Crave (Harlequin Teen)

giving up? ” Mom’s voice rose to a near shriek on the last word.
    “Shh, no, of course not! But maybe you should call her father. Maybe his kind would know what to do.” His kind? Nanna must really hate Dad.
    A long silence made me wonder if I’d fallen asleep. Then Mom finally replied in an odd tone that made her sound even more worried than before. “Are you sure we should involve them? If we ask for their advice, they may think things are out of control. They might want to get really involved from now on.”
    “We’ll have to take that risk, Joan. It’s ask for their help or nothing else.”
    Nothing else? What did that mean? Why did Nanna make those two simple words sound so scary?
    I thought I heard Mom murmuring to someone, but Nanna didn’t reply. Maybe Mom was talking with Dad on the phone?
    “Okay, we’ll try it.” Mom paused, and the cordless phone beeped as she ended the call. “Mom, he says we should try removing all our influence from her.”
    “All of it? Even the protective…”
    “Yes. He says it sounds like a conflict between the two sides within her.”
    “But—”
    “We have to try it. It was the only solution he could think of. And…he’s coming to have the talk with her.”
    “No. No, you said she never needed to know. He said she could have a normal life!”
    “She’s changing, Mom. And we can’t stop it anymore. She needs to know. But that’s only if…if this works.”
    “You mean…there won’t be any need if…”
    Silence.
    If what?
    And then my body answered me, the pain sharpening until there was nothing but the pain. Death. It felt like I was dying the worst possible death imaginable, like being burned alive then drowned in arctic water seconds later.
    Hands of fire touched my throat, a horrible contrast to the block of ice my body had become. Something slipped from my neck, and the heated fingers went away. Then I threw up, my stomach emptying itself over and over into a metal bowl Mom held for me, until nothing was left, and still the heaving didn’t end.
    And then I slept. Hours, days, I had no idea how long. While I slept, I dreamed of Tristan.
    When I woke up, three faces peered down at me. Mom, Nanna…and Dad.
    Please don’t let me have talked in my sleep. If I’d said Tristan’s name out loud…
    But then I relaxed. Crazy, to feel guilty over a dream I couldn’t control. Even if I had said his name aloud in my sleep, just because I’d promised to stay away from Tristan and the other Clann kids ever since the fourth grade didn’t mean I would get into trouble for dreaming about him now.
    Still, I must have messed up somehow to have earned a visit from Dad. The only times he ever came to see me were for my birthday in October and once during the summer. And even then we only met for dinner at our favorite local restaurant, where we both pretended to eat in spite of the awkwardness between us, and he pretended to care about my life. He hadn’t come to Nanna’s house since the Christmas when I was seven, and he and Mom got into an argument that ended with her throwing plates and ice-cube trays at him.
    Nanna leaned forward to touch my forehead and cheeks for signs of a lingering fever. “Hey, hon, how are you feeling?”
    I tried to swallow. My throat was raw, as if someone had rubbed sandpaper down it. “Thirsty,” I managed to whisper.
    Mom handed me a glass of water. I moved to sit up, but my aching lower abdomen made me freeze and moan. It felt like someone had taken a baseball bat to my stomach. “Did someone beat me up?”
    Mom laughed, but it sounded weak. “Not quite.”
    I settled for lifting only my head so I could sip some water to ease my throat. When I had finished, I said, “What happened to me?”
    All three of them shared glances with one another. Talk about übercreepy. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d even seen them all in the same room together, much less doing that annoying wordless-communication thing with their eyes that all adults seemed to love to do.
    “Michael, you should tell her now,” Mom said, moving to sit at the end of the bed by my feet.
    With a curt nod, Dad clasped his hands in front of him as if he were a preacher about to speak at a funeral. He couldn’t have been here long. Dressed in his usual dark blue suit, he looked like he always did…immaculate, not a wrinkle in sight, not a single strand of wavy black hair out of place. He stared down at me with the same eyes as mine.