Alive

Chapter 31

Oliver

(Saturday, May 18)

I fall asleep listening to Elle hum a song. At least, I must've fallen asleep, because the next thing I know, it's light outside and I jolt backward because my whole body is on fire. Well, that's how it feels at first. I don't understand what it is until I'm already scratching. My back, my arms, my ears. I clench my teeth together, then have to stop myself from yelling as I bite down on something. A couple things. Like rocks. What? I spit them out in my hand. Blink. Stare at them. At...teeth.

Fuck.

Holy fuck.

I run my tongue along my teeth. Nothing's missing. They're all there. But... I wince. Sharp.

Holy fuck.

Holy—

Elle stirs as I push myself up. And fuck the pain in my leg, because I have to get to the bathroom. Out of her sight. Now. So I limp across the room, my mind glued to the pair of scissors in her drawer. No matter how much it itches, how much everything hurts, that's all I can think about.

I can't even look in the mirror as I throw the teeth away. I can't. My face aches. My back needs to stretch, no matter how many times I straighten it. It's like I can't. And the moment I reach for the scissors, the moment I glimpse that black hair on my forearms, something snaps. Something fucking snaps.

No. This isn't happening. I won't let it.

So I skip the scissors, open and slam each drawer until I find her clippers. And that's fucking it. I plug them in, turn them on, and end this stupid thing. Whatever it is, fuck it. It won't fucking get to me. So I shave it. My head, my neck, my arms, my chest. Fuck, even my leg. Because it's everywhere. This black hair, pushing its way out. Poking out from under my bandages. And yeah, I've always wished I grew a bit more hair in areas. But not like this. I'm nauseous just looking at it.

So I don't. My eyes go out of focus, and I just move on instinct. Reach every part, everything. Then I grab the scissors, clip off the hair on my ears, and hover them over the tips. The pointy tips. I should do it. I want to do it. Because fuck this. My ears are oval or maybe round or at least any shape but this. I could fix them.

But a stab of pain through my leg makes me slam the scissors onto the counter. And the itching on my back makes me throw them against the wall. As hard as I can. Because I can't reach that hair. I already tried last night. And there's more of it today. Trailing over my spine, petering out in the middle of my shoulder blades. Last night there was only a strip.

I jerk my clothes back on, brushing little hairs off my skin, then scratching because now everything is starting to burn again. But to hell with it. I'll ignore it with everything I've got because it's not real. Just a side effect.

"Oliver?"

Elle's voice makes me jump, throwing my hand against the door to make sure she doesn't open it. Shit. There's a sea of black fur on the ground, in the sink, on the counter. Think fast.

"I'm in here," I say.

"Are you okay?" She's right outside the door.

"Taking a dump," I say. Then cringe.

"Oh." She pauses. "You sure?"

I let my breath out. Leave it to Elle to make a comment like that.

"That I'm pooping?" I ask.

"No," she says, all flustered. "Not that. Are you sure you're okay?"

"Elle," I say. "You're not supposed to talk to people when they're pooping."