Skylar
"Stop right there," I practically hiss. "You're not paying for the treatment. My insurance, provided by my boss and cousin, Raff, covers my treatment bills. The rest is covered thanks to the rallies and the GoFundMe campaigns organized tirelessly by my ever-supportive cousins."
A heavy, unsettling silence settles upon the room, its oppressive tension almost palpable and suffocating. My frustration bubbles within me and I wish I could storm out and not see his face again. But I can’t even stand up on my own. The simple act of storming out requires the assistance of two people to stand up and I would be walking away at a snail’s pace, a pitiful retreat from the situation.
“Skylar, dear.” My mom intervenes to pacify me.
“Don’t,” I reply firmly. “He called your genes defective!”
A
