Pretend With Me (Midnight Society #1) (10 page)

My eyes were closed but I could feel his eyes on me.
“You're staring at me,” I commented without opening my
eyes.

“No,” he said, and in my head I saw him smiling the
smile I'd grown used to. “I'm looking at you,
continuously.”

At once, I opened my eyes and faced him, surprised he
was quoting me. “Well, you're freaking me out.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“You should really stop asking me that question,” I

said avoiding his next question. “Every time you do, I'm
gripped by the sudden urge to run away screaming.” At
this he let out a light chuckle and this time I didn't just see
sparks fly, I saw a whole other world.

I took a deep breath and then looked up at him,
deciding to play stupid. “What are you talking about?” I
asked frowning.

“The last two days, you've hardly said two full
sentences to me... What is going on, Jen?” He took my
hand and held it in his.

“Jen, you can tell me anything. Our deal was that we
would talk to each other.”
“There's nothing to talk about, it’s all done.
Everything's already been planned out,” I told him, feeling
a lump rising in my throat. My heart ached and I was
fighting the tears so hard that my throat burned with the
effort.
“I tried to-” he began but before he could finish I put a
finger to his lips, shutting him up.
“I know,” I was becoming frantic now. “I know you
didn't want this either, and I know that you tried Eric,” I
said closing my eyes. “But I can't help blaming you. It's
you that I'm marrying, and you're going to be my husband.
Eric it's you...” I trailed off horrified at what I had said. I
would not blame him now if he hated me.
“It's okay,” he whispered squeezing my hand as he
pulled me closer. I didn’t pull away from him; instead I
leaned into his chest feeling at home here
– loved,
protected, safe... But at the same time the thoughts of
being trapped loomed in my head.
“I'm trying,” I muttered into his chest, both to him and
myself. “I really am... and I'm so sorry.”
“I understand, Jen... there was a time when I hated you.
I didn't know you then, but I knew of you... and I hated
you because... well I knew one day I would have to marry
you...” he trailed of, and I raised my head to look at him.
“I understand exactly how you feel.”
Eric gave me a few minutes and then asked “Ready?” I
didn't know what he was talking about, but I nodded
anyway and he opened the door, getting out of the limo,
dragging me along behind him. It was dark outside
probably around 11PM.
My breath caught at once when my eyes adjusted, and I
took in the scene around me. There weren't words to
describe the place. Eric and his family didn't live in a
house, they lived in a mansion, one that had been plucked
right out of a fairytale and was made for royalty. It was old,
like the family house that is passed down from one
generation to another. Only this place had to be dated way
back to the early centuries.
We were at the end of a long driveway that was lit with
lamps at both sides. At the other side of the limo was a
huge fountain that the driveway went around, so cars
could turn and then drive back out. The fountain itself was
an elegant black widow spider with crystal clear w ater
flowing out of its legs. Eric took my hand then and began
leading me to the house.
Inside was even more breathtaking. The first room I
stepped into was the foyer. It was huge, with wooden,
curved staircases at both ends that met at the middle of the
room. The floor was layered with wood colored tiles, and
the walls looked like they were made of wood too, but as I
passed my hand along the wall closest to me, I realized it
wasn't. The material didn't feel like it should, it was too
cold.
“Where are we?” I asked, my voice seeming to echo
through the giant room.
“Home,” he breathed out, and I could tell he missed
this place. “Well, one of them,” he sighed.
“You really live here?” I asked in pure disbelief. Who
and what where the Wilsons? “Wait,” I said before he
could answer, “what do you mean one of them?” I asked.
We had reached the staircase now and it too wasn't real
wood.
“My parents own houses all around the world. We
moved around a lot, but this is where I spent most of my
life. Most of my friends are here...” he clarified.
“Where are your parents now? Are they here? And your
sister?” I asked to fill the silence. “It must be great having
a sister,” I said speaking to myself now.
“My father is in...” he hesitated a moment, thinking,
“some other country and I think my mom and Christy are
up stairs but who knows, their schedules change a lot.”
“Oh,” I said.
“So you want a sister?” Even though his back was to
me and now we were in a dimly lit corridor, I could tell
there was an amused smile on his face.
“Yes,” I nodded knowing he couldn't see me. “I've
always wanted a sister, but growing up in Trinidad with
Kris - she's my best friend - kinda made up for not having
one,” I smiled.
“You miss her, don't you?” he asked and again I
nodded.
“Of course I miss her... she's my family. I loved living
in Trinidad.”
“So why did you leave?” I could almost hear the frown
in his voice. Memories I didn't want flooded back
immediately and I swallowed, forcing myself to say the
words.
“I left... after Daren's funeral...” I trailed off. “I couldn't
stay... Leaving home was like finding a way to... to not
drown, I guess...”
“Jen... you don't have to talk about it, if you don't want
to...”
“I know,” was all I said. Sometime during our
conversation, we'd stopped walking and was now standing
directly in front of one of the many doors along the
corridor. Eric pushed it open and then gestured for me to
go in first, immediately switching on the light.
“My room,” he announced as I forfeited his hand,
walking into the room. The first thing I noticed about
Eric's bedroom was how neat and tidy everything was. It
even smelled clean, not the overpowering type of clean,
just fresh. The room almost looked cold, like it didn't
belong to anyone. Everything was too perfect and straight
as if no one really lived here, either that or Eric Wilson had
an OCD problem.
On one side was a huge built-in wardrobe that went
from wall to wall and ceiling to floor. The bed was in the
middle of the room and at the other end were two doors.
One was opened, revealing a small balcony and the other I
was guessing opened to a toilet and bath. There was also a
bookcase, stacked neatly with CDs and books. I walked up
to that. It was the only personal thing in the entire room.
On the very first shelf was a stereo and CDs. There
were stacks upon stacks of CDs, all bands I listened to,
arranged alphabetically by artist, then year. Eric definitely
had OCD. Just as I was about to pull a random book out
pain crippled me and I was suddenly on the floor, curled
into a ball.
My vision blurred as seconds later another, stronger
wave of pain washed through me. Everything around me
was in chaos. I heard an ear piercing, child-like, horrified
screamed from somewhere inside the house, and then
blood came pouring out of my mouth. This only lasted for
a minute and then darkness engulfed everything around
me and after, nothing…

