A Need So Beautiful (A Need So Beautiful #1)(14)

He continues with a long sigh. “I give you the night off and you become a streetwalker? It’s embarrassing, really.”

I tell him to shut the hell up, but I’m glad he hasn’t called Mercy. She’s going to have a coronary when she hears about this. I still haven’t thought of a way to explain why I was out.

I shift on the exam table, thinking of Harlin in the waiting room. I’ll have to tell him something. I just don’t know what.

“Stay still, Charlotte,” Monroe warns as he ties off the thread and then grabs the scissors to snip it.

“Sorry.” I sit on the crinkling paper while he cleans off the metal tray and goes to the sink to wash his hands. When he first examined me, Monroe was quick to give me a Vicodin after getting a look at the huge, bumper-sized bruises on my thighs. It’s left me a little groggy, but that’s good. He told me I’d be really sore for a few days, but that there was no permanent damage.

When I told him not to call the cops to report the accident, he definitely eyed me suspiciously, scratching at his slightly graying five o’clock shadow. But Monroe and I have known each other forever—he trusts me. And I’m sure he’ll expect me to explain later.

When I was seven, I came into this clinic with a broken arm that I’d gotten on the school playground. Max Rothsberg didn’t want to hear that I knew he’d stolen money out of the donation basket. Instead, he pushed me down and snap!

Oddly enough, a week later when I went back to school, he didn’t remember even talking to me about it. He’d given the money back while I was gone. I tried to tell one of the nuns right when the Need happened, but she chalked it up to childhood delusions and scolded me for lying. She said that kids can’t see visions—only God can. So after that I kept my mouth shut.

Mercy was volunteering at the clinic during those years and sometimes she’d bring me in with her. I liked hanging around. Monroe would talk with me about school. About my home life. It was nice sometimes, having a person other than Mercy care about me. Monroe’s the closest thing to a father I’ve ever known. So when I turned twelve and Monroe asked me to volunteer, I was happy to say yes.

Just being here at the clinic, I feel a zillion times better. It’s so familiar. Safe.

Monroe steps on the trash can, opening it with a metal clang. Just then, there’s a small itch at my shoulder. At the spot. I know I have to tell someone about the mark on my skin. I can’t keep this a secret. “Monroe,” I whisper, my throat dry. He pauses while removing his gloves, and looks over. I’m sure he can hear in my voice that something is wrong.

“Are you hurt somewhere else?” He shifts in his loafers, darting his gaze over my body. With a quick snap he pulls off his gloves and tosses them on the counter.

“Um . . .” My cheeks start to warm because I’m not quite sure how to say it. I have no idea how to tell him that my skin is flaking away. “It’s . . .” I can’t look at him anymore, and my shoulders slump. I can’t show him.

“Go ahead, Charlotte,” he whispers. “It’s okay.”

I look up and he’s watching me. It throws me off how he’s waiting, his lips pressed together, his eyes narrowed intently. Could . . . could he know? I start to unbutton the silver tabs on my blouse. My heart is racing. I don’t know what’s going to happen next and I’m terrified.

I push the fabric away from my skin, from the spot, and I hear him gasp. My stomach drops and I regret showing him, but he’s immediately next to me, running his finger over it, examining it. He’s not wearing his gloves anymore and I wonder if he’s grossed out.

“My God,” he murmurs, putting his entire hand over the gold, covering it up. I’m ready to cry. What’s wrong with me? But Monroe turns and his blue eyes are glassy. “It’s so beautiful.”

I blink quickly, feeling confused. “What?” I wonder if maybe I have a concussion, or if the Vicodin has made me loopy. There’s no way he just called this beautiful. I’m missing skin. It’s disgusting!

I push Monroe back and hurriedly button my blouse. Maybe I do need to go to the emergency room. But the minute I think it, there’s a knot in my gut. They would want to perform tests, call in experts. The Need is one thing . . . but golden skin? That’s not normal. Not even a little.

I raise my eyes to meet Monroe’s and his face is stoic, frozen, amazed. He slowly starts to shake his head from side to side, a soft smile on his lips. “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. It’s finally happening. It’s a miracle.”

“Happening? What is happening to me? You have to—”

Just then the door opens and Monroe and I both turn toward it. Harlin looks between us as he eases his way in. “Hey,” he says. “I wanted to check and see if everything was okay. You guys have been in here a while and I—” He stops, staring at Monroe. “She is okay, right?” Harlin’s unshaven jaw is tight I can see he’s about to burst from worry.

“Yes,” I say quickly, and hop down from the table, the deep bruising of my thighs making me wince. “Monroe stitched me up. How many did I need again?” I try to sound light. It’s more pretending. Lying. But I don’t want Harlin to know about how the spot has changed. Not yet.

Monroe takes too long to answer and then finally, like coming out of a dream, he whispers, “Four stitches.”