Page 20 of Shame

Elena? Then I remember what I had forgotten. The matron has a name too, like the rest of us. The doctor shines a lamp in my eyes, pats down my arms and legs, stomach, listens to my heart and lungs.

“There are no signs of inner damage.”

The matron scoffs, then she opens the door. “Miranda,” she roars, a sound so powerful it’s bound to tear the walls down. And that’s when things begin to turn odd. I’m in the ceiling. I am the actual ceiling, because I’m just awareness. The girl on the bed moans as her belly swells.

“We’re going to have to operate.” The doctor fiddles with his bag and takes out a scalpel. The blade catches the rays of the sunlight that shines through the window.

“Yes, of course,” says the matron and looks up at me.

No, no, no cutting. What are they doing? Why isn’t anyone telling him he can’t just cut into me? My belly is huge now, I look nine months pregnant, ready to burst. He puts the blade down in the upward slope under my breastbone and cuts a straight line all the way to my pubic bone. The two halves of my stomach begin to separate and out comes a black hairy leg, and another, and another. My belly falls apart and hundreds and hundreds of big, black, hairy spiders flood the bed. I scream. A scream with no sound, because I have no vocal cords. No lungs. I look at the matron. Why isn’t anyone helping me?

My body is covered with the mass of monsters. They all turn to me and a collective whisper reaches my non-ears.

Salvatore.

Then they’re just gone.

“Can we move her without breaking anything?” The matron circles the bed, studying me.

“Yeah, yeah. No worries. Nothing broken.”

Matron scoffs again. I would too if I could.

“Okay, let’s take her to the shower. Miranda!”

When I come to again, I’m in my bed, not on it, cuddled by cool, heavenly soft sheets. I smell nice. I smell of lavender. My limbs are heavy, but I lift my arms and study the bandages around my wrists. I have on soft pink pants and the long-sleeved top that goes with it. On the chest and the butt sits an image of Hello Kitty. I don’t have to look to know it. It’s my outfit.

“Hey,” says a soft voice. “You’re awake.”

I turn my head and squint at the sun, seeing the silhouette of Miranda who sits on a chair next to me, reading a book.

“What day is it?” I rasp.

“Sunday. Same as when you came.”

“What time?”

“You’ve slept for hours. It’s four in the afternoon. Are you hungry? Do you need something to drink?”

She holds up a glass with a straw. I begin to shuffle to sit.

“No lie. I’ll help you.”

“I can sit, it’s all right.”

“But… Matron told me to make sure you rested.”

“I can sit,” I grit out, and make it the rest of the way, falling with my back against the headboard, wincing. I had forgotten how beaten my back is. “Give me the water.”

I drink several large swallows, grimacing because my throat hurts. Then I hand her the glass again, my mind spinning.

“My God, you’re sweating. Lie down, or she’ll kill me, Carmen!”

I let her put me back under the duvet.

“How do I look?”

Her features change. She chews her lip and looks around us. “Do—do you want a mirror?”

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