The laser eye surgery didn’t go as planned either. The injuries were so bad that I needed to repeat surgeries and a special lens implant was inserted. Even so, my vision is not 100 percent, and I need to wear glasses.
Surgery after surgery, setback after setback, I fall into a mild depression, but the twins, Jeremy and Justin, don’t give up on me. I’m not sure why two sixteen-year-old, nearly six feet tall, blond-haired, green-eyed teen boys want anything to do with me. Still, they visit every day, usually after school. Sometimes, they even stay the night. If they don’t have school, they won’tleave me alone, always acting as my interpreter and making me laugh at their stories and their pranks.
Before I could see, I imagined Shakti to be a beautiful woman. And she is. She’s tall, at least five foot nine, and slender. Her big green eyes and long blonde hair match her boys. She also never leaves my side, unless someone is with me.
Anders visits daily to check on me and talk to Dr. York. Even Chris and Elias stop by to see how I am doing. The never-ending visitors help with my internal battle of despair, but it creeps in when I am left alone, especially at night when everyone sleeps.
The nightmares continue to haunt me. I gave up on sleep altogether. To make things worse, I finally gain the courage to look at my reflection, really look at myself. Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I turn my head to inspect the left side of my face. I examine the scars. A long, puckered, angry, red, jagged line trails from the corner of my left eye to my chin, and another one starts at the corner of my mouth and sweeps up toward my ear. The whites of my eyes are blood red, contrasting the paleness of my light blue eyes. They make me think of vampire eyes. My lashes are slowly growing back in short little stubs, and my right eyelid has a pink scar.
Turning my head back and forth slowly, I examine the rest of my face. The too-big glasses hide most of my face, drawing the focus more than the scars. I rub my recently shaved head. Shakti attempted to salvage what was left of my hair, but in the end, I asked if she could just shave it all off. Angry pink and red bald spots dot my scalp. I lift my chin to see the freshly healing surgical scar at the base of my throat, where the hole had been. A faded pink line circles my neck just above it. I trace it with my fingertip. I hope this one fades. It’s a little harder to hide.
Sighing, I undo the ties at my neck and back and remove the clinic gown, looking down at my chest. Dr. York seems to think that I am about twelve or fourteen years old. Cupping mybreasts, I think I am about a full B cup. Would a twelve-year-old have boobs?
I graze my fingertips down my arms along the linear pink-and-white scars, stopping where horizontal scars weave in, creating a tic-tac-toe pattern on my wrist. Turning to view my back in the mirror, I discover the worst of the wounds.
Jagged markings run down my back all the way to my right and left calves. It almost looks like I was mutilated and sewn back together. Facing forward, I find only one faded pink scar on each thigh, rectangular shaped about an inch long. No scars adorn my chest or stomach. I still have the feeding tube, though, because of my teeth.
I stare at my face and pretend to smile. My teeth are broken in half, some down to the gums, and several of my bottom teeth twist and jut out crookedly. The orthodontic specialist tried to salvage my original teeth, removing the ones he just couldn’t save. He applied braces to straighten the ones still present, using spacers to account for the missing ones. Shakti promised that they would insert implants once everything else was fixed.
I’m not an idiot. Implants cost money, and good ones that stay in place when you shift cost more than a fancy condo in the city.
I know it’s silly and probably vain to feel upset about my appearance. I know I should be dead. I eventually want to meet a boy, someone I could one day fall in love with. But who will want to kiss me with fucked-up, ugly, missing teeth? Who will want to touch me with scars all over my body? How many times will I have to explain myself when someone asks about them?
I look worse than a street junkie or a boxer, like someone threw me in a meat grinder, pulled me out, and pieced me back together. Opening my mouth, I examine my teeth again, smiling once more. I study all the wounds and scars. When I can’tstomach my reflection any longer, I remove my glasses, slide to the floor, and quietly sob.
Chapter 19
Guard Detail
JESSICA
EIGHT YEARS AGO:
June 25, 2016: 9 a.m.
Emerald Pack Clinic
The twins get into trouble at school, and Shakti grounds them. Their punishment includes their visits to me. Royal business requires Shakti to leave the territory, but she promises to remain in constant communication with Dr. York. She also assures me that someone will stay with me so I am not alone. She will return as soon as she can.
Since last night, I haven’t seen anyone other than Dr. York and my nurse, Mimi. A sharp knock at the door makes me jump, and four large men enter my room.
“Anders sent us,” a deep baritone voice announces. I adjust my glasses on the bridge of my nose. The tallest one, with wide shoulders and black hair, spoke. He looks like Elias with dark brown eyes, so dark they’re almost black, a square jaw, strong brow, and broad nose. His muscular frame tapers to a skinnywaist, and he stands with legs slightly apart. “I’m Ean,” he introduces himself with a smile.
I scrunch my face as I study him. Then, it hits me. I slid between his legs the day I escaped from the clinic.
I look around at all of them again. These are the four guards I ran from, but… I thought there were five of them—two I outran and three by the gate. My eyes widen. Were they the four men by the car when Anders came to collect me?
Ean bursts with laughter. “You remember us now, do you?”
I give him a tight-lipped smile and nod.
“What’s wrong, Little One? Cat got your tongue?” a blond-haired guard asks. His green eyes sparkle with mischief. He isn’t as broad-shouldered as the twins, and his blond hair is a couple of shades darker. He is leaner, with long muscular arms. I notice that his right forearm is slightly bigger than his left, making the veins more pronounced.
I quirk an eyebrow and point to my throat, still bandaged from my most recent surgery.
He raises both hands and shrugs. “Right. Sorry about that.” He stretches out his right arm to shake my hand. “I’m Charlie. You jumped me, by the way, from the roof.” They all chuckle.
Keeping my lips shut tight, I smile and blush, gingerly place my small hand in his much larger one. I hold up two fingers on my other hand. I actually jumped on him when I used him to grab onto a tree branch.
