the way his delinquent smile softened that he knew what I meant.

Noah moved forward, toward me, next to me then, the slender muscles in his arms flexing with the movement. “I’m not sure you can appreciate how much I want to lay you out before me and make you scream my name.”

My mouth fell open.

So why won’t you? I wanted to ask. “Why don’t you?”

Noah lifted a hand to the nape of my neck. Trailed one finger down my spine, which straightened at his touch. “Because part of you is still afraid. And I don’t want you to feel that. Not then.”

I wanted to argue that I wasn’t afraid anymore. That we kissed and he was still here and so maybe I did dream that he almost died, maybe it wasn’t real. But I couldn’t say any of those things, because I didn’t believe them.

This kiss was nothing like that one. When we kissed before, I didn’t know enough to even be afraid. Of myself. Of what I could do to him. I didn’t know enough to hold myself back.

Now I was too aware, hyperaware, and so the fear chained me.

And Noah could tell. “When you’re frightened, your pulse changes,” he said. “Your breath. Your heartbeat. Your sound. I can’t ignore that and I won’t, even if you think you want me to.”

It was excruciating, the wanting and the fear, and I felt hopeless. “What if I’m afraid forever?”

“You won’t be.” His voice was soft, but certain.

“What if I am?”

“Then I’ll wait forever.”

I shook my head fiercely. “No. You won’t.”

Noah smoothed the hair from my face. Made me look at him before he spoke. “There will come a moment when there’s nothing you want more than us. Together. When you’re free of every fear and there is nothing in our way.” Noah’s voice was sincere, his expression serious. I wanted to believe him.

“And then I’ll make you scream my name.”

I broke into a smile. “Maybe I’ll make you scream mine.”

31

A SLOW, ARROGANT SMILE FORMED ON NOAH’S lips. “Gauntlet thrown.” He drew away and unlocked his door. “I do so love a challenge.”

“Shame it isn’t the only one.”

“Agreed.” He tipped his head toward the hallway. “Come on.”

I rose, but before leaving his room, I grabbed the book. “Can I borrow this?”

“You can,” he said, holding his door open for me. “But I should warn you that I fell asleep on page thirty-four.”

“I’m motivated.”

Noah led me down the long hall, our footsteps muffled by the plush Oriental rugs beneath our feet. We turned several corners before he finally stopped in front of a door, withdrew something long and thin from his back pocket, and then proceeded to pick at an old-looking lock.

“That’s handy,” I said as it clicked.

Noah pushed the door open. “I have my uses.”

We stood before a small room that actually seemed more like an enormous closet. There were stacks of temporary shelving and boxes that lined the walls.

My gaze slid over the piles. “What is this stuff?”

“My mother’s things,” Noah said, pulling a cord that hung from the ceiling. An antique milk-glass light fixture lit up the space. “Everything she owned is somewhere in this room.”

“What are we looking for?”

“I’m not sure. But she left the pendant for me, and your grandmother left the same one for you—maybe we’ll find something about it in a letter or a picture or something. And if there’s a connection between your ability and your grandmother then perhaps . . .”

Noah’s voice trailed off, but he didn’t need to finish his sentence because I understood.

There might be a connection between his mother and him. I could tell he hoped it was true.

Noah opened a box and handed me a sheaf of papers. I began to read.

“What are you doing in here?”

I was startled by the unfamiliar English-accented voice. The papers fluttered to the floor.

“Katie,” Noah said, smiling at the girl. “You remember Mara.”

I certainly remembered Katie. She was equally as gorgeous as her brother—with the same dark mane, shot through with gold, and Noah’s fine boned, elegant features. Lashes and legs for days. Arresting was the word that came to mind.

Katie gave me a slow once-over, and then said to Noah, “So that’s where you’ve been spending your nights.”

His expression hardened. “What is wrong with you?”

Katie ignored him. “Aren’t you in a mental hospital or something?” she asked me.

I was speechless.

“Why are you being like this?” Noah asked sharply.

“What are you doing in here?” she volleyed back.

“What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re digging through Mom’s shit. Dad’s going to kill you.”

“He’d have to come home to do that, though, wouldn’t he?” Noah said, his tone disgusted. “Go eat something, we’ll talk later.”

She rolled her eyes. Then waved at me. “Lovely to see you again.”

“Wow,” I said once she was gone. “That was . . .”

Noah ran his hand roughly through his hair, twisting the strands up. “I’m sorry. She’s always been a bit snotty, but she’s been insufferable these past few weeks.”

So that’s where you’ve been spending your nights.

“You’ve been away a lot these past few weeks,” I said. Maybe I wasn’t the only one who needed Noah around.

He ignored the implication. “She’s been spending a lot of time with your best friend Anna these past few weeks. It’s not a coincidence,” Noah said tonelessly. “She’s not acting out because I’ve been with you.”

But I felt a twinge of guilt anyway.

