I'm having the diffusion treatment again.
I forgot. But now I remember. It's not the first time.
I'm strapped into an industrial metal chair. My waist is strapped to the seat. There's a drip in my wrist. Two nurses stand beside me, checking the diffusion bag.
Dr Reynolds stands in front of a projection screen with a remote control.
'Watch Sylvie, watch,' he says.
He clicks the remote control. There is Jarvis' face on the screen. He is older now. He is wearing his work overalls. He is up a ladder working on a Van Darger mould with a tool in his hand. I feel such an overwhelming feeling of desire just to see his face, larger than life, on the screen, I smile.
Click. 'His wife and child,' Dr Reynolds says. There's a photo of them on a beach somewhere. The sea is so blue. There's mountains in the background. Jarvis has a boy on his back. His son. Beautiful and healthy and happy. Nina stands beside them, her bright white smile commercialised. I feel such a feeling of pain, it is as if someone has taken a sword and plunged it through my heart.
'Don't close your eyes, Sylvie. Watch.'
Click. 'Easter time,' Dr Reynolds says. Another perfect family photo. It looks as though they are standing in their backyard. There's white daisies in the garden. They are standing beside a Japanese maple tree. The boy has a basket in his hand full of Easter eggs. There's a chocolate smudge around his lips. Nina is wearing a pretty spring dress, and Jarvis is wearing a white t-shirt and blue jeans. Nina and Jarvis are holding hands. They look so happy.
Click. 'A portrait,' Dr Reynolds says. This time it is a video clip. Jarvis is in a studio. He is sitting at a bench surrounded by tools. He's working on a clay portrait, carving in the lines of a face. The camera steadies, and zooms in on the portrait. It's Nina's face. Jarvis is capturing the happiness in the lines around her eyes and the brightness of her smile in a mono-colour clay. He is making a clay mould of Nina's face. Capturing Nina's happiness. Cementing their relationship. Bronzing their love. It hurts so much I feel as though I want to stop breathing.
'Forget him,' Dr Reynolds says as my blood drips up the tube and my eyes close and I've never felt so tired.
They think I'm asleep, but I hear him say, 'I wish they had a microchip for obsessive love. We could press the reset button.'
The microchip.
After the malfunctioning microchip.
Before I malfunctioned.
If you hesitate, you lose.
YOU ARE READING
Silver
Teen FictionSylvie, 16, sees colours, where other people only hear words or feel emotions. She knows she has to keep this a secret - as people disappear to institutions if they get sick in the mind. *** Sylvie likes to dress in Lolita outfits and dreams of beco...
