Destiny Gift

by Juliana Haygert

  I nibbled my cotton candy, ambling to the meeting point, my mind distracted by the real world and mundane things, when I saw Victor. I froze. He arrived and headed toward the booth he had helped set up. I couldn’t pretend he didn’t look handsome in dark jeans and a long-sleeved white shirt.

  But beside his looks and sexy do-not-get-close stance, I was disappointed in him. I was starting to think he knew I would never say no to healing him, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed being used.

  Adding to my frustration was the reality that my visions scared me. They made no sense, and they weren’t about Victor anymore. In the back of my mind I could see the answer: It was time to seek professional help. But what if I was hospitalized or interned in a clinic? I’d risk not graduating. If I didn’t graduate and get a good job, there wouldn’t be anyone else to help my family, to provide a better future for them. Could I do that to them? I would rather call Cheryl, ask for her help, see if there was a way to cure me of this insanity without being locked away in an asylum, but I couldn’t find her.

  “Nice view,” Olivia said from behind me, rescuing me from my thoughts. “He’s really cute.”

  “Yes, he is.” Trying to forget about him, I turned to her and saw she was frowning while munching her pizza. “What is it?”

  “I have a terrible headache.” She rubbed her temple with her free hand. “Even ibuprofen and paracetamol aren’t working anymore.”

  An idea popped into my head. “Let me try something.” I offered her my hand and, frowning even more, she put hers over mine.

  Nothing happened. At least, I didn’t feel any shock or jolt or warmth or cold. I tried thinking about healing her, taking away her pain, but I didn’t feel my energy being passed into her. And, when I saw her suspicious gaze examining me as if I were crazy, I pulled my hand from hers.

  “What were you trying to do?” she asked. I shrugged and she laughed. “You’ve been watching too much TV. The spiritual healers in TV series aren’t your style.”

  I forced a smile. “They aren’t, right?”

  But my mind was elsewhere. I was starting to believe I couldn’t distinguish reality from visions anymore. How could I heal Victor and Micah and not heal Olivia?

  A guy sauntered past us with a sweatshirt from NYU’s football team. The number displayed on his sweatshirt was eighty-six. And sure enough, the eight glowed like a beacon.

  My pulse rose. Oh God, please, I didn’t want to be crazy.

  I turned around and started walking away. Connecting with Victor didn’t matter anymore. Not if I was losing my mind. Even if there was a special connection between real Victor and me, the way there was in my visions, if I was mentally ill, I shouldn’t be trying to connect with anyone. Besides, all that happened when we talked was about my touch. That wasn’t something to build a relationship on—me crazy and him using me. I’’d had enough.

  “Hey, Nad, where you going?” Raisa asked when I darted past her.

  I stopped just long enough to answer. “Home. I’m not feeling well.” I resumed my walk before she could say anything that would or could change my mind.

  Then a loud caw came from above. My palms dampened. I looked up and saw the raven flying against the dark sky. The scar confirmed it was the same one. Oh no. Not the damn black bird too.

  I pressed forward, hoping to leave the crowd before frantic tears spilled out of my eyes.

  Every few steps, I glanced up to keep tabs on the bird’s location, wishing it would stay around the carnival to prove it wasn’t following me.

  I was almost out of the crowd when Victor appeared by my side. “You don’t seem well.”

  “And what do you care?” I snapped before resuming my frantic stride.

  He caught up with me. “What’s the matter?”

  I halted again, and my breath caught when I looked deeply into his wonderful sea-green eyes. They weren’t as hostile as before. For a second, I could pretend he was my Victor, the one I loved. But just for one second. I shook my head, wishing there was a switch where I could turn “me” off sometimes.

  “Do you need my touch?” I asked, a hostile end to my words.

  “No.”

  “Good.” I turned. And practically ran over Micah. “Hi,” I whispered, aware I sounded like a breathless teenage girl.

  With his black eyes shadowed by a scowling brow, he said, “Hello.” His frown deepened as he glanced from me to Victor. Then, he gave a brief nod to Victor, who nodded back.

