Page 49 of Such Sharp Teeth

There’s a prickling at the back of my neck. My hands and feet go numb. It’s so cold. It’s so cold tonight, and I can’t feel it. It’s there but it isn’t. And I can no longer hear my heart. Is it even beating anymore?

I can hear the crate as it rattles around me, an incessant reminder of my confinement. Of my isolation.

I was alone in my room. I had a cold, and I’d gone up to bed early.

“How you feelin’?” he asked me, sitting on my bed. This was the first time I remember him touching me, though I know he touched me before then, because at first this touch didn’t feel strange to me. Because there had been a hand on the shoulder, a ruffling of the hair. High-fives and fist bumps.

He put his hand on my forehead, like he was trying to take my temperature.

Then his hand moved. It was on my stomach. On my chest.

I coughed, and then he kissed me. A peck on the corner of my mouth.

“Feel better,” he whispered in my ear. “Because you know I like you best.”

Everyone had always liked Scarlett best, because she was easier. More polite. She never talked back. Never asked questions. I was always asking questions. I asked so many questions.

That night, I had fever dreams. I sweat through my sheets.

I’m sweating now. Sweltering. There’s no cold, no trace of it at all.

There’s nothing except these memories. They’re unyielding.

“Dave was really worried about you,” Mom said the next morning.

It was just the two of us. I was too sick to go to school, so she had to call out of work. We sat side by side on the couch, eating plain overdone toast.

“It’s so sweet, your bond.”

“He kissed me,” I said. “Here.”

I pointed. She clicked her tongue and shooed the crumbs from her lap.

“It’s paternal affection. That’s how it’s supposed to be. I know you’re not used to it, but trust me, it’s good to have a man in your life who can set an example of how you should be treated. You and Scarlett.”

“He’s different with Scarlett.”

“He’s not.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Well, he cares about you. You should be grateful.”

I didn’t know what to say to that, so I said nothing, just choked down my toast.

I can taste it now. Burned and bitter. It’s heavy on my tongue. It’s in my nose, my throat, my lungs.

I don’t want these memories. I don’t want these thoughts. I don’t want to go back there.

But there’s nowhere else for me to go.

I’m stuck. Trapped.

I take off my winter coat. It’s too warm. I’m soaked. Dripping.

My shoes now. I take off my shoes. My socks. The rats are watching. I feel their eyes on me. I’m exposed. Vulnerable.

The heat was on. In his car, the heat was always on. I took off my jacket.