Page 27 of The Diamond in the Rough

A few minutes passed in which my body tried to bring up more, but only managed a thin line of acid.

“Here.” This voice was Hart’s. “Shit, he doesn’t look good. You sure this was a good idea?”

A cool wetness pressed against the back of my neck, and I was grateful that Hart had used paper towels rather than one of the washcloths Mason kept in the kitchen. Paper towels were mass-machine produced and didn’t have anybody’s emotions on them. Right now, washcloths probably would.

Because almost everything did.

My chair.

My desk.

Every single damn pencil and pen in the cup.

At least the keyboard was safe, since nobody but me had touched that in quite a while. But I’d been trying very,veryhard to not touch anything. I’d worn a pair of my gloves—thin material with little grippy dots on the palms and inside of the fingers—but I’d taken them off to touch the necklace. Whatever I’d managed to turn on in my own head, I couldn’t figure out how to shut off, and I felt like I was riding the edge of insanity all over again.

I hadn’t said as much to anyone, though, because it would only make Ward worry and Mason call someone to try to help fix me, which would mean meetings and therapy sessions and possibly a trip back to the hospital, and I didn’t want any of that.

Besides, I needed to learn how to do this.

It had started because I’d wanted to be helpful to Hart and Raj.

It was becoming a matter of pride. And I wanted to impress Raj and Hart.

My stomach seized again, and I spat another mouthful of bile into the trash can. A big warm hand settled between my shoulder blades, gently rubbing a small circle. As strange as it was for anyone to be touching me—because even Ward rarely touched me—it was soothing. I could feel the hammering of my pulse slow just a bit. My lungs fill just a bit more.

Sweat made my shirt cling to my back and beaded at my temples, but I didn’t want to move to brush it away, afraid that too much movement would bring another wave of nausea and retching.

“Nothing?” Raj asked me.

I waved a hand. Speaking wasn’t really possible just yet. Not if I wanted to keep my stomach acid where it belonged.

I heard someone—Hart, I assumed—moving around, although I wasn’t sure what he could be doing.

Then I felt something cool touch my hand.

He was worried.The kid didn’t look good atall. In fact, he looked a lot like Ward did when he’d overextended himself. Maybe he did see something more—because he definitely hadn’t looked this sick the last several times.

I jerked awayfrom what I realized was my own mug filled with ice water.

“It’s yours,” Hart said to me, looking worried.

I nodded, then swallowed twice before I managed to reply. “But you’re touching it.”

He frowned, pale eyebrows drawing together, thenquickly set it down on the low coffee table. “I’ve touched it before,” he said, sounding both confused and apologetic.

I nodded. “It’s—different now.” I stared at the mug, condensation starting to bead on the sides. I really wanted water, but I was also terrified to touch it again.

Hart crouched down so that I didn’t have to look up at him, his lavender eyes concerned. “What’s different?” he asked me, his voice oddly gentle.

“I—I talked to Sylvia. She had some… suggestions.” I swallowed. “I—took them.”

“And I take it they did something?”

I started a little, having somehow forgotten that Raj was more than just the silent warmth of his hand resting on my back. I nodded.

“But now you can’t turn it off again?” Raj asked.

I nodded again, feeling emotion choke off the back of my throat. I stared down at my hands, a little surprised—although I suppose I shouldn’t have been—to see that they were shaking.