Whispered Darkness by Jessica Sorensen Page 0,26

worst part was I actually thought I was in love with him.”

Hearing her say those words sting. But the pain, guilt, and shame she’s feeling right now stings worse.

“You’re not a loser,” I tell her as I make my way over to her bed.

She looks up at me as I stand in front of her. “Yes, I am. If I wasn’t—if I was strong—I never would’ve let him work his way so deeply into my mind.” Sighing, she looks down at the comforter, her shame building.

I crouch down in front of her and catch her gaze. “You’re not a loser. You just, and very unfortunately, became friends with a person who’s a skilled manipulator and liar. And you were so young when you two became friends, so it’s not like you knew any better. Hell, our parents still can’t see past his bullshit, and they’re fucking old enough to know better.”

She wets her lips with her tongue. “You saw past it.”

“I do now, but it took me a while … It took me dying, actually, to be able to see it,” I admit quietly.

“Me, too,” she admits softly. “Although, there was a few moments in the truck, right before it went off the cliff, when I think I may have realized Foster wasn’t who I thought he was. It was when he was kissing me, and I started to become numb …” She trails off, blowing out a shaky breath.

Like the first time she told me about this, anger sears through my blood. “I’m going to find out what happened to you,” I promise, gently placing my hand on her leg. “And I promise, whatever happened—whatever he did to you—he’ll pay for it. I’ll make sure of that.”

“I know you will.” Her gaze lowers to my hand on her leg. Her bare leg.

I start to withdraw and apologize for touching her when she snatches my hand and threads our fingers together. Then she just stares at our interlocked fingers like it’s the most fascinating thing she’s ever seen.

“How do you think souls intertwine anyway?” Her gaze welds with mine. “It’s not like a soul is an actual physical thing, so how did it happen?”

I shrug, partially listening to what she says and partially distracted by how she keeps brushing her fingertips along mine. “I’m not sure.”

“Maybe it’s magic,” she suggests, sketching the folds of my finger. “Ghosts exist, so magic can, right?”

“Sure …” I reply distractedly, my pulse pounding so hard that I’m sure she can feel it through my fingertips.

Every time she touches me, my body reacts this way. I’m not sure if it’s because of her or because I’ve spent a lot of my life without skin-to-skin contact. Maybe a little bit of both, since the few times anyone else has touched me, my heart didn’t race like this.

“Your heart’s racing so fast,” she whispers, leaning toward me.

I swallow shakily. “I know.”

When she leans in even closer, I know what she’s going to do.

I should stop her. Not let her get close to me. I don’t want to corrupt her life. But the closer she gets, the more her emotions consume me. I can feel everything—her nervousness, desire, need—and it takes me over, freezes me in place, makes me want to feel more. And when her lips brush mine, that’s exactly what happens—I feel all of her. And everything she’s feeling mixes with my feelings, to the point where I’m so overwhelmed that I become dizzy. That in itself should make me pull back, but I’ve selfishly been wanting to kiss her since that night I tasted her lips in the closet. No, even before then.

I am selfish. My parents tell me that all the time. So does Foster. And right now, they’re right, because instead of pulling away, I slant closer, sealing my lips to hers and cupping her cheeks. For the briefest moment, I feel nothing but contentment. And it’s so silent that I can hear my self-doubt whispering to me in the crevasses of my mind.

You’re a loser.

A freak.

You’re not good enough for her.

It’s my own voice this time. Not Foster’s.

Harlynn’s eyelids flutter open, and soft breaths rush from her lips. “What’s wrong?”

I shake my head, struggling to breathe evenly. “Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

Hurt pierces through her, a rejected look crossing her face. “Oh. Okay.” She starts to scoot away, but I place a hand on her leg, stopping her.

“It’s not because I don’t want to. It’s just that … I …” My mind