Heal Me (A Touched Trilogy Book 2) (7 page)

Two weeks after I’d broken up with Dylan, I’d taken to hiding back in my room again, something I’d hoped would end once I wasn’t so exhausted from healing him all the time. My sisters were driving me nuts, constantly walking on eggshells around me, as if one sad or angry word was going to set me off on a healing tangent. There was no peace at home. School was even worse, because he was always there. Not following me anymore, but with us sharing a few classes, it was impossible to avoid him completely.

The worst part though came on a Friday afternoon when he managed to corner me between my locker and the electives hall.

“Lily, I’m sorry. Please.” He truly did look sorry, but he was like a scratched record, replaying the same words over and over until what was once a beautiful song becomes the most annoying thing you’ve ever heard, and I didn’t want to add that to my anti-Dylan list.

“Dylan, I-”

“I know,” he said, cutting me off. “It’s over. I guess I just wasn’t ready for it. I knew you weren’t happy. Who can blame you? I’ve pretty much sucked at the whole boyfriend thing. You’re better off without me.” There was no emotion in his voice. He said it in an almost dull and factual way.

How was I supposed to respond to that? Denying it might send mixed messages and make him think that we might eventually get back together. Agreeing with him would most likely bring on some kind of rage. So, I stayed quiet and I think that hurt him worse than if I had agreed. At least then, he could have pushed a bit of blame onto me.

“Do you remember when we went to the county fair and got stuck at the top of the Ferris wheel?” he asked. I nodded, unsure of where he was going. “We sat there at the top and every time the cart rocked you prayed. You had a death grip on the bar and nothing I said made you feel better. I tried to crack a joke about how falling to your death would be painless, that you’d die of a heart attack before you hit the ground, and you said sometimes the worst part of dying would be the fear.”

I remembered the conversation, or at least bits of it. Mostly I was reminded of the overwhelming sense that someone else on the ride was about to puke, and another was so terrified I could barely move.

“You were right,” he said. “Fear is the worst part, but I don’t think I mind anymore.”

He walked away, and I frowned at his back, trying to figure out what he meant. For me, that was sometimes the problem with extremely intelligent people like Dylan. It sounded like they were saying something so profound, but none of it made any sense to anyone other than them. It was pointless to try figuring out what he meant. Besides, I shouldn’t even care what’s going through his mind anymore.

I was finally free.

Chapter 6

Later that evening I headed over to Micah’s place. We still needed to practice our script some more before we filmed it. I was still nervous about the filming, but figured it was better than having to perform it in front of the class.

Hanging out at Micah’s was quickly becoming a habit. Neither of us really had any other close friends and it was nice to have someone to talk to who wouldn’t bring up Dylan. When I got to his place, neither of his parents’ cars was in the driveway. There were lights on in every window and I thought jokingly that maybe he was scared of the dark. I knocked on the door, but no one answered. I knocked again and waited. My cell phone rang and I pulled it out. Micah’s name spread across the screen.

“Hey, where are you?” I asked into the phone.

“Inside. Come on in, the door’s unlocked.” He hung up before I could say anything else.

I turned the knob and it opened easily. “Micah?”

“Give me a minute,” he called from the hall. He was in the room at the end of the hall. Curiosity ate at me side by side with panic. Even though his voice didn’t carry any anxiety, my hands tingled with the searing heat of his emotions. It was hard to read what they were. Pain, definitely, but there was also frustration and...joy? How could joy exist within the same person with all of that hurting?

I took off my shoes and sat on the couch. The heat of Micah’s emotions filled me and I knew whatever was wrong with him had surfaced again. This was beyond what I typically picked up from him. Most of the time when I was over, there was nothing. Sometimes, though, I’d felt it lingering in the air, as if for the moment the feelings were dulled. This was different. This was so powerful that it filled the air of every room. I tried to sort out what it was, but nothing made sense. My palms slid back and forth along the top of my thighs, trying desperately to rid them of the searing.

I tried to wait in the living room, but the longer I waited, the more it hurt. I had to do something to stop the burning. Slowly, I walked down the hall and then stopped to stare through the slim opening, which let me see just a hint of pale pink walls. Micah’s back came into view then disappeared only to return again and again as if he were rocking back and forth on his feet.

Stepping closer, I nudged the door fully open and went into the room. It’s pink and butterfly decorated walls were such a peaceful contrast to the horrible emotions flowing through it.

Micah turned to face me, a baby cradled in his arms. Hopelessness ravaged his soul even as he smiled down at a little girl maybe a few months old.

