Chapter Twenty-Three
The chill of the blue goo on my neck didn’t make sitting on the metal table feel any more real. I’d made the woman, Jac, take care of Mari before letting her start working on me. She’d painted the goo on all of Mari’s scars and made her put on gel-filled gloves before strapping a mask to her face and making her breathe in weird mist for an hour.
I watched Mari as she fell asleep on a pile of blankets in the corner. None of it seemed real. Not the n***d feeling of my bare wrist after Jac cut off my chip band. Not the sting of the antiseptic she sprayed on my head and neck. Not the cold goop, or the sound of Jac tsking as she worked her way through all my scars. Not the vague, chilling sadness because I’d never see Mom or Jaime again.
The part of me that needed to wat
