In the car on the way back to Bì Yù’s home from the hospital, Marlowe does not say anything when I tell her I will not be going to hospital again. I feel big anger flames burning in my heart.
She talks in whispers to Bì Yù in the front seat. She thinks I cannot hear because I am sitting in the back, but I can. I hear the word transplant.
Transplant transplant transplant.
I want to shout at them and say: ‘I won’t let you do that to me and my heart.’ But I can’t shout. The injection I was given in the hospital makes my body feel like it is made of bricks. Everything around me is slow and heavy. I understand in my mind that I can’t shout anymore, I can’t say what I need to, because if I do, the doctors will come and inject me with more of that wicked potion.
When we get home I am tucked into bed. Marlowe sits with her legs crossed by my feet and she is biting her nails – something Stepmonster says is unladylike. I think to myself that Stepmonster is right. Marlowe is un-lady-like. She looks thin and grey in the face and her eyes are empty. She ties her hair up in an ugly bun. No, she does not look like a lady. In fact, she does not look much like my sister anymore. I see and feel now that the air and space between us is broken.