  “Is everything all right?” Micah asked as he stepped closer to me.

  “Yes,” I said. “I was just leaving. Going home.”

  “I’ll walk you.” He offered me his arm without taking his glaring eyes from Victor’s.

  With all my strength I tried not to, but I glanced at Victor. As if he had felt it, his gaze briefly met mine, much softer than the scowl he’d offered Micah.

  I forced myself to keep going. “Sure.” I linked my arm with Micah’s, turned away from Victor, and left without saying goodbye.

  Only after we had walked about a block did Micah seem to relax.

  “Who is that guy?”

  “Just … a guy.” I glanced up at him. He seemed more relaxed, yes, but not his normal confident self. “What is it?”

  He kicked a pebble on the pavement. “Nothing.”

  He seemed worried or frustrated by something, but I decided it was better not to press him for answers. Instead, I remained quiet the rest of the way, occasionally humming the last song I’d heard at the carnival.

  “Well,” I said when we got close to my building. “Thanks for walking me.”

  He shook his head and flashed one of his dazzling smiles. He was recovering. Definitely. “Thank you for the company.” He bowed.

  I curled a lock of my hair. “See you soon?”

  “Hmm, I’m leaving.”

  “What?” my voice broke, revealing my discontent.

  He grinned and approached me. Oh God. His serious eyes bore into mine. “Something came up. I need to go abroad.”

  “For how long?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “So, you need my touch?” The hole in my soul called “disappointment” grew. Didn’t they all need my touch? That was probably the only thing I served for. Once more, I felt used.

  “I don’t need it, but I would like to have it. Like recharging batteries, you know?”

  “Yup,” I snapped, my temper rising. I extended my hand to him. “A goodbye gift.”

  As soon as his hands covered mine, the cold jolt spread from my skin to his. I watched as he boosted his energy and sent away the pains.

  Then it was done and he pulled back.

  Micah glanced at his cell phone. “It’s time for me to go.”

  Anxiety hit me. I might feel used, but I didn’t want anyone suffering. Not if I could do something about it. Even if that meant putting my needs last. “What are you going to do if it happens again?”

  “What I did all these years. Grit my teeth and endure it.” He bowed, retreating. “Take care, Nadine.” His melodious voice wrapped around me.

  “You too,” I whispered, unable to move.

  I watched as he strode to his bike, about half a block down the street, and left in a cloud of exhaust fumes.

  Chapter Fourteen

  My plan was to remain in bed until the world ended, or until Cheryl called back or came over and forced me out of my bed, or until the girls called 911 and I was taken to a psychiatric hospital to spend the rest of my life.

  But on Monday morning, Adam called, yelling at me that I was late. What a familiar refrain. Then, my mother called, saying how she was proud of me, of my plans for the future, of the person I was. If only she knew. But it was the hospital’s call that made me get up. I had been chosen for the position of Patient Care Technician, and they wanted me to go there that afternoon to sign the contract.

  Finally, something good in my life. Perhaps it was a sign that not everything was lost, and that I shouldn’t let the
craziness in my life take over. A sign to let me know I would get through this and I would be a great doctor and I would have money to provide a better life for my family.

  I knew what could happen in the hospital, who I might meet there, but I tried to ignore that knowledge. I entered the clinic in the early afternoon and was escorted to human resources where I signed my contract. Suddenly, I felt a little chipper. The pay was much better than the café and it would look much nicer on my resume. And I’d be able to help people.

  With a satisfied smile, I left the room and was heading out when I heard two nurses talking.

  “She just died?” one of them asked as they walked past me.

  “An hour ago,” the other one said. “Her grandson is in shock, poor young man.”

  My heart squeezed. Oh no.

  I was barely thinking when I ran to the elevator and went straight to the eighth floor. I didn’t know for sure who the nurses were talking about, but I had a pretty good guess. I didn’t stop to consider Victor wouldn’t be in his grandma’s room anymore and kept running until I was at the door. I stopped, panting, and leaned against the doorframe.

