Juliet Immortal

really.”
    “You
say
you’re sorry a lot.”
    “I guess I don’t mean I’m
sorry
as much as …” I pause, the wipe hovering between my forehead and cheek. “I guess I just … wish things were different, that people’s lives weren’t so hard.”
    “Me too,” he says, a hitch in his voice. He turns and our eyes meet, and that sense of
knowing
him hits again, catching me in my empty gut. For a moment, the sadness and pain in his eyes is
my
pain, and I desperately want to make it better. I want to reach for him, hold him, whisper into the warm crook of his neck that everything is going to be okay, that I’ll make it that way.
    But I don’t. Because I can’t.
    Because that whisper would be a lie. And because I know if I touch him again, I might forget who I’m not.

FIVE
    I fist the damp wipe in my hand, reining in the part of me that aches for this boy with the big brown eyes.
    I might feel an instant connection to Ben, but
I
don’t matter, and Ariel isn’t ready to love anyone. She pulled a car off the road and killed her first date, for god’s sake. She needs to pull herself together, and Ben deserves a girl who won’t load him down with emotional baggage.
    Even after ten minutes, I can tell he’s special, a kind, decent person in a world where people like him are becoming as rare as soul mates.
    “Ariel?” he asks.
    “What?”
    “You missed a spot.”
    I lean over to look in the rearview mirror, swipe at a sticky place near my hairline.
    “On the other side. Over by— Here, I’ll get it.” He pulls a wipe from the bin and brings it to my cheek, easing it over my jaw with the confidence of someone who has experience looking after people.
    I freeze, mesmerized by his touch. It’s been so long since anyone has touched me like this, with such … care. I always keep to myself in my temporary bodies. Living in borrowed skin doesn’t encourage physical contact, at least not for me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve taken comfort from someone’s touch.
    But at this moment, I do, so much so that it’s painful. I don’t want to think about how good this simple contact feels, or how long it will be before anyone touches me again.
    Never. No one ever will, because
you
don’t exist
.
    “There. Got it.” He holds the wipe, now smeared with a streak of red, in the air between us. “You okay, Mermaid?”
    “Yeah.” My voice is rough. I clear my throat, smoothing out the wrinkles. This is the way things are. I know this. I’ve known from the beginning. “I’m fine.”
    “What happened? To that side of your face? And your ear?”
    “What?” I’ve forgotten about the scars, forgotten I’m Ariel. Ben’s matter-of-fact tone doesn’t help. It’s obvious he isn’t repulsed by Ariel’s face the way she assumes people—boys in particular—will be. “I … It was a long time ago. There was an accident with some grease when I was six. I’ve had surgeries. It’s a lot better than it used to be.”
    “I got burned by a cigarette when I was kid,” he says. “It hurt like crazy, and that was just a little thing. Nothing like that.” He shakes his head. “That must have been hell.”
    He’s offering empathy, not pity, something I know Ariel would appreciate, but I feel awkward accepting his compassion. I don’t deserve it. I haven’t suffered through Ariel’s pain. My own physical suffering was brief—a few minutes on a cold stone floor with a knife cutting slivers of agony through my chest.
    Still, I suppose I have my own scars. Even if no one can see them.
    “I try not to think about it.” I lift my eyes to Ben’s. “I don’t want to feel sorry for myself. I don’t want other people to feel sorry for me either.”
    “I don’t. I think you’re tough.”
    “Oh yeah?” My lips curve. “And that’s a good thing?”
    “Tough is very good and you’re very tough.” His hand brushes against mine as he reaches into the back, making my pulse beat faster. “At least, tough for a girl named after a mermaid.”
    My smile fades. He isn’t really talking about me, and the heart speeding in my chest isn’t mine. I have to get out of this car. Ariel and Ben can become better friends at a later date. Preferably after I’m gone. I like Ben, but I don’t like the way he makes me feel.
Me
, the bodiless soul who has no business feeling anything.
    I am Ariel now, and I need to get home.
    “We should probably go,” I say. “It’s getting late.”
    “Sure.” Ben