Heal Me (A Touched Trilogy Book 2) Read online

  I settled into a plush chair and let my eyes drift closed. I wasn’t completely drained, but my body needed some kind of rest. Mrs. Bishop rattled on about how she couldn’t believe Dylan had done this, how he was always so happy. How could she not have seen how unhappy he was?

  Had I done too good of a job in taking his anger and pain away that she’d never witnessed one of his cracks? The question made me sick to my stomach. Had my gift finally hurt someone other than me? I was supposed to be a healer, but with Dylan, I’d never really done that. I’d only hidden it for a little while, enough that he never tried to get help, enough that his parents had no idea that he was having problems. This was my fault.

  His parents were nice. They always had been, and I wondered what had happened to their relationship with Dylan. I didn't blame them for what Dylan had done, but it reminded me of when Dylan and his dad were so close. They’d go to baseball practice every other night during the summer, and then hit the batting cages in the winter. I squeezed my eyes closed tighter. Wondering wouldn’t help. All I could do was pray.

  Two hours later Dylan was out of surgery and in the ICU. They were going to keep him in recovery for another few hours before they moved him and allowed any visitors. I got up from the waiting room chair I’d been sitting in and moved to where Dad leaned against the nurses’ station chatting with a pretty brunette. It was vaguely unnerving to see my dad flirt.

  “Dad?” I said, touching his arm. He waved to the nurse as she left us alone.

  “Hey sweetheart, how’re you holding up?”

  “Okay, I was wondering if we could go home.”

  “Are you sure?” he asked, obviously surprised. “You don’t want to stay and go in to see Dylan?”

  “I don’t think it would be a really good idea considering...”

  “Considering you broke up with him?”

  I nodded. That was only part of the reason I wanted to leave. The other part was the group of people who had entered the waiting area a few minutes ago and the news they’d been receiving hadn’t been positive like the Bishops were getting. The discomfort was becoming unbearable, but I couldn’t afford to help them. Doing a transfer with them would suck out what little energy I’d just gotten back. Maybe that was selfish, but I needed to take care of myself.

  My own guilt, though, was the biggest part of wanting to leave. Logically, I knew that Dylan had made his own choice, but I knew the break up had something to do with it.

  “All right then. Do you want to tell the Bishops we’re leaving?”

  “I suppose I should.” I went over to talk to them and to say they were surprised was an understatement.

  “You’re leaving?!” Mrs. Bishop practically leapt from her seat. “Dear, you’ve been here for hours already. Don’t you want to wait to see him? The nurse just came by and said he should be transferred within an hour or so.”

  “They probably won’t even let me in. Not being family and all,” I said, wishing I could have come up with a better excuse.

  “Lily, you’re like family to us.”

  “I know. It’s just...” The truth was best, right? “It’s just that Dylan and I broke up, and I don’t know how he’ll react if I go in there. I don’t want to upset him.”

  “Broke up? What are you talking about? Dylan told me this morning that you two were going out for dinner tonight.” Mrs. Bishop exchanged a confused look with Mr. Bishop.

  Maybe she should have realized he’d been lying when he tried to blow himself away instead. The thought came so suddenly that I nearly blurted it out and barely managed to contain the words. The impulse to slap myself for the horrible thought was strong. Her son had almost died and I had pretty much helped him decide to do it. What kind of a horrible person was I to try shifting the blame?

  “I can’t believe Dylan didn’t say anything.” There was a change in her tone of voice and Mr. Bishop loomed behind her, his eyes watching me squirm. The censure was coming and my guilt tripled. Even they knew I was partly at fault.

  “Lily, let’s go.” Dad wrapped his arm around me drawing me away from the accusation I could see in their gazes.

  The chilly spring evening was like a glorious breath of air, clearing away what I’d seen in the Bishop’s faces.

  “It’s not your fault, Lily. You know that right?” Dad glanced at me from the corner of his eye as he drove us home. I nodded mechanically. “Dylan made this choice, not you, and it was not your responsibility to take care of him. You did your best.”

