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69. The Boiling Pot
~ JESSE ~
The next morning I woke feeling pale. I didn’t even have to look in the mirror, I knew what I would find, because it felt like my entire body was… less there. And when I forced myself to get up, it felt as if at any step the floor might fall out from under my feet.
I had barely slept, haunted by those images of Cazz, fierce and disapproving, despising me.
I had to scramble to push away the chittering fear at that thought, the desperate hurt, and make myself move. Make myself dress and brush my teeth, and be human. But my eyes ached with tiredness. I didn’t want to eat.
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