"Then give me that number, too."
He did. I withdrew my hand from his chest and reformed my flesh, then patted his cheek with cold, somewhat shaky fingers. "Consider yourself lucky that I'm not taking anything more vital than a phone."
With that, I rose. My limbs trembled and my head felt ready to explode, but I ignored both as I looked down at him. "If I catch you following me again, I won't just threaten to squeeze your heart. I'll rip it out of your fucking chest." I paused, watching him. Watching the threat sink in. "Okay?"
"Okay, okay," he said. "I get it."
I turned around and walked away, my footsteps echoing softly in the concrete emptiness surrounding us. I kept my head down, letting my hair swing over my face, and avoided looking at any of the cameras. I hit the stairwell but didn't stop, scrambling down the stairs two at a time even though every step made the ache in my head and the turmoil in my stomach worse. As I neared the ground floor, the door was flung open and two laughing teenagers all but fell into the stairwell. They looked me up and down and snorted softly, distaste evident in their expressions. Which said a lot for the state of my clothes if a couple of kids barely wearing rags were giving me disgusted looks.
I headed out into the mall and quickly found a bathroom. A quick glimpse at the pale face in the mirror proved the teenagers were right to laugh, but I tore my gaze away and all but bolted for a stall—where I lost everything I'd eaten over the last day.
God, I'd put my hand in that man's chest.
I'd felt his fucking heart beating.
My stomach heaved and I spent the next few minutes unable to think as my empty stomach kept trying to jump up my throat.
The reality of it was much more terrifying than the knowledge.
I hated that I could do it. Hated that I'd had to do it.
And yet I knew neither of those would stop me from doing it again if it meant getting answers to stop this madness and protect my friends.
I closed my eyes and breathed deep, and after a few minutes the trembling in my limbs eased and my stomach seemed less intent on reaching my throat. I flushed the toilet then opened the door. The face in the mirror was still pale, the violet eyes frightened.
But I had every right to be.
I splashed cold water over my face, then rinsed my mouth until the bitter taste had gone. I straightened my clothing as best I could, but there was little I could do about the frayed remains of my jeans or the holes shredding the bottom half of my sweater. I guess I had to be thankful that I even had something resembling clothing left.