  It was true. Every word he said was true.

  “But I didn’t do enough.”

  And I could never fix it.

  Three hours later, Nathan called to say the hospital had contacted the Sheriff. Dylan never made it out of recovery. He died of complications only minutes after I left the hospital.

  Death is final and I was finally free. Free of what, I didn’t know anymore.

  Chapter 8

  Numbness is a strange feeling. Or maybe a strange lack of feeling. Either way the void it caved inside me was all consuming. The weight of its nothingness seemed impossible, suffocating everything else.

  I went back to school a few days after and was glad of the numbness at first. There were stares from the other students, angry and sympathetic, slightly interested and filled with malicious intent. There were words, hollow and cutting. Nothing came through.

  There was a funeral and later I tried to remember it, but couldn’t. There was only a vague sense of sorrow from the others and an image of Dylan's picture resting on top of his white coffin. He hated that picture. It had been taken the year before, and he’d been trying out his professional pose, which ended up looking like he had a stick up his ass. Mrs. Bishop asked me to say something at the service. I think I did, maybe about how he wanted to be an astronaut. Numbness was good.

  I didn’t want to feel anything. Didn’t want to be sucked into a grief that would overwhelm me every waking minute. When the emotions of other started to seep through the fog, I could walk away, close my door, and concentrate on other things. If I let my own feelings loose, there would be no end, no escape.

  School happened and I went to each class, finished all of my assignments, made good grades, even my project with Micah turned out well. We got an A and Micah told me I could gloat, but I didn’t. Junior prom came and went. It all simply happened. I couldn’t remember specifics, just the absence of Dylan and the fact that he was never going to be back to normal.

  Eventually numbness needs to wear off, but for me it didn’t. It lingered, wrapping me in a cocoon of haziness that allowed me to barely function. I tried to find a way to make myself feel, wanting to find the surface in the black pool of nothingness, but I couldn’t. I still sensed other people’s emotions, was still able to heal them, but my own were dead. Healing had become my only way of feeling anything.

  Summer came and things happened. The return of my car keys, movies with friends, and sleep. Sleep happened most often. I was completely empty of all energy. Everywhere I went people were hurting and I refused to not do something. I had always used my gift on little things, a brush of my hand in the mall and the worried mom with a screaming toddler calmed down, or a sad and lonely old man drinking his milkshake in the food court would suddenly feel better remembering the good old’ days. But I’d avoided the bigger stuff. Now I didn’t even care about the strange looks people gave me when I first gripped their arms or hands. Never again would I walk away from someone.

  Chloe and Phoebe were pissed when they realized what I was doing, but it wasn’t like they could stop me. Their own anger fed my need as the moment they became frustrated, I reached out and took it from them. I felt like a thief at times, the accusations in their eyes making me aware of how perverted the use of my gift had become. Yet I couldn’t stop. How could I not do something to ease another’s heart?

  Even then the days blurred.

  What I could recall was wrapped up in Micah. Every chance I got I went to see him. We hung out in
the evenings after his folks got home, and texted or chatted online. During the day, we walked Hannah to the park. Her face lit up as she swung back and forth, Micah tickling her tummy every time she drifted forward.

  I felt comfortable with him. I didn’t have to hide anything. He knew about my gift, but it didn’t matter to him. And best of all, he didn’t really know Dylan. He didn’t try to pry memories, details, or even feelings out of me. He was just there and it was nice. I could be numb without him getting worried. When we watched movies, he always picked loud action ones that let me blur out the plotlines. Sometimes he would stick in one of my favorites. I know he did it just to see if I would react in some way, so I tried. I would smile and laugh hollowly at the places I knew I’d once found funny.

