Read What's Left of Me for Free Online Page B
Authors: Kat Zhang
around—”
Addie shut our door and fell into bed, kicking off our shoes and burying our head in our arms.
she whispered, and it was almost a plea.
If hybrids were being blamed for the flood and fire at the history museum, and if said hybrids hadn’t been caught yet, then . . . I couldn’t even imagine the frenzy that would sweep the city. It would reach us here in the outskirts for sure. Everyone would be on alert, nerves raw, quick to accuse. That was the thing about hybrids. You couldn’t tell just by looking at them.
The Mullans would be the first to have fingers jabbed in their direction, with their foreign blood and strange ways. No one with a shred of sense would have anything to do with them now.
But still, but still .
I could see Hally’s brother standing in the hallway, could remember his eyes on us, remember every word that had come out of his mouth. He’d said I could move again. He’d said they could teach me.
What if he and his sister were taken away? I might spend every burning second of the rest of my life thinking back on this day, ruing the things I did not say, the action I did not take, the chance I failed to seize.
I said quietly.
Addie didn’t even reply. We lay there, our face pressed into the crook of our elbow.
I said.
Devon’s words were red-hot coals inside me, searing away three years of tenuous acceptance. The fire screamed to get out, to escape from the throat, the skin, the eyes that were mine as much as Addie’s. But it couldn’t.
Addie demanded.
Normally, I wouldn’t have responded. I’d learned not to speak whenever I felt like this. To stay quiet and make myself pretend I didn’t care. It was the only way I could keep from going insane, to not die from the want—the need —to move my own limbs. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t scream. I could only be quiet and let myself go numb. Then, at least, I wouldn’t have to feel anymore, wouldn’t have to endlessly crave what I could never have.
But not today. I couldn’t stay quiet today.
I said.
Addie shifted so we faced the wall.
I said.
Addie said.
My voice had turned pleading, but I was too desperate to care.
Addie said.
I said.
Our eyes squeezed shut. Addie said.
Addie said.
It was as if she’d sliced the tendons connecting us, leaving me raw and reeling. For a long, long moment, I couldn’t find any words.
I finally spat.
Once, a few months after our thirteenth birthday, I disappeared.
Only for five or six hours, though it had seemed timeless to me. This was the year Lyle fell sick. The year we found out his kidneys were failing him, that our little brother might never grow up.
Suddenly, we were right back in those hospital hallways. Except this time, Addie and I weren’t the patient—Lyle was. And as terrible as the former had been, the latter managed to be ten times worse. The doctors were all different, the tests different, the way they treated him different. But our parents were just as wild with worry, and Lyle, sitting on the examination table, just as pale and silent as we’d been.
One night, he’d whispered a question in our ear as Addie sat at the edge of his bed, reaching to turn off his lamp.
If he died, did that mean he’d be with Nathaniel again?
Addie had to fight
Addie shut our door and fell into bed, kicking off our shoes and burying our head in our arms.
If hybrids were being blamed for the flood and fire at the history museum, and if said hybrids hadn’t been caught yet, then . . . I couldn’t even imagine the frenzy that would sweep the city. It would reach us here in the outskirts for sure. Everyone would be on alert, nerves raw, quick to accuse. That was the thing about hybrids. You couldn’t tell just by looking at them.
The Mullans would be the first to have fingers jabbed in their direction, with their foreign blood and strange ways. No one with a shred of sense would have anything to do with them now.
But still, but still .
I could see Hally’s brother standing in the hallway, could remember his eyes on us, remember every word that had come out of his mouth. He’d said I could move again. He’d said they could teach me.
What if he and his sister were taken away? I might spend every burning second of the rest of my life thinking back on this day, ruing the things I did not say, the action I did not take, the chance I failed to seize.
Addie didn’t even reply. We lay there, our face pressed into the crook of our elbow.
Devon’s words were red-hot coals inside me, searing away three years of tenuous acceptance. The fire screamed to get out, to escape from the throat, the skin, the eyes that were mine as much as Addie’s. But it couldn’t.
Normally, I wouldn’t have responded. I’d learned not to speak whenever I felt like this. To stay quiet and make myself pretend I didn’t care. It was the only way I could keep from going insane, to not die from the want—the need —to move my own limbs. I couldn’t cry. I couldn’t scream. I could only be quiet and let myself go numb. Then, at least, I wouldn’t have to feel anymore, wouldn’t have to endlessly crave what I could never have.
But not today. I couldn’t stay quiet today.
Addie shifted so we faced the wall.
I said.
My voice had turned pleading, but I was too desperate to care.
Our eyes squeezed shut. Addie said.
It was as if she’d sliced the tendons connecting us, leaving me raw and reeling. For a long, long moment, I couldn’t find any words.
Once, a few months after our thirteenth birthday, I disappeared.
Only for five or six hours, though it had seemed timeless to me. This was the year Lyle fell sick. The year we found out his kidneys were failing him, that our little brother might never grow up.
Suddenly, we were right back in those hospital hallways. Except this time, Addie and I weren’t the patient—Lyle was. And as terrible as the former had been, the latter managed to be ten times worse. The doctors were all different, the tests different, the way they treated him different. But our parents were just as wild with worry, and Lyle, sitting on the examination table, just as pale and silent as we’d been.
One night, he’d whispered a question in our ear as Addie sat at the edge of his bed, reaching to turn off his lamp.
If he died, did that mean he’d be with Nathaniel again?
Addie had to fight
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