Truly Deadly (Book 1: YA Spy Thriller Series)

5. Scar Tissue

I woke up gasping, sheets soaked in cold sweat. I'd never had dreams like these, even when I used to dream of my heart stopping. I wondered where the mind got all its information from. And why the two dreams in question seemed to stitch together. Eventually, I fell asleep again and let it slide from my mind.

It was my first week back at home. My bedroom dresser was full of cards, flowers and chocolates I wasn't allowed to munch on. I had to eat healthily until I got back on my feet, which was slowly but surely happening. The immunosuppressants had seen an unseasonal late summer cold come and go, but at least my moon face had eased off back to normal. And as much as I scoured my chin, lip and cheeks in the mirror, I couldn't find a single hair.

Rehab was painfully slow and boring. Endless stretching, bending, slow-walking and core exercises.

Once, just once, I wanted to do something stupid, like sky dive or bungee jump. Well, neither of those – I hated heights. Especially jumping off and out of things. Point is, I wanted to cut loose once in a while like normal folk did. Instead, life was a crushingly repetitive list of pre-planned dos and don'ts mapped out by time and date on a multicolour spreadsheet.

Diet.

Exercise.

Drugs.

Scans.

Biopsies.

Psychotherapy.

Physiotherapy.

I had a team of specialists watching me like hawks.

With Auntie Claire and Plastic Jesus watching over me too, they needn't have worried. Even before Becki came round to visit, she was given a strict set of instructions over the phone. Don't make me laugh too hard. No pillow fighting or choreographed dancing. Just like the doctors and nurses, I know she was only doing it because she cared. And I appreciated it, I really did. But choreographed dancing? What were we, ten?

So embarrassing.

I tried seven different outfits before Becki came round. I wanted to look like Lorna again. Not Frankenstein's uglier sister. I stared at my scar in the mirror. Do I wear it loud and proud when I'm out in public or keep it covered up?

For the past couple of years, my heart hadn't been the only thing on the fritz. My social life stunk like microwaved dog plop and the only selfies I could muster were of me in bed. Me having a scan. Me resting in a chair. Me hoisting up my medical smock. And, ooh, here's me dancing round a drip-feeder pole.

When your friends are hanging out and you're stuck at home, trying to catch up on all the schoolwork you've missed, it doesn't feel great. Especially when you've watched your tomboy best friend, Becki, turn into the Hottest Girl in School™ overnight. So fit she bagged a Saturday job at Hollister.

I decided the best course of action was to spend the rest of my life covering up the scar. I plumped for a black polo neck and skinny blue jeans, a pointless choice on this occasion.

The second she breezed through the door, Becki said, "Let's see it then. Come on."

I sighed and lifted my top.

"Ooh, it's massive," she said. "Can I touch it?"

"Yeah, if you like."

Becki teased a manicured finger down the thick, hardening scar between my tits. I felt a tingle. Still sensitive.

"Just think, there's a man's organ in there," she said as I pulled my top down, "pumping away inside you."

Becki burst out laughing. She loved a good innuendo. She was always on about sex. A lot of it was just talk. She was too beautiful to give it out that easy. Besides, I knew she was saving herself for Johnny, a uni student she worked with at Hollister. He was six-four with abs you could grate cheese on. He was also twenty-one with a boyfriend called Lars. Becki was convinced he'd turn.

"He's just confused," she said, breaking into my box of chocolates.

"No one that fit can be gay," she said. "I mean, properly gay."

"Almost all the fittest guys are gay, Becks."

"Fuck you, bitch. He's just not met the twins yet," she said, pulling her white vest top down and jiggling her breathtaking cleavage.

Breathtaking? Yes, breathtaking. No sense in denying it.

"So when are you allowed back into the land of the living?" Becki asked.

"About three weeks. I've got loads of physio and check-ups first. So fill me in," I said, putting on some indie music. "What's the latest goss?"

Becki gave me the full run-down on all the goings-on over the summer between finishing our GCSEs and now, on the brink of returning to school to do our sixth-form A levels.

With my health deteriorating, I'd scraped through my finals at home. I'd then spent the holidays watching box sets and looking at other people's beach snaps. So, I couldn't wait to start sixth form and see my friends again. In the meantime, there was rehab and sleep.