But not alone, because Margo and Jerry are watching from just outside their apartment.
Alisha turns away from them, walks toward the stairwell, the one at the opposite end of the hallway. She goes up one flight, and then sits on the landing, her legs stretched out in front of her. She’s wearing a turtleneck despite the heat. Anything to cover up the marks on her wrists and her neck.
She rolls up her sleeves and looks at her wrists. The marks remain, all blistered and red. She didn’t want to cover them with makeup on the off-chance that would upset her skin.
“What is happening to me?” she asks her arms.
They don’t know. Nobody knows.
Chapter 7
What fresh hell is this?
She can’t breathe, can’t breathe. Every breath is dirt... clay? Dusty. So dusty. She’d give anything to snee