I felt hands on me, touching my shoulders and face,
and acting instinctively, I felt my own hands, heavy against
the rest of my body, fighting them. I was in the dark and I
didn't want to be touched. I shoved and pushed them
away, but they always returned, no matter how hard I
fought.

“Open your eyes, Jen,” a voice I recognized said. It
sounded worried and pained but I didn't know why. I
couldn't make sense of what it was saying, but it was
beautiful even coated in worry. “I'm not going to hurt
you,” it said again and this time instead of hearing a
mixture of blurred hums and sounds, words began to take
form. I listened and after struggling against my heavy
eyelids again and again, I finally opened them and the
world blurred into focus.

Everything around me was smoky, as if somehow the
world had been blanketed by a cloud of heavy, thick haze.
Dizzily I looked around and found myself in Eric's room.
“What happened?” I heard myself mutter, but the voice
wasn't mine. This voice was strange and distant; more of a
moan than a voice.

“You fainted. Are you okay?” He was worried and
panicked, and hearing the intensity in his voice made me
want to tell him everything. Just for a moment I wanted to
tell him the truth, that I was far from okay, that I’d
stopped taking my medication and I was dying.

“Jen answer me,” he demanded when I didn't respond,
his voice going hard now. In one of his flash movements
he cupped my face between his hands and the suddenness
of it made me jump. “I can have a doctor here in five
seconds.”

“I'm fine Eric,” I whispered hoarsely, attempting to sit
up - I was lying on Eric's bed - and seeing this he helped
me up.