“Is she…?” The word dead wouldn’t pass through my lips, instead it stuck in my throat, nearly choking me. I was trapped in the moment, engulfed in every ounce of suffering Micah was going through. What scared me the most, though, was that the sadness I felt wasn’t coming just from her or even Micah, but from me.

“This is Hannah.” He shifted the baby so I could see her chubby face. She smiled and waved a fist in my direction. He placed Hannah on the change table and, with an efficiency that surprised me, changed her diaper. Once her little pants were back in place he cradled her to his chest, swaying back and forth until she gave a massive yawn. He gently laid her in the crib on her back, leaving her legs and arms to flail briefly before she relaxed and settled into sleep.

The entire time, I stood frozen in the door, watching the scene play out in front of me, unable to move due to the emotions filtering through me. Micah looked up at me, the smile he wore for Hannah gone.

“What’s wrong with her?” I asked.

“What?” He stared at me, a startled expressing wrinkling his brow.

“There’s something wrong with her. What is it?” I hated my bluntness, but I needed to know if only to explain the terror and ferocious pain.

He paused for a second, maybe wondering how I knew. Looking at Hannah, it was impossible to tell she was sick.

“There’s nothing wrong with her. Why would you think that?”

She was perfectly fine, so why was my heart being ripped from my chest? Why was I so dazed that I could barely breathe? It took a moment to realize that I was feeling Micah’s emotions as clearly as if I were touching him. If there was nothing wrong with Hannah, then why was his pain so intense?

Needing some separation, I took a step back and bumped into the door. Before I could right myself, Micah reached out to steady me, lightly touching my arm, and the transfer hit me full force. I sucked in air, hoping to brace myself, but it didn’t help. Agony swept through me, and what was left of my heart seemed to crumble under the weight of it. This time when the blackness came, I didn’t fight it and simply closed my eyes, hoping for a swift escape.

Butterflies twirled before me. They were such amazing insects. So delicate, their wings thinner than paper, and they had a beauty to them that suggested frailty. They could withstand the harshest winds and rains, but one small tear of their wings could bring about their death.

A few years ago, my dad took us up to Montana for summer vacation and we were caught in a thunderstorm while camping. We’d sat in the SUV, watching the hail ping off the top of our tents. I remember seeing a Monarch butterfly flittering around the window, as if it were dodging the hail. It disappeared for a moment and then fluttered by again, only this time its wings were no longer symmetrical. Its path was erratic and slow. It faded into a bush and I watched as it took shelter from the pea-sized hail. When the storm ended, the butterfly flew off, recovered from its near death experience.

These butterflies, though, weren’t flying free. They were trapped, stuck to a pale pink wall that stayed their movements. Keeping them sheltered in Hannah’s room.

It would have been easy to look at Hannah and see her as a beautiful butterfly like the Monarch I had watched, but she wasn’t. She was not weathering a storm, and she wasn’t in a shelter recovering. She was healthy and happy, completely safe wrapped in her little pink cocoon world. Micah knew it and I could feel it, from him, from her, from the room itself. So why did I still feel the horrible burning? Why did pain hover just outside my reach?

I opened my eyes and the butterflies were gone. Blue walls surrounded me, and even though the car posters were gone, it was obvious I was back in Micah’s room. It smelled of him, a nice earthy scent that made me think of hiking in the mountains. Through the doorway, I could see into Hannah’s room where the butterflies, once dancing before my eyes, were frozen in place.

“What’s going on, Lily?” Micah asked from a rolling stool beside the bed. I looked at him briefly, then back to Hannah’s room, wondering how I could change the subject. “Come on. This is the second time you’ve passed out at my house. I think I should know what’s going on, just in case you decide to not wake up the next time.”

“It’s nothing. Really.”

“Bullshit. What is going on?” He leaned forward and his hand inched towards mine.

“Don’t touch me.” I sat up abruptly and scooted away from him, regretting his confused gaze. “I’m sorry it’s just that you have a lot of emotions that you transfer.”

“Transfer?”

I shifted into a sitting position, grateful that the nausea I had experienced the first time I’d healed Micah was less severe this time around. Sliding off the bed, I stood and ignored his eyes as I headed out of his room. There was a pull in my fingers, tugging me toward Hannah, but I managed to go the opposite direction into the kitchen. Micah was close behind, watching me even when I helped myself to a glass of water. He sat at the table waiting.

I tried to read the sensations flowing through me. No burning, instead it was just a pull, as if they simply wanted to find Hannah, and soothe in her something that went beyond anything I understood.

“Where are your parents?” I asked. It was such an obvious stall that if I weren’t feeling so desperate I would have been embarrassed.

