What if the person you loved was only a delusion?
Seventeen-year-old Charlotte Bennett had an attractive boyfriend, school infamy, and a supportive family until she was ostracized for claiming to see a boy she described as being called "The Wasp Ki...
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"Charlotte wake up!"
I knew that someone was calling my name, but my head felt so fuzzy.
"Charlotte, please . . . "
The voice belonged to Wyatt. I knew that much. My body felt strange and stiff. My vision became clearer and I could see the trees and the asphalt of the road. I moved my legs, but they were lifted up.
Alarm raced through me. I was being carried.
Slowly my eyes lifted to realize that I was inside Wyatt's arms and he was holding me. Really holding me!
"Wyatt?" My voice sounded pitifully confused.
Wyatt smiled down at my face and I reached my hand up to touch his cheek.
His skin felt warm and soft, ten times better than I could have ever imagined. He actually did it, I don't know how he managed to return to me, but he had.
Pure instinct drove me, I wanted to see just how real this was. My arms wrapped against his neck and he knew what I planned to do and met me halfway. My forehead pressed against his and we breathed in one another like oxygen.
God, it felt amazing.
His nose nudged mine and his grip tightened. I could feel his heart, it pounded just as hard as mine. He was real, just as real as anything in this world. He wasn't static anymore; he was heat, he was everything.
"There's something I've wanted to do for a long time," he whispered.
"Do it," I encouraged.
Then he kissed me and nothing else mattered.
I became aware of his hands and the way his hair felt against me and how firm the muscles in his arms were. My emotional barriers faded one-by-one and my feelings for Wyatt grew. My hands found his hair, and our kiss deepened. I couldn't get enough of him. We felt like two lovers who'd been separated for too longer finally seeing each other once more.
Kissing Sean felt good, but kissing Wyatt felt like intense, toe-curling heat radiating throughout my body.
I wanted to be lost in the kiss, lost in him, but I could hear sirens.
Wyatt broke from the kiss with distress. "Finally, they're here. Don't worry, you'll be okay. You just need to go to the hospital."
"But I feel fine—" My words abruptly stopped when I caught sight of my car and the teen-girl that laid very still beside it.
A truck driver paced around in a circle panicking over his phone to his wife. Policeman inspected my car, while the ambulance arrived with paramedics. They wasted no time in placing the teen onto the gurney and lifted her into the ambulance. Before the door shut I could clearly see the girl on the gurney . . . was me.
