Even as the wound on my arm healed, I continued to scratch my skin. The angry red line itched and I worried at it, waiting for my pulse to slow and then stop as I became one of them. In the days that followed finding that horrid thing in the backyard, the scratch it had left?oozed.
Lieutenant Bain?David?came every day to change the dressing. A noxious black substance stuck to the cotton as though my body repelled some poison. He never once showed any revulsion at the task he undertook or the foul odour that clung to the bandage.
David's gentle friendship was so at odds with everything I knew that it did something mother's cruel words used to do. It drove me to tears. At night I sobbed into my pillow, trying to grasp that he might genuinely like me.