A Need So Beautiful (A Need So Beautiful #1)(61)

I hang my head as I wait for the makeup to dry, forcing myself not to cry so it won’t be ruined. “What do I do now?” I ask. I look down at my hands in my lap and pull off my gloves. The glow is bright underneath. I realize that I’m resigned to it. It’s just what I am now.

Monroe watches me with a sad expression. “Remember,” he says quietly, “you’re still you, Charlotte.”

I lift my eyes to meet his. “Charlotte doesn’t exist,” I say. “No one will ever remember me.” And the statement in my ears is the most horrible thing I’ve ever heard. Because I never existed. There is no such thing as me.

“You’ve helped a lot of people,” he says. “They may not remember it was you. But you’ve changed their lives. Even the ones who weren’t your Needs. Mercy, Sarah, Harlin—they’ll all remember the love you gave them. That can’t be taken away.”

“Am I an angel?” I ask, sniffling hard to try to keep away the tears.

“You’re more than that.” Monroe puts his hand on my shoulder. “And I can promise you one thing: I will never forget you, Charlotte Cassidy.”

At least there’s that. At least there’s Monroe.

The phone on his desk buzzes and we both jump. “Dr. Swift?” Rhonda’s voice comes over the intercom. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but we have an emergency.”

He looks back at me, and I try to smile. “Go,” I say. “I’ll call you if I burst into light or something.”

He looks at me thoughtfully. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he assures me, and squeezes my shoulder before leaving his office.

“Wait, Monroe?” I call as he gets to his door.

“Yes?”

“Do you think I still have time to say good-bye to Sarah?”

He seems to think about it for second, and then meets my eyes. “Hurry.”

Monroe walks out and my heart begins to race. Hurry. Hurry as in five minutes from now or five hours? I have to see her. I have to say good-bye, even if she doesn’t know what the hell I’m talking about.

I stand quickly and check my reflection in the mirror Monroe had left out on his desk. I don’t look great, but I don’t look awful, either. I figure I can bluff my way through it, blame it on a bad mall makeover or something.

Just in case, I take out my phone and smile when I see that I have a text message that was sent a few hours ago. It’s from Sarah.

Frankie’s for lunch?

It’s a little late for lunch, but maybe I can catch Sarah before she leaves. I shove the phone back into my pocket and rush out, hoping to have one last time with my best friend. Hoping to have one last chance to feel human.

Chapter 23

A s the bus pulls up in front of Frankie’s, I see Sarah walking away with a white takeout bag. I’m so relieved as I run to her, calling out and waving wildly to get her attention.

Sarah glances over and smiles, then nods at me. “Hi,” she says cautiously.

She looks better than she did yesterday. Her hair is smooth and her eyes have been made up, but her jacket is long and conservative. It looks like something her father would approve of.

“Sorry I missed your text,” I say. “I’ve had a crazy morning.”

“It’s okay.”

“Have you talked to Harlin at all?” I can’t help but hope that he was worried when I left him. Maybe checked in with Sarah.

“The motorcycle guy?” she asks.

I pause. “Yeah.”

She smiles a little. “I always wondered what happened to him after he dropped out of St. Vincent’s. He was nice to look at.” She wiggles her eyebrows like I should agree. “Are you dating him?”

Devastation washes over me. Her expressions are so unfamiliar to me, so . . . cold. I almost can’t bring myself to ask.

“Sarah, you know who I am, right?” I ask in a small voice.

A look of guilt crosses her face. “Of course. We were in the same class, right?” She stops, darting her eyes around the sidewalk as a few people pass us. “I’m not going to St. Vincent’s anymore. My father thought a private tutor was my best chance to get into an Ivy League school next year.”

My heart sinks. I know damn well that Sarah doesn’t give a crap about Ivy League colleges. This is something she would tell a person she met at a charity ball. Something she would tell a stranger.

“I’m Charlotte,” I say, feeling my life drain out of me. “I’m your best friend.”

She steps back and laughs softly, probably trying to discern if I’m joking.

“Best friends? I think I’d remember that, Charlotte.”

“We’ve been friends since Ms. Cavanaugh’s seventh-grade gym class,” I say. “You forgot your swimsuit one day and were crying because you didn’t want to sit in detention alone, so I pretended to have lost mine so that I could keep you company.”

Her eyes widen. “How did you know about Ms. Cavanaugh’s class?” Her face is pale and I know that I’m scaring her, but I can’t stop. I want to remind her of how much I love her.

“And then we went to the junior prom in your dad’s BMW while everyone else took limos because you wanted to stand out. Matthew Bower was your date, but you didn’t like him because he was a wet kisser.” I laugh at the memory, remembering how often she recreated the disaster for me on the back of her hand or on her mirror.