Chapter 4Lee ran his right hand up his left arm and winced at the memory of the sores whose reminders were still too obvious on his skin. What had once been open and oozing now masked as uneven pocked skin. While the scars would fade in time, the tissue damage was probably permanent. It could have been worse; he knew people that had lost massive chunks of themselves to necrosis. People that had picked and picked and picked until their faces and arms and chests and legs looked like the surface of the moon. He was grateful it was only his left arm, but grateful didn’t wipe away the shame. There was no hiding what they were. There were tattoos and cosmetics but no real way to make track marks pretty. There were no lies that were convincing—no skin condition or childhood accident. Everyone kne