  As he stared at the empty bed, he looked like a statue in a crumpled T-shirt and jeans, hair messier than usual, and eyes bright with unshed tears.

  I wasn’t sure if he had seen me and I wasn’t sure what to do. One thing I was sure of though: I wasn’t going to leave even if he was utterly rude.

  “She told me to say goodbye to you,” he whispered, and my heart stopped for a second. He glanced at me. “Can you believe it? She barely knew you but she said she had this intense feeling you’re a great young woman.” I couldn’t identify the tone of his voice. Jealousy? Rage? Sadness?

  “That was kind of her.” I took a few steps into the room. His eyes stayed on mine. “I’m so sorry.”

  He nodded, dropping his head. A loud sob escaped his tightly clamped lips.

  I couldn’t take Victor—mine or not—like this. Acting on pure instinct, I closed the gap between us and pulled him into my arms. For a second he was resistant, and I thought he would push me away. He didn’t. Slowly, he turned into me, passed his arms around my back, and quietly wept, his head buried in my neck, his whole body trembling against mine.

  I could smile, I really could. My hands held him firmly, like they had done so many times. And he felt the same under my touch. His body felt the same against mine. He was Victor. Oh, I was so confused.

  But I didn’t smile. I had met Bianca Gianni only once, but I had heard so much about her in the last ten months that I considered her a close friend, or the loved one of my loved one.

  To calm him, I did what I always had done in my visions. I sang his favorite song—at least it was my dream Victor’s favorite song. Carefully maintaining my low soprano, I sang Walk On by U2, while slightly swaying and rubbing small circles on his back. His sobs slowed, and his chest stopped quivering.

  “I’m alone,” he whispered in my ear.

  “I know this might sound rather senseless, but you’re not alone,” I assured him. Risking him running from me, I continued, “You’ve got me.”

  He didn’t run. It might have been my imagination or longing, but I thought his arms tightened slightly around me. I resumed singing.

  Near the end of the song, a nurse entered and cleared her throat. At once, he jumped back and gave his full attention to her, practically ignoring me, but I could easily see he wasn’t absorbing a word she said, that he was too affected to think things through.

  So, I stepped in and talked to her. Before I knew it, I was planning Bianca’s funeral and cremation, earning nods from Victor. It had been Bianca’s wish to be cremated and because she had no friends or family besides Victor, there would be no reception or gathering. Her funeral would be quick and simple.

  In silence, we left the hospital. I walked next to him to the parking garage.

  At his car, he stopped. “I don’t want to be alone.”

  “I can stay with you, if you’d like.”

  He nodded without looking at me. I got in the car and did my best to disguise my anxiety about being inside his car where his spicy scent hung, intense and intoxicating.

  I was also anxious about going to his house. He lived in a nice two-bedroom apartment in an elegant and well-protected building a few blocks north of Langone. When we arrived, I realized it was exactly what I expected of him: an open floor plan, clean but cozy, everything beige or brown or white, essential furniture, a huge flat-screen TV, and not many decorations, only a few picture frames on an end table displaying the happy faces of his parents and his grandparents.

  While I looked around, he remained quiet. I watched as he walked in his bedroom, turned on the shower, and disappeared in there for a few minutes. I found myself twirling my hair with one hand and gripping the arm of his sofa with the other so as not to go spy on him.

  When he came back, he didn’t even look at me, but my heart stopped in that moment. He was wearing black sweatpants and nothing else. No shirt, no shoes. And his golden hair was damp from his shower. I could feel my eyes widen and my mouth hang open, but there was no way I couldn’t react. God, he was simply perfect. He wasn’t buff, but his chest and arms and back had lean, hard muscles. Even his chiseled jaw provoked me at that moment. I was dying, and he wasn’t even aware of it.

  He strolled to the kitchen, served two glasses of Pepsi, and took out a box of frozen pizza from the freezer to pop in the oven. Stopping by the living room, he handed me one of the glasses and went back to his room. All without looking at me.