“You don't look fine. You were spitting out blood for
fuck's sake, Jen.”
“Looks can be very misleading Eric,” I told him
looking up at his face now, willing him to believe me. I
fought against the wave of pain and desire to lie back
down. I had to show Eric I was fine.
“Jen, you fainted… that's not normal and with your
health...” he trailed off. He wasn't frantic anymore but the
worry hadn't gone, and I believed it would never leave his
head. I got the feeling from now onwards Eric was going
to be watching me like a lion would watch its prey. I had
slipped up and now he saw me as a sick, unhealthy girl.
“Eric I'm sick. I have been all my life,” I paused
wondering which direction I should go with this. I wasn't
sure what I was going to say but I knew I had to make him
believe me. “At the same time though, I'm just like
everyone else. Those little miracle pills your father makes
ensures that. I'll faint or throw up, I'll have nosebleeds...
there'll be days when I feel like crap but it doesn't mean
my body is failing...”
“Are you sure you're okay though?” he asked, his icy
blue eyes intense and studying me. My only response was a
slight smile as I nodded. The seconds dragged on, his eyes
never leaving me, then finally Eric nodded and relief
flooded me. “But as soon as my dad gets back I'm having
him look at you.”
I grabbed his face, just as he had cupped my face
before, pulling him down to my side until he was sitting
inches from me. “I'm fine,” I whispered smiling at him and
in response he smiled back, but it didn't touch his eyes. It
was just that, a smile.
“Okay,” I finally nodded, hoping to ease his worry, if
even just a little. The check up was going to be a problem,
but I was too exhausted to dwell over it at the moment.
“Tell me about it,” he said after a long while of staring
at me. I dropped my hands from his face and began
playing with the cast on my arm.
“I thought you knew for some freakish reason,” I
admitted.
“No,” he shook his head. “I've always known you were
sick, but never cared enough to want to know any more
than that...”
“So what changed?” I asked raising my head to look at
him.
“I met you...” he whispered. “Everything changed.”
I was silent for a long while and the seconds dragged
on, guilt riding me. How much guilt could the human body
stand? I felt it over Daren and Brandon's death, and that
alone was crippling. Now I was feeling it over Eric too. He
cared for me and in the end I'd only hurt him.
“So are you going to tell me?” he asked when I didn't
answer.
“It’s something called aplastic anemia. The bone
marrow in my body can't produce blood cells. There’s no
solid cause, but doctors think it happens when the body's
immune system is attacking the stem cells, so without
those little pills, I could die from the common flu or bleed
out from a wound that isn't fatal.”
“So you have a very severe case of it...” he trailed off
frowning.
It wasn't a question, but I found myself answering
anyway. “Yeah,” I shook my head. “My body can't make
red blood cells nor white or platelets...” I knew what his
next question would be - it was always the same questions
in exactly the same sequence - so before he asked, I
answered.
“I've had blood transfusions and other drugs that's
supposed to help. I've been through immunosuppressive
therapy - that's where they weakened my immune system.
They all worked for a while,” I shrugged.
“How can you be so casual about this?”
“Because this is my reality...” I explained. I grew up
knowing these things just as other kids had grown up
knowing if they wanted to see the sun they had to look at
the sky. “Its kinda funny, actually,” I laughed. My own
body was attacking itself. The white blood cells that were
supposed to fight infections were instead fighting me.
“No, Jen, it's not funny,” he frowned, looking at me as
if I was a serial killer.
I took a breath and forced myself to stop laughing. The
smile was still on my face though. “That's what everyone
says but,” my smile grew brighter and bigger, “if you rob a
bank and your pants fall down, laugh at it. Let your
hostages laugh too because life is funny.”
His lips curled up and he let out a small chuckle. “See?”
I asked grinning.
“Where did you hear that?”
I stopped and wondered for a moment. “I have no
idea,” I laughed, “maybe Daren.”
“Would you tell me about him, what he was like?”
I didn't answer right away. I wasn't sure if I would be
able to, but I would try. I didn't want to keep everything to
myself anymore. I was tired of it. “He was funny,” I smiled
involuntarily, remembering all the times he'd made me
laugh so much I’d literally cried. “He was very impulsive,
and an amazing driver. Daren could probably drive
anything that had wheels...” I spoke each word carefully
and slowly.
“He wasn't afraid to hurt my feelings. He would tell me
