Chapter Twenty-Eight
RebeccaThe headache is a living thing, and its intention is to kill me.
It was there when I fell asleep after getting my hair done, and there when I woke up this morning before Delphine. It followed me to work, it kneaded at my scalp as I drank coffee and answered the first round of emails. And somewhere between the first meeting of the day and the second, it grew a soul and teeth. It grew fingers and fingertips. It grew trailing, squeezing tentacles, and it squeezed my temples, my eyes, the cavities of my upper sinuses.
My scalp stings like it’s being turned inside out. My stomach swirls uneasily, not sure what to make of the pain.
I remind myself that it’s only the occipital and trigeminal nerves registering compression. It’s biology, it’s mechanics. Nerve