“My mom had an emergency at work and Dad is out with some buddies from the shop.” His mom was some kind of IT specialist with a security firm in San Diego, while his father was a mechanic at a car repair shop.

“Are we still going to the library?” I took a long sip of water.

“No, I can’t leave Hannah alone and Mom isn’t sure when she’ll make it home. I guess I should have called.”

“That’s okay.” A lame response, but there was no way for me to tactfully say ‘hell yes, you should have called me, so I didn’t have to pass out at your feet again’.

“When you said transfer, were you talking about that whole healer thing you told me about?”

I took a moment to pour the rest of the water in my glass into the sink, and watched the water spiral into the drain. When it was gone, I nodded slowly, not looking to see his reaction.

“So you weren’t shitting me then? You can really heal people?”

“Yes, but this is too much. I can’t tell what’s wrong.”

“What’s wrong with who?”

“You. There is something wrong with you, something centered on Hannah that I don’t understand. She’s healthy and happy, but you have this build up of feelings that seem to have no end that just pop up when I least expect them to. And the transfers are getting worse.”

“So, just don’t do them.”

“It’s not like I can just say no. Micah. All it takes is the barest of touches. Normally, I can sense before how bad it’s going to be, but with you, it’s only a fraction of what I end up getting. It’s to the point that I’m passing out.”

“That’s only happened once, Lily. You don’t know if you passed out because of me.”

“This is the third time, Micah. It’s happened three times.” I hated telling him that, since he looked horrified, but I needed him to understand how hard it was for me.

“What’re you talking about?”

“The first day I came here, that time I fell at school, and then today. Each time I touch you it’s like playing Russian roulette. Sometimes you hold it all in and I’m fine. Then the next I’m out, because you can’t hold it in any longer.”

“Have you passed out healing anyone else?”

“Not like this. I’ve felt drained to the point that I can sleep like the dead, but I’ve never immediately passed out.”

“Why is it like that with me?”

“I don’t know, but I’m guessing it’ll be even worse next time.”

“I don’t feel different though. Shouldn’t I feel different? All calm and filled with serenity or something. I thought it would be like getting into Owen’s head. Kind of trippy and filled with flowers and smiley faces.”

I laughed at the description. “I guess that’s close enough to what people would feel.”

Then it hit me. He didn’t feel that way. He wasn’t a raging ball of pent up emotions anymore, but neither was he devoid of anything other than peace. Had the transfer not worked?

“You don’t feel anything when I touch you?” I rolled my eyes when he lifted one brow and gave me a teasing smile. “You know what I mean.”

“I do, and no, I don’t feel all mellow when you touch me. As for what I do feel, well...”

“Trust me, I don’t need any details.” I said the words even as a rush of pleasure went through me. He hadn’t really said anything to bring it on, but just the idea was enough to cause blood to rush to my cheeks.

“So, I’m causing you to faint all the time. Is that why you’ve been avoiding me the past couple of days?”

I’d hoped he hadn’t noticed that. “It’s just safer if I don’t take chances. My dad, you know. He’ll keep my license until I’m eighteen if he finds out I’m passing out.”

“Why did he pull it in the first place?”

I could still feel the utter exhaustion following the transfer with Dylan that had led to Dad putting me on foot power. It had been the final straw for me in our relationship. My hands had gripped his so hard, that Dylan had been the one to pull away. All of my focus had been on drawing out every last ounce of negative energy in hopes of finally healing him.

I hadn’t been able to help Dylan. Healing Micah would be just as impossible.

“Yo, Lily!” Micah’s hand waved in front of my face.

“Wha? What?” I jerked back a bit, startled by the suddenness of his interruption of my memory.

“I asked why your dad pulled your license.”

“Oh...I was having problems sleeping.”

“Problems sleeping kept you from driving well?”

“It does if I’m constantly falling asleep. Chloe found me asleep at the wheel of Dad’s car one afternoon. I couldn’t even remember driving home, so she ratted me out, and Dad yanked my driving privileges.” I shrugged and filled my glass again then took another sip.

“Damn, was that because of your migraines?”

“No.”

“So? What was it?”

“It was the healings I was doing.” I didn’t mention Dylan. I couldn’t.

He nodded in understanding.

“What do you feel when you heal someone? Don’t you feel anything for yourself?” Micah asked.

“It hurts. I can feel all of their negative emotions flowing through me.” I stood and refilled my glass with ice and water from the fridge. Ice clinked against the edges of my glass as I set it down on the table.

“All you feel is pain?”