“My family . . . isn’t the same as yours,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He paused, measuring his words before he spoke. “We’re strangers who happen to live in the same house.”

Noah’s voice was smooth, but there was an ache behind the words that I could feel, if not hear. However he felt about his family situation, it couldn’t be helping that he was gone so much. And no matter what he said, we both knew that I was the reason.

“You should stay at your house tonight,” I said.

He shook his head. “Not because of that.”

“You should stay here for a few days.” It cost me, but I didn’t want to admit it.

Noah closed his eyes. “Your mother won’t allow me to stay over during the week once Croyden starts up again.”

“We’ll figure something out,” I said, though I didn’t quite believe it.

And then I heard an all-too-familiar voice call me from downstairs.

“Ready to go, Mara?” my mom shouted.

I wasn’t, but I had no choice.

My mother was quiet on the ride home, which was immensely frustrating because for the first time in a long time, I actually wanted to talk to her. But each question I asked earned me the briefest of answers, verbal and otherwise:

“Did Grandma ever leave me anything besides that doll?”

A head shake.

“Did she leave you anything when she died?”

“Money.”

“What about . . . stuff?” Didn’t want to be too obvious.

“Only the emerald earrings,” she said. “And some clothes.”

And the pendant I left with Noah, that my mother didn’t seem to know anything about. “No letters or anything? Notebooks?”

Another head shake as she stared at the road ahead of us. “No.”

“What about pictures?”

“She hated pictures,” my mother said softly. “She never let me take any. The one in the hall is the only one I have.”

“Of her on her wedding day,” I said, an idea dawning.

“Yes.”

“When she married my grandfather.”

A pause. “Yes.”

“Did he really die in a car accident?”

My mom inhaled sharply. “Yes.”

“When?”

“When I was little,” she said.

“Did you have any aunts or uncles?”

“It was just my mother and me.”

I tried to imagine what that would be like. Lonely was the word that came to mind.

It was strange, realizing how little I knew about my mom’s life before us. Before Dad, even. I felt guilty for having never really thought of her as anything but Mom. I wanted to know more—not just because of the weirdness with my grandmother, though that was the catalyst.

“We’re strangers who happen to live in the same house,” Noah had said about his family.

My mother felt a bit like a stranger too. And right now, I didn’t want her to be.

But when I opened my mouth to ask her another question, she cut me off before I could.

“It’s been a long day, Mara. Can we talk about this stuff another time?”

“Okay,” I said quietly, then tried changing the subject. “What did you think of Noah’s stepmother?”

“They’re . . . sad,” was all she said, and left it at that.

I was impossibly curious, but she was clearly not in a sharing mood. The obscenely heavy New Theories in Genetics crushed my lap; I tried to start reading it in the car, but grew nauseous. It would have to wait, but that was okay.

Everything felt okay, oddly enough. Yes, Katie was rude. Yes, the necklace thing was weird. But Noah and I kissed.

We kissed.

He wouldn’t spend the night, but I’d see him tomorrow after Horizons. And then it would be the weekend, and we could spend it looking for answers together.

And also maybe kissing.

When we pulled onto our street I almost missed John walking a terrier mix down the block. Seeing him made me feel even lighter.

Jude wanted to scare me, and he had, but that was over now. He’d have to find something else to occupy his second life.

32

OKAY, EVERYONE,” BROOKE SAID, CLAPPING HER hands twice. “We’re finally going to finish this round of sharing with Mara, Adam, Jamie, Stella, and Megan. Let’s all take out our fear journals.”

The unenthusiasm among my Horizons compatriots was palpable, but I was the queen of apathy today. Noah was theoretically roaming Little Havana in search of answers and digging through his mother’s things. I wanted to be with him but instead I was here, and it annoyed me.

Some students withdrew composition notebooks from small bags they had with them. Others walked over to the bookshelf to retrieve theirs. Phoebe was one of the walkers. She sat down next to me.

I felt the urge to move.

“Who wants to go first?” Brooke asked, glancing at each of us in turn.

Don’t make eye contact.

“Oh, come on!” She wagged her finger. “You’re all going to go eventually.”

Resounding silence.

“Mara,” Brooke said. “How about you?”

Of course. “I’m still . . . unclear . . . about the . . . parameters of this . . . exercise,” I said.

Brooke nodded. “It’s a lot to process, I know, but you’ve been doing great these past few days! Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through this. So what we’re going to do is make a list of situations that make us anxious or fearful. Then we rank them—one for things that make us very slightly anxious, and ten for situations that make us extremely anxious.” Brooke stood up and walked to a low bookshelf in the corner of the room. She took out a composition notebook. “And with exposure therapy, we confront our fears little by little. That’s why we keep journals with us, to write about our feelings and anxieties so that we can see how far we’ve come from where we started, and to find common ground with our peers during Group,” Brooke finished. She looked at my lap, then at the messenger bag beneath my chair—freshly combed for contraband and not found wanting. “Where’s your journal?”

I shook my head. “I never got a journal.”

