Angelic (Book 2)

Thirteen

He was gone the entire next night and day. Blake ended up pumping the serum into me, and so I was reduced to a lethargic mess just lying on the couch. Angel had been right, oddly. The serum worked, but at the expense of my abilities and energy. There was no motivation, no energy, nothing.

            Oh, and my heart felt like it had been ripped out of my chest.

            Feelings. That was what August said. He had feelings for me. What did that even entail? I was too far passed the point of no return to deny I felt nothing for him, but that was exactly what I did. Blatant lies thrown in his face, less than what he deserved, and still I had done it. What was wrong with me?

            And to make matters worse, Angel thought it the brilliant idea she would return to my head, at the most random of times, and send me fleeting images of her pastimes. Because my sister was cold-hearted, her pastime involved killing people. Usually innocents. And since I couldn’t do what she did, and didn’t know where she was, I couldn’t stop it. All I could do was lay on the couch in the living room of the safe house, unable to summon by own abilities, and watch the sick show of my sister massacring in my head.

            It was plain torture.

            Blake crept into the living room on almost noiseless feet the next night, as I lay staring up at the ceiling, stunned from Angel’s most recent killing. I hadn’t told any of my house mates about the visions, but they had enough on their hands. Especially with nobody knowing where August was.

            “Hey,” Blake said, lowering down on the table in front of me. He wore an old t-shirt and jeans, caked with flour. Must have been cooking something. “How are you?”

            Phenomenal. I’ve seen Angel kill about twenty people, August is still gone, and my life feels as if it’s slipping through my fingers like sand. But all I said was, “Fine.”

            “Now, I definitely don’t believe that.” A small smile twitched his lips up, though it was more for my benefit, and I didn’t return the gesture.

            “Okay.”

            Blake sighed. “Come on, El. We’re all worried about you. What even happened between you two?”

            I turned my face into the pillow, trying to hide my embarrassment and confusion. “He said he might have feelings for me.”

            “That’s great!” he exclaimed, brightening up. “Isn’t it? That’s what we wanted to hear, right?”

            Apparently not.

            He shifted closer. “Right, Ellie?”

            “I told him I didn’t.”

            “What?”

            “That I didn’t have feelings for him. Or anybody. I told him so.”

            “But . . . but that’s a lie.”

            “He doesn’t have to know that.”

            “Oh, God.” Blake scrubbed a hand over his face, and then ruffled his shaggy blonde hair. “You just hate the prospect of being happy, don’t you?”

            “It’s not that,” I whispered.

            “Then what?”