Fury: Book One of the Cure (Omnibus Edition) by Charlotte McConaghy Read Free Book Online

a ‘we’?” I demand.
    “I want to help.”
    “Why?”
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, you can’t. There’s no way to stop it, and I’m not dragging you into this.”
    “I can’t think of any place I’d rather be dragged.”
    I stare at him. “Do you have mental problems? I just told you I’m a dangerous murderer, and you want to hang around?” Why is he doing this? Is he an adrenalin junkie? Does he think I’m some kind of experiment? A problem he can solve? A poor soul in need of saving? I don’t like any of the reasons I can come up with.
    Luke stands. “Tell you what. How about I hang around every day except the 16th. Would that make you feel better?”
    He’s trying to make light of it. I shake my head. “I don’t need you.”
    “Well then what?” he asks suddenly. “You want to keep dealing with this on your own? Want to live in tiny shitholes for the rest of your life, going from crap job to crap job and feeling like death every damn day? Do you want to be completely alone without a single friend to talk to about all of this? Because that’s where you’re headed with this ‘I don’t need anyone’ bullshit.”
    I can feel a headache coming on, a slow pounding in the back of my skull.
    “Or,” Luke goes on more softly, “we could face this together.”
    And it occurs to me suddenly. The real reason beneath his words. He’s just as lonely as I am.
    I swallow. “I don’t know who you are.”
    “I’ll teach you. That’s the fun bit.”
    My eyes are hurting, and my teeth. The glare of the room is too bright and I squint against it. I can barely make Luke out anymore, just his silhouette, swaying eerily before me. “Whatever,” I mutter. “I just … need to have a rest.”
    I make my way to the bed, the blood rushing in my ears. As I sink down onto the mattress, the contact hurts my skin and my muscles and my bones. I feel a thousand years old, like a skeleton that has long since decayed. I try not to make a sound but I’m not sure if I’ve managed.
    “Josi?” His voice is loud and makes me wince.
    “I’ll just sleep a while,” I tell him. I think I tell him. I’m not sure if I’ve opened my mouth. My jaw is aching and I can taste blood. I can always taste blood. It never goes away, never leaves me for one second. I’m so tired.
Luke
    It comes over her so fast. She sort of sways on her feet, and then all the color drains from her face. She makes it to the bed, but only barely. I touch her shoulder and she flinches; I speak her name and it seems to hurt her.
    I stand and stare at her as she drifts to sleep. I don’t know what to do. I can only imagine that this is some aftereffect of the episodes she has. I will call them ‘episodes’ because that makes it sound like she has no control, and I have to believe she has no control. My brain wars with words and ideas and possibilities as I watch her sleep uncomfortably. Despite what I told her, I have seen a lot of bad things. A lot of violence, a lot of death. It’s not much of a shock to me anymore. Perhaps this is why I’m not freaking out. Why I’m not running. I can’t think of any other reason—I should be running. Josephine is the last person I should be spending time with.
    But I can’t leave. Not now, while she’s passed out and clearly in so much pain. I can’t just leave her alone in this awful place after she’s told me such a terrible thing. The idea of it seems simply too cruel.
    Carefully I pull a blanket over her, but then I take it straight back off as I feel how hot she is. Shit, it must be a fever. I look around the apartment for anything I can use to cool her off. Eventually I grab one of the t-shirts out of her suitcase and wet it under the faucet. She makes a sound, like a soft whimper, as I place the cold cloth against her burning forehead. She’s grinding her teeth badly—the sound makes me shudder.
    In her bathroom I search for something to give her—paracetamol breaks fevers, doesn’t it?