“Of course you did. On your first day, don’t you remember?”

No. “Um.”

“Check your bag.”

I did. I rummaged through it and saw the small sketchbook I kept with me for art therapy along with a few spiral notebooks, but not a composition one.

“Are you sure?” she asked me.

I nodded, looking through it again. Nothing was out of place, except a stray piece of paper at the bottom.

Brooke sighed. “Okay, well, take a blank notebook for today,” she said, and handed me one along with a pen. “But do try to find it, please?” Then she turned back to the group.

“All right, guys,” she continued, “I want you to flip to the most recent page in your fear journal. Mara, since you aren’t sure where yours is, just start listing some anxieties and rank them the way I described, okay? In fact, let’s all take five minutes to look over our lists and see if we can find anything else we want to say.”

Adam coughed, and it sounded a lot like “bullshit.”

“Was there something you wanted to say, Adam?”

“I said this is bullshit. I did it at Lakewood. It’s stupid.”

Brooke rose and tipped her head, indicating that Adam should get up and follow her. He did, and they moved off to the side. Brooke spoke quietly and patiently, but I couldn’t make out her words.

I wished Jamie was sitting closer so I could ask him what Lakewood was. Sadly, he was on the opposite side of the room.

But Stella was right beside me.

“She could almost pass for normal,” Jamie had said about her.

Which made her more normal than me. Maybe I could make a new friend.

I leaned over to her and asked, “What’s Lakewood?”

“A lockup,” she said, cracking her knuckles.

I stared at her blankly.

“A secure residential treatment center?”

Still nothing.

She sighed. “You know how this place is a feeder for the Horizons inpatient program?”

“Kind of?”

“We’re assessed here, in the day program, and then they tell our parents whether they think we’re sane enough to hack it out here or whether they think our issues are serious enough to need inpatient treatment.” She twined a strand of curly hair around her finger. “The Horizons RTC is inpatient, but you get to move around, to come and go from your room and stuff—the retreat’s coming up, you’ll see. Anyway, that’s a normal RTC. At the secure RTCs, you’re basically locked in your room unless they come get you. You’re followed everywhere. Lakewood’s in the middle of nowhere—practically all RTCs are—but without the good food and counselors who actually care. It’s pretty much the last stop before state institutionalization.” She cocked her head to the side. “You’re new to this troubled teen thing, aren’t you?”

I looked over at Adam with new eyes. “Apparently.”

“Veteran,” Stella said, and shrugged.

I was curious what she was in for, but she didn’t volunteer and this wasn’t exactly prison.

“Well, Adam,” Brooke said loudly. “If you don’t want to participate, I’m going to have to let Dr. Kells know and you’ll have to do it with her.”

“He doesn’t belong here,” Stella said quietly as Adam and Brooke walked back into our circle. I wanted to ask her more, but Brooke was ready to move on.

Back to me.

I successfully avoided mentioning any of my real (and valid) fears of the Jude and supernatural varieties by rattling off a bunch of benign, normal ones like bugs and needles. Jamie attempted to ruffle Brooke’s patience with answers like “intellectual bankruptcy,” and “sea monkeys,” while Megan earnestly volunteered every phobia I’d ever heard of and several I never knew existed (“Doraphobia” is the fear of fur).

This earned an obnoxious comment from Adam, who Jamie then accused of having a fear of “physical inadequacies” of a very private nature, which resulted in what I thought was an unjust scolding from Brooke and also caused another Jamie-Adam confrontation. I was rooting for Jamie to land a well-deserved punch to Adam’s brutish head but the face-off ended before it got too exciting. Stella managed to get by without participating at all. Lucky girl. I unintentionally caught a glance at her fear journal but saw only one word (“voices”) before I quickly looked away.

Hmm.

When we were finished, we all handed our notebooks back to Brooke and she then asked for volunteers for a “flooding session.” Megan’s hand went up, bless her, and I had the non-pleasure of watching the poor girl’s big, brown eyes go wide with terror as Brooke talked her through scenario after scenario in which she would encounter and then be confined in small spaces. Brooke talked her through it; first Megan sat there and imagined approaching a closet. Then she imagined walking next to it. Then in it. Then Brooke guided her closer and closer to one in real life. When the fear threatened to overcome her, she said a word that told Brooke she couldn’t take it anymore, and then they backed up. Megan was committed, though; a True Believer. She really did seem to want to improve. Admirable.

When the session ended, we all applauded and offered our encouragement: “Way to go!” “Great job!” “You’re so strong!” Exclamation points included.

We broke for snack time then—just like kindergarten!—and I pulled out my sketchbook to work on an asinine project I’d been assigned: pick an emotion and draw it. I wanted to draw a raised middle finger, but I would draw a kitten instead. Normal people love kittens.

But when I reached inside my bag for my sketchbook, my hand closed over that stray piece of paper.

I withdrew it. Unfolded it. I read what it said as the hair rose on the back of my neck:

I see you.