Page 8 of Cursed to Be Mine
“Although those deaths were clearly tragic,” Benjamin cuts in, standing between me and the dark-haired middle-aged man pointing his microphone at me, “Ms. Davis’ actions during that time saved hundreds of future children from suffering that same fate. Now if you’ll excuse us, we must head inside.”
“One of those six was my daughter!” the journalist shouts as Benjamin leads me the rest of the way to thedoors. I flinch as my PA falters one step. But then his strides are back to perfection as he grabs the door and gestures me inside.
“Are you okay?” I murmur as a lady in administration walks towards us, having been waiting for our arrival.
Benjamin nods once but doesn’t look at me.
“I’m sorry I stopped,” I say. “I shouldn’t have –”
His brown eyes flick to mine. “Your fire is what I like about you, ma’am. You’re one of the good ones. Don’t let his words get to you.”
I smile sadly at him. I never knew Rebecca, his sister, but Benjamin visits her grave every year. Her suicide thirteen years ago still weighs on him; I can see it in everything he does.
I reach out and squeeze his arm. “You’re one of the good ones too,” I say.
He nods, but it lacks conviction. Before I can say more, the administrative lady greets us and leads us towards the children.
THREE
HER
“Brown Rat, Brown Rat, where do you live?”
I sit with a child on my knee – a bald girl with cancer. She smiles beneath the haggard bags clinging to her blue eyes like little parasites. I force my lips up as I squeeze an arm around her bony waist, my heart breaking from the knowledge that she only has twelve weeks to live. Her parents stopped her chemo so she could enjoy her final moments.
Moments like today.
Her mother stands by the back wall with the other few parents, her presence an itch on my skin, her hand to her lips, her eyes wet with a courage she struggles to keep up in the face of her daughter’s happiness.
Rare moments of happiness smothered by months of decay.
“White Rabbit, White Rabbit, I live in a burrow!” I say with a false excitement. My stomach tight, I hold up the book so the other kids can see the images of rats playing in their underground nest. The kids sit on their bottoms and knees, looking at me intently, each shifting to try to see the pages better.
A little boy at the back coughs. He’s one of the ‘less photographic’ ones, one of the five Benjamin chose that look properly sick but not so much their presence will cause the public to not want to look at the pictures. Despite what even the democrats and far leftists say, few people are comfortable looking death in the face when it’s raw and ugly instead of smiling and peaceful. A negative reaction to the pictures will lead to a negative reaction to me, then to a dip in the polls, and I cannot lose this re-election.
Mark, the democrat running against me, is one of those Christians that are only such on a poll or for public image. In truth, he is an atheist, and he doesn’t believe in the devil. I tried to broach the subject with him over lunch a few weeks ago in case, God forbid, I do lose this election, but he stays arrogant in his foolish beliefs. If he wins, thousands will die in the coming months; the gangs have been increasing in activity recently, and I fear what is to come.
Turning the book back around to face me, I wait for the little girl to flip the page. She does so with a giggle. Her mother’s tears slip free, and I feel as if they run down my own cheeks.
“Running out of his burrow, Brown Rat sees a Blue Bird pecking in the grass. ‘Blue Bird, Blue Bird, where do you live?’”
“A tree!” The words barely out of his mouth, the little boy coughs again, this time setting off a chain reaction. As the girl on my knee joins in, her spittle flying across the pages, a splatter of red, I jump to my feet and set her down away from me. My eyes scan the room for the nurse in attendance.
“There’s blood,” I say, refusing to look at the girl’s mother. The book fell onto the floor as I stood, and the little girl bends down to scoop it up even as she continues to cough.
A choked sob comes from the far side of the room. A silent one comes from me.
“I think that’s enough for today,” the administrative lady says, and Benjamin nods at me as he comes forward.
I don’t want to leave, knowing this will be the last I see of any of them.
But nor do I want to stay.
Grabbing my cheerful bag, I look at the little girl. “You keep the book,” I say. “Maybe your mother can finish reading it for you.”
“But what about me?” an older boy says. “I want to know what happens too.”
The nurse pulls the girl who was on my lap to her, checking her over as the administrative lady says, “We’ll have one of the nurses read it to you later. For now, everyone say thank you to Ms. Davis for spending her time here.”