  What was I doing here? Why had I come with him? He hadn’t even invited me officially. I did say I wouldn’t leave him, but he seemed better now, and he wasn’t even speaking to me. So, why was I still here?

  I stood and tiptoed to the door, hoping to leave unnoticed. My hand was on the knob when he came out of his room—now wearing a black T-shirt.

  He went into the kitchen. “Pizza is ready.” He took the pizza out of the oven, still not looking at me.

  “I don’t want to bother you more than I already have.”

  He finally looked at me, and his hard eyes were doleful and inconsolable. “The pizza is getting cold.”

  I went to the table and sat across from him, where he set my plate and cutlery. We ate in silence.

  “Only two slices?” he asked, noticing I had finished eating. He was on his sixth slice and still going. “No wonder you’re so thin.”

  “Excuse me?” I snapped.

  His lip twitched up in a mocking smile, and God help me, my heart flipped. “Well, if you’re always like that, then your appetite is like a bird’s.”

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Oh God, he sounded just like my dream Victor and that was not fair. So not fair.

  Without a word, I got up and took my plate to the sink. Before I could start washing it, he stood behind me. He reached out and took the plate from my hand. I held my breath so his fresh scent couldn’t entice me. Stepping to the side, he placed the plate inside the dishwasher and went back to the table to finish his food.

  I decided it was best for me to sit in the living room, away from him, from his wary eyes, his powerful body, and his intoxicating scent.

  My cell phone rang. I was shocked to find out it was already midnight. It was Raisa calling, and she would probably yell at me.

  “Where are you?” She did yell.

  “I’m with Victor.”

  “You are? Oh lord.” She giggled. “Well, I’m gonna let you go back to him, but be warned—I want every detail.” I could almost see her wide smile. Sure, Raisa thought I was out on a date with him. If only.

  We disconnected, and I found Victor nearby, standing before a window, looking at the dark streets. What now?

  I shot up. It was time for me to go home. I couldn’t stay here, looking at him and not doing anything. My chest ached and I felt like an intruder.

  “I guess I’m going,” I said, half hoping he wouldn’t hear me.
>
  But he did. And he turned to stare at me. “And how do you plan to get home?”

  I showed him my cell phone in my hand and turned to the door. “I’ll call a taxi.”

  “Wait.” He took a few steps in my direction. I stopped and watched as he ran a hand through his hair and avoided my gaze. I would give almost anything to find out what was going through his mind. Finally, he looked at me and said, “I was thinking about inviting you to sleep here, in the guest bedroom.” He swallowed hard. “I didn’t want to spend the night completely alone.”

  Oh, it broke my heart. Of course I wouldn’t leave him alone, but a girl needed to take a bath and change clothes, and I had nothing with me besides my purse.

  “I could, but I would need to go home and grab some things and take a shower.”

  “If you aren’t picky”—he glanced briefly at me—“I might have some things you could put on. And you can take a shower here.”

  “You have stuff for me?” I raised my eyebrows while he nodded. “If it’s girly and it’s clean, I might not complain.”

  I saw the corner of his lips threatening to smile, but it didn’t last long.

  He escorted me to the guest room. It was more cozy and colorful than the rest of the apartment. The tall queen-size bed took most of the space. The comforter was blue and brown, the curtains were light blue, and the rug beside the bed was blue with light yellow details. I liked it.

  From the closet, he took out a large suitcase. He dug around inside and handed me a few things: a pair of purple fluffy slippers and a pink sleep shirt.

  “There’s clean underwear and socks in there.” He pointed to a pocket inside the suitcase. “Do you need anything else?”

  I stared at the stuff, wide eyed. “Whose are these?”

  He closed the suitcase. “Lauren’s.”

  Oh, I knew who she was, but this Victor didn’t know I knew, so I asked the next obvious question. “Who is Lauren?”

  “My ex-girlfriend. She died four years ago.”