Who Are The Main Characters In 'Allergic'?

Emma Lewis is a witty and confident girl who never fears anyone. She comes to the conclusion that she is done with guys when her boyfriend of three years, cheats on her. But what happens when she encounters Austin Williams, an attractive, intimidating, and cocky guy who always gets what he wants and never dates. Will she change her mind and give in to her desires or fight the undeniable attraction between them?

I was born with a strange, painful condition. Women are strongly drawn to me, yet after I got married, I became allergic to my own wife, Quinn Rowan. Every attempt at intimacy left me covered in burning red welts, struggling to breathe. More than once, I nearly went into shock. Nevertheless, my desire to have a child was overwhelming. So one night, gambling with my life, I quietly slipped into the bedroom. Strangely, nothing happened to me that night. Soon, Quinn became pregnant. I naively believed everything would finally return to normal. Then, eight months into her pregnancy, a single accidental touch sent me into another violent allergic reaction, and I was rushed to the hospital. When I finally came to, Quinn was nowhere to be found. At the end of the corridor, I heard her whispering with her girlfriends, "Look how ridiculous he looked, all swollen and gasping. Pathetic." Quinn dangled the special tonic she had always claimed was meant to help me, her voice dripping with disdain, "I engineered this formula myself. I made sure he’d break out in hives the moment he touched me. That way, he’d never come near me. "But since he was so desperate for a kid, I decided to let him raise the baby Miles and I conceived together. It’s charity, really." My blood froze. The child I longed for, the baby I treasured, was never mine.

I inherited Grandma's terrible allergy. One touch of something gross, and I break out in rashes everywhere. At best, I feel dizzy; at worst, I go into shock. Grandma cherished me so much that she signed the old family home over to me. Right after I move into my new place, my older brother, Owen Carter, walks through the door with his girlfriend in tow. Caked in heavy makeup, Sofia Hayes picks apart the decor the second she steps inside. "I hate this. What kind of tacky aesthetic is this? Whoever picked this must be blind. Get rid of it. I want something in a more vibrant color palette." I frown. "This is my house." Sofia acts like she doesn't even hear me. She turns to Owen, pouting. "Babe, I want it to just be the two of us. It's weird for a sister to hang around her brother's place. I don't want her eavesdropping on us at night." Owen tosses his head back. "Emilia Carter, move out. Sofia doesn't like having outsiders around." I glare at my spineless brother, then at Sofia, drenched in cheap perfume and heavy makeup. Red rashes instantly explode across my arms, and blood rushes straight to my head. "Get the hell out of my house, you bitch!"

I am born with a body that draws men in, but the moment I marry, I develop a terrifying allergy to them. Every time my husband and I try to be intimate, my skin erupts in violent rashes, and I nearly suffocate. Still, I want a child so badly that one night I climb into his bed in secret, willing to gamble with my life. Strangely, nothing happens—no hives, no swelling, no shortness of breath. My husband even takes me to a clinic, where the baby is confirmed healthy. For the first time, I believe life can return to normal. Eight months in, we share a bed again. The allergic reaction hits instantly, worse than ever, and I'm rushed to the hospital. When the procedure ends, he is nowhere to be seen. I step into the hallway and hear him talking with his friends. "Did you see her face? Swollen like that. Ridiculous." Leonard Carter swings a vial of the custom serum he has been giving me and snorts. "I engineered this formula myself. It makes her break out the second a man touches her. It keeps her off me. "She wanted a baby so badly. Fine. She's carrying mine and Hannah's. That should make her feel accomplished. "When she gives birth, I'll let her spend the rest of her life calling herself Mrs. Carter." Blood drains from my face. The child I've been cherishing isn't even mine.

The day my husband's first love shows up at my house, I catch a faint, cloyingly sweet scent of gardenias in the air. My genetically-linked asthma flares violently at the scent of gardenias. As expected, halfway through the meal, my chest suddenly tightens. I can barely draw a breath before collapsing onto the couch. My younger brother sprints into my bedroom like he's lost his mind, grabs an inhaler, and shoves it straight to my mouth. "Tess!" he roars. "Why the hell is there gardenia perfume?" Everyone panics. My dad grabs a liquor bottle. My mom lunges forward, grabbing the woman by the hair. And my husband positions himself in front of her, protecting his beloved first love as she trembles. Amid the chaos, I muster the last of my strength. I reach into the crack of the couch, grab another inhaler, take a deep breath, and slowly push myself upright. I let out a cold laugh as I fix my gaze on the woman cowering behind my husband. "Finished with your little performance? It's my turn now."

Winter came again, and my husband and son broke out in rashes the moment the cold settled in. No doctor identified the allergen. To keep themselves safe, they drew a hard line and moved to a separate house for the season. It did not matter that I slipped and cracked my head open, or that I ended up in the hospital after a car accident. I fought every battle alone. We became strangers who shared a family name, and I became the thing that could kill them. I endured the bitter cold by myself, lonely and aching. I counted the days hoping that spring would bring my family back to me, until I overheard a conversation I was never meant to hear. "Daddy, we only get to see Daphne in winter. Cannot the allergies last a little longer?" Daphne Bullman, my husband's childhood sweetheart. My husband ruffled our son's hair. "All that allergy medicine is not good for you, and Daphne would worry. I will bring you to see her when I can." My son clapped his hands. "Yay! I love the mango candy Daphne gives me in winter, and I get to see her!" Mango. That was the fatal allergen I spent years keeping out of my son's reach. I stood in the freezing wind for a long time before I quietly walked home. Spring returned, and I stopped caring. "Eat whatever you want. If you think I am abusing you, call the police. I do not want custody anyway."