  Being around Hannah wasn’t as easy. Micah said there was nothing wrong with her, but what else could explain the constant ache he had when she was around? There was a definite warmth radiating from her, but I could never actually feel any pain or sadness. She was a happy little girl, but every time I touched her, I could feel the transfer of indescribably content feelings like the first time I’d held her.

  “Do you ever wonder what would happen if you knew the future?” Micah asked me one day. We were at the park and he sat in the sand with Hannah building a sand lump. He’d called it a castle, but with no definition, it looked like nothing more than another bump in the sand. “If you would still make the same choices?”

  I knew he was thinking about Hannah, not Dylan. But my mind twisted it.

  “Chloe can see the future,” I said. “It doesn’t change anything. You would still make the same choices.”

  “I know I would.” He pauses to look at Hannah, and I believe him.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  He glanced up at me, staring for a moment, before nodding.

  Silence fell between us again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It is simply a sense of not needing to say any more. I wanted it to stay that way, but it didn’t. After walking back to Micah’s, we were in the kitchen and he was feeding Hannah when his cell phone buzzed. He flipped it open to read the text. Heat flooded me instantly as a mixture of anger and confusion flew out of him. I stumbled out of my chair, and he gripped my arm to steady me.

  I blacked out.

  When I woke up on the couch this time, I felt something inside of me, behind the drained energy. Not a remnant of his emotions, but of my own. It choked me and my body clenched, struggling to force it back down. I didn’t want to know what it was. I wanted my numbness back.

  When Micah called the next day, I didn’t answer.

  I found it harder and harder to deal with the intermittent transfers I had with him. Other people were predictable. Transfers with Micah were sporadic and I never knew when he was going to unleash it on me. After the one in the kitchen, I’d stopped hanging out with him alone. Yet with me clinging to Phoebe’s group of friends like my own and Micah having grown his own friendships with them, he was unavoidable.

  Maybe I should have said something, but that wasn’t the kind of friendship we had. We didn’t talk feelings. Part of it was my fault. I’d always kept things to myself, but Micah didn’t exactly inspire deep emotional confessions. He was still wary of how people reacted to him being a teen dad.

  By the end of summer, I was officially avoiding him, hating the nervousness that would build in me the instant I saw him. It was sad to think that I couldn’t trust my emotions around him. He helped me keep my head out of the fog enough to survive, but I hated that he’d made me feel something.

  Senior year would start soon and a hazy memory of it was not what I’d imagined since entering high school. Chloe had always talked about how our senior year would be the best. Not anymore. No prom with Dylan, no great memories. This was another year of my youth I wouldn’t remember clearly.

  It was the middle of August and somehow Chloe had talked Phoebe and me into helping the cheer squad with preparations for a back to school barbeque. Phoebe and I were relegated to rolling plastic utensils in napkins. The repetitiveness of the task was soothing. Fork, knife, roll, secure.

  “Why are you so weird with Micah?” Phoebe asked, throwing a set of rolled utensils in the box holding our handy work.

  “I’m not weird,” I said, trying to sound offended.

  “Yes, you are. You guys were inseparable for a few weeks. Dad even thought you two were dating. Don’t worry, I told him you’re definitely not Micah’s type. But when he’s not around, you’re constantly asking about him and then the second he’s there you can’t be far enough away. So, either you’re super hot for him, or you’ve decided to completely hate the guy for some irrational reason.”

  “I don’t hate him.”

  “So you’re hot for him?”

  “No! That’s not what I meant. I just...” I snatched up a rubber band and twisted it around the utensil-filled napkin so tightly it snapped back and bit into my hand.

  “Spill it, Lils.” She dropped her napkin and rubber band back onto the table. “I’m not rolling another one of these frigging things until you tell me.”

  I glanced at the table, estimating there were still nearly a hundred to go. No way did I want to do them all on my own.

  “Micah has some issues,” I said.

  “Issues like Dylan had issues? Or like Chloe has issues?”

  “Different.”

  She rolled her eyes, and puffed her side swept bangs from over her eye. “Different how?”