if I was wrong or being an annoying pain,” I laughed at
this too. The memories were too sweet not to. “He was
straightforward and the only person who knew I was sick,
and he never treated me like I was. Not once had he
looked at me with pity or guilt or sorrow... To him I was
just me…”
“Daren was the first person I was comfortable enough
with to tell anything to and I knew no matter what he
would never leave me... I could scream at him and he’d
just shout back that I was being a bitch. We fought a lot,”
I smiled, “about crazy stupid things. I miss fighting with
him... I missed everything about him…”
“Now it’s like drowning...” I swallowed. “Everything
reminds me that he's gone, and I'm left here alone
stumbling around lost and confused with nothing and no
one who understands,” I told him as the tears spilled out
and ran down my face. I wiped them away instantly. Eric's
eyes were glued on me and I realized then I wanted to
make him understand. I don't know why but I needed him
to. “I can't breathe properly... it’s like there's no release.
You said there were cracks and dark spots running through
me and you're right Eric... I am so damaged and so broken
that it’s taking everything I have left in me to hold myself
together. Every day I pretend to be fine - to be okay because when I stop pretending it’s going to break me...”
“You loved him...” he realized and I sat there frozen,
my brain unable to form a single thought, too stunned by
how fast Eric had figured it out. “You still love him...” he
trailed off looking at me, studying my every move. His
words came out precise and slow.
I opened my mouth to say something - to deny the
truth - but no words came out. They were trapped inside
me, somewhere hidden and dark. All I could force out was
one syllable “I... I...” Finally I gave up and looked down at
my fingers.
“It’s okay, you don't have to say anything... I
understand... But tell me this,” he took my good hand,
gently closing his fingers around my wrist. Then his other
hand went up to my neck. “This scar, how did you get it?”
Eric gently began to pass his thumb along the base of my
throat, where I knew there was a very faint, thin line.
“You see that?” I asked stalling his question. I freed my
wrist and brought my hand up to meet his at my neck. I
then held his hand in mine and carefully removed it from
touching the scar.
“I do,” he waited.
I looked up at him deciding whether I should lie to him
like I usually did when people asked. A second later I
heard myself say, “I'm not going to answer that.”
“Why?”
“I don't want to lie to you...” I replied truthfully.
He was silent for a while. “Then don't lie,” he
whispered.
“I can't”
“Why?” he repeated
“Eric I'm not ready to talk about it...”
Eric nodded, but other than that he didn't respond. A
part of me expected him to push me to tell him, and I was
glad when he didn't. I wasn't ready to talk about that scar
or the night I'd gotten it. I didn't think I would ever be
ready. “Thanks for understanding,” I told him, yawning
against my will.
“You should probably sleep,” he said immediately and
stood up from the bed, standing at its side. “I'll show you
to your room; it’s across the hall from mine.” He held out
a hand to me, but I didn't take it. “You know, just in case
you have the uncontrollable urge to see me in the middle
of the night and have your way with me,” he grinned. “Just
so you know, I don't mind being taken advantage of,” he
added with a an exaggerated wink.
A mysterious smile pierced my lips as my eyes locked
onto his face. “Why can't I sleep here, and you sleep in the
guest bedroom, give me a chance to snoop and see what
lies beneath the mask of Eric Wilson?”
He dropped his hand, staring at me all serious now.
“I've nothing to hide... Anything you want to know I'll tell
you.”
“Hmm...” I mused. “So Eric Wilson... what's your
darkest secret? Something no one knows?” I teased, not
expecting an answer.
“Good question,” he chuckled, turning away from me
and started to walk towards the bedroom door. Just as I
was about to tell him I wasn't being serious about putting
him out of his bedroom, he turned back to face me. “My
darkest secret, Jen,” he whispered, pausing in front of the
door with one hand already turning the knob. “I'm in love
with the girl I'm engaged to, but the dark part is that she's
in love with someone else, and just weeks after he died I'm
the ass she's being forced to marry.” Eric opened the door
then, and left.
All I could think was 'what the fuck had just
happened?' Did he really just say that? Eric loved me?
Why? What was there left to love? I was confused. I
couldn't wrap my head around it - Eric Wilson loved me.
Me - a broken, damaged girl; a girl who could never love
him back. What the fuck had just happened?