If only that had been the end. If only I had listened to Cassie; listened to my common sense. Seen the signs for what they were.
That wasn’t the end.
No.
That was just a fleeting last minute fantasy that my brain concocted right as every skin cell in my body was lit on fire.
My face, armpits, genitals, chest, all of it. Everything hurt. Everything. But the physical pain felt directly proportional to how much hair got zapped away down to the root.
Pain.
So much pain.
The kind that makes you beg for death. The kind that stretches out and just as you think you’re developing something of a tolerance for, either it waxes or you wane. I don’t think I screamed. But not for lack of trying. A proper scream would have required the strength to draw air into my lungs. Any sweat or tears that may have resulted from the heat and the stress would have evaporated instantly. If I had had an open cut it would have been cauterized on the spot.
It was as if every follicle, every cell in my skin was being stabbed to death by a thousand needles made of light. It wasn’t a quick death, either.
I lost consciousness. That’s when I had that last fleeting glimpse of a future that might have been had I not been so stupid.
I woke up on the floor. Tired. So tired. I was still naked. Beouf had moved the changing mat over to the floor. I couldn’t move. Everything hurt. So tired. So tired.
She was rubbing ointment on my skin. My flesh looked raw; close to bleeding. I couldn’t feel it, but it looked ghastly. Almost like the model of a person where the muscles remain, but the epidermis has been peeled back. The goggles had been taken off me and I could feel the air conditioner blowing in my hair.
Good. At least I still had hair somewhere.
“Shhhhh,” my old mentor hushed and cooed at me while she coated my tummy. “The nanites in this lotion will help your skin feel better.” It was true. The balm had a cooling effect. It was like slipping into a nice cold tub of goo after a really nasty sunburn at the beach.
I tried to open my mouth, but my throat was too dry to speak. She lathered it on my face. My nose. My ears.
“You’ve been through a lot.” She kept going. My legs. My toes. The soles of my feet. “Mrs. B. is gonna take care of you, though. You can rest.” My pubic area. My penis. My testicles. My taint. “Go to sleep, baby. You’re safe.” The backs of my legs. My butt. My asshole. “We’ll talk after you wake up.”
Before I closed my eyes, the last thing I saw was Beouf unfolding a fresh diaper. The last thing I felt was my rump hitting the soft padding.