  “There are times when I know he’s upset, but I can’t always feel it. And when I touch him, there’s nothing, even though I know he’s hurting. Other times, I think I’m completely safe and then he hits me with everything. All this crazy pent up stuff.”

  “Is that why you were sleeping during the movie last weekend? Because you’d healed him?”

  Somehow, despite my best efforts to be at the opposite end to the row from him, Micah had ended up right next to me. One shift of his arm and I’d been down for the count.

  “I wasn’t sleeping. I passed out.”

  She sat forward and glared at me. “What the hell, Lily?! How could you not tell me about this?”

  “I didn’t want to cause a problem.”

  Since Dylan’s death, my sisters had become super overprotective of me. I wondered where they’d been all those years when their friends had picked on me for my red hair and freckles or the number of times I’d been called a pixie, or even when they purposely used their anger towards each other to get me to do things for them.

  “Are you serious? Lils, all you had to do was say something and we wouldn’t have invited him.”

  “That’s not fair to Micah, is it?”

  “Who cares about fair?”

  I did. And I didn’t like the fact that I did. Micah wasn’t always the most pleasant guy to be around, but when he wasn’t being sarcastic or cutting, he was actually a lot of fun, and he was my friend. Maybe even my best friend. I didn’t want to exclude him.

  “Micah needs friends,” I said as if that justified everything.

  “Yeah, and that’s all fine and pink flowery hearts or whatever, but you need to have a pain free life and enough energy to live it.”

  I shrugged and rolled another napkin set.

  “You do like him,” Phoebe said, a hint of a smile in her voice. I didn’t dare look up, because I knew I would blush. Of course, she could have said I liked Chris Lancaster, the ugliest guy in the entire school and I would have blushed.

  “That’s not the point, Phoebs. I can’t let myself be pulled back onto the same emotional roller coaster Dylan was.”

  I swallowed, and forced his image from my mind.

  Four months.

  One hundred twelve days that I had been free from Dylan.

  One hundred twelve days of wishing I could take back every hurtful word I’d said in the days leading up to his suicide.

  One hundred twelve days I’d spent wondering when everything was going to feel real.

  “O
kay, so this is all about Dylan then,” she said. She’d been spending too much time with Owen and his whole Dr. Phil routine, but I thought she was missing the point in a lot of his discussions. Her next words proved my theory. “Owen says you’re not going through the stages of grief right. It’s like you’re stuck and can’t move to the next step.”

  “Oh, really?” My sister and friends were discussing the state of my mental health?

  “Yeah, he said he thinks you should talk to someone about it.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Lils, I think he’s right and not just because he’s spouting some serious Dr. Phil shit again. You need to get some help. Talk to someone professional.”

  “Do you really think I haven’t?” I snapped. “I’ve been, Phoebe. When you were flirting with Nathan while he worked lifeguard duty at the pool every day this summer, I was talking to Nanna, to Dad, to some stupid doctor. There’s nothing wrong with me! I’m not angry or hurt, or even feeling guilty. I don’t feel anything.”

  “Maybe that’s the problem, Lils. Your boyfriend killed himself. You should feel something.”

  I was messed up. Phoebe had been the first to say it, all those long months ago when she figured out I was pretending to be happy. I was still messed up and I didn’t see any way to fix me.

  “I’m sorry, Lily. I shouldn’t have said that.” She dropped her napkin and got up to give me one of her awkward side hugs.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “Just, please, no more talking about Dylan.”

  “I won’t bring Dylan up again, if you promise me one thing.”

  “What’s that?” I eyed her suspiciously. Phoebe’s deals were so convoluted and usually a little tricky to figure out, and most importantly, they often benefited only her.

  “You said excluding Micah wouldn’t be fair. So, make a choice about him. Either be his friend again and treat him the same as everyone else, or tell him why you don’t want to be around him so we don’t have to keep inviting him. Because the dude is starting to act a bit weird around you, too.”