A Want So Wicked by Suzanne Young

have an easy path, child. Their existences are blessed, or cursed if you will. They are physically compelled to help people, to the point that their bodies begin to wear away. The skin rubbing off to reveal the pure light underneath. This painful process goes on until they have one last Need, something that sets them free of their form to return to the universe.”
    â€œThat sounds awful.” I breathe out, fear crawling over my skin.
    â€œNo.” She smiles. “It’s beautiful. But there is always a price. When they’re gone, the Forgotten are wiped out of time, as if they never existed at all. The universe corrects the space around them, filling in histories—adjusting memories. But everyone who’s ever known or was touched by them has a renewed sense of hope, of purpose. The Forgotten are true sacrifice.”
    Her words are making my chest ache, and I’m starting to think that this isn’t just a myth. I’ve heard this before, only I’m certain it wasn’t in this life. Tears well up in my eyes. “Why are you telling me this?” I ask.
    â€œBecause, child,” she says. “You are one.”
    I stare at her, a tear trickling down my cheek. “If you’re just trying to scare me . . .” I say, choking back my sobs. Even though I know what she’s saying is impossible, I am absolutely consumed with grief. Horror.
    â€œIt’s okay to cry,” she says softly, looking almost bewildered that I’d hold it in. “You’ve already gone through this once. I’d cry too. You’ve lost so much.”
    â€œI don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say, wanting to run away. Wanting to shout that she’s a liar. But I can’t.
    She nods as if I’m having a perfectly acceptable response to her telling me that I not only lived before, but that I’m not even human. After a minute, she pulls a tissue from her shirtsleeve and holds it out to me. I shake my head no.
    â€œSo,” I begin, my voice shaky. “I’m a Forgotten?”
    â€œMostly,” she says, slowly rocking again. “But you’re so much more.”
    It starts. Vibrations up my arms, through my chest. Marceline smiles at me as she slips out of focus.
    â€œYou’re keeping something from me,” his voice says on the other end of the phone line. “How are we supposed to have a relationship when all you do is lie?”
    I’m crying, cradling the phone to my ear, so afraid I’m losing him. “But I love you,” I whisper. “Why can’t that be enough?”
    â€œWhere were you?” he repeats.
    â€œPlease, I can’t—”
    â€œStop lying!” he yells. He takes in a jagged breath, and then it’s quiet. “Love isn’t enough anymore,” he says simply. “It’s killing us.” And then he hangs up.
    â€œPlease—” I yell out, and suddenly realize I’m in Marceline’s living room again. The old woman is rocking back and forth, watching me as if she’s fascinated. But I’m trembling, tears wet on my face.
    â€œWho is he?” I ask her. “Who are these people in my head?” I cry, covering my face with my palms. I feel like I’m in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. “Please make it stop,” I whisper, unable to look up.
    â€œAw, child,” she says soothingly. “No one can stop it. But I think you’ve learned enough for one day, don’t you think? I’m not sure you can handle the rest.”
    I look up at her. “There’s more?”
    She presses her lips together and nods slowly. “Have a mint. It’ll calm your nerves.”
    â€œI don’t want a mint,” I snap. “Tell me what else there is.”
    She reaches to push the bowl toward me, her bracelets clinking together. “Take a mint,” she repeats. “And I’m not ready to tell you more.