“Lovely,” Doctor Swann clapped her hands together. “The future is looking so bright for you, Lucy.”
“Bright,” I murmured. That word always made me think of Brightfield, and their silly slogans. “Dr. Swann?”
She was standing, readying herself to leave. “Yes?” Her eyebrow raised.
“I still don’t—” I swallowed down the lump in my throat— “smell right. I mean, my scent just seems so weak. Will that change?”
“Lucy, your body has gone through over two decades of distress. These things take time, and the olfactory strength of your scent doesn’t affect the outcome of the matching.” She broke out into a smile suddenly. “But we do have something I’ve been working on that might do wonders for you in that regard. It’s a one-time series of injections, a dose in each Maxima andMinora glands, to stimulate production. Would you like to try that?”
I bit my lower lip, thinking. Was the potency of my Omega scent important enough to submit to yet another treatment?
Then I found myself nodding and saying, “Yes.”
Because I wanted to be as whole as possible. I didn’t want a half-measure cure.
“Great, I’ll set that up!” She beamed at me, then turned to her lab assistant. “Love, I’ll leave the rest to you. Come to my office with the results.”
“Yes, Dr. Swann.” The man replied, rolling the cart lined with vials containing little bits of me away.
“The nurse who escorted you here should be waiting in the hall, Lucy. Remember that you might not get matched immediately. Our database grows every day, and we want you to get the highest compatibility possible.” She gave me a parting smile and strode from the lab.
The same nurse was waiting. We traveled, her leading the way, back to my room.
When I was alone, I had the sudden need to shower away the laboratory.
I moved to the bathroom
The water was as hot as I could stand, a strong stream pounding against the porcelain. I chose the brown sugar body wash today. Choice. Such a simple concept for most people, but so radical for someone who'd had every aspect of their existence dictated by illness and treatment protocols. Unscented soap. Showers only as necessary to preserve layers of protective creams. Assisted bathing if I was too weak. If I couldn’t make it to the bathroom, I’d have to use the pan. So many things that stripped away any confidence or pride I possessed.
My neck throbbed as I touched it with soap-slick hands, the glands swollen and tender. My wrists ached too, forcing me toclean every part of me gingerly. The little stings were reminders that somewhere in this building, my biological essence was being processed, analyzed, and uploaded to the Eros database.
I kept standing in the hot water long after I was washed, letting the blistering heat course over my sore neck, hoping it might ease the tenderness. I wanted to stay in the shower forever but began to feel guilty about using so much hot water. Not that the water ever went cool. I stayed in for a full hour once, and the water was just as lava-hot at the end as it was at the start.
Reluctantly, I turned off the shower.
After drying my body and combing my hair, I slipped into soft lounge pants and a sweater.
It was too early to go to bed, but I was bone-deep tired.
I sank onto the bed, its mattress cradling me. I turned onto my side, adjusting pillows. One between my legs, another tucked against my stomach, the fluffiest one beneath my head. My body seemed to melt into the comfort, all tension releasing in a single, involuntary sigh. Sleeping in a bed like this could never get old.
Lying on my side, I faced the windows. I liked it that way, so the last thing I saw before dreaming was a vision of the future.
I dozed off and when I woke up Seattle's skyline was faded toward evening, lights flickering to life in buildings and along streets the same way stars emerge at night. Slowly, without fail, to glitter in the dark. I watched through heavy-lidded eyes, fighting falling asleep again so I could watch darkness swallow up day. Snow began to fall, flakes fluttering lazily through the air. That made me smile.
That world would be mine soon.
I’d be part of it.
Not just watching from the outskirts, living vicariously.
“Take a cruise,” I murmured, adding to my ever-lengthening list of things I wanted to do when I was free. “Feed animals at a zoo.”
My eyelids drooped; I forced them open despite the impossible heaviness of my lashes.
“Learn to drive,” my voice was little more than a whisper. “Get a dog.”
So tired…
