My hands are clammy, and my breathing comes too fast. But I force myself to go deeper.
Epidermis: I’m here because I’m stressed about the house, my career, my book.
Dermis: I’m stressed about the house because everything I’ve built feels like it’s about to fall.
Subcutaneous: I constantly need to prove my worth, because my mum didn’t love me and I feel so fucking guilty about my sister.
My forehead is prickly with sweat. I bring the cup to my lips, methodically swallow, and hope she doesn’t notice my hands shaking.
“I’m just…” I squirm. My heart is burning hot. “I’m…I’m worried about selling the house.”
It’s true, but that’s not the reason I can’t sleep. Or eat. And Emily knows this. My breathing is too loud. It comes out in panicked gasps. My stomach is all cramped up.
“Why are you really here, Sarah?”
My heart clenches like a fist. Panicked, I stare at the door. Emily notices.
“You’re safe here,” she says so softly. “Whatever you tell me is in confidence.”
And I want to tell.I do. I do.My sister’s face flashes into my vision. Lizzy is the root of all my issues. Lizzy is my subcutaneous layer. The back of my throat burns with the need to spew the words out. I lick my lips, and nobody is more shocked than I am when I finally open my mouth.
“Lizzy,” I choke out. “Lizzy.”
As soon as the name’s out of my mouth, I double over, gasping for breath. Emily’s at my side in an instant. My cheek’s pressed into my left knee, and Emily places a strong hand on my shoulder that says,I’m here. I’m here. It’s okay.
I close my eyes, breathing shallowly into my kneecap. I’m nervous I’ll vomit again, but other than that, I’m strangely still and calm. Emily’s nice. She’s safe. This is a safe place.
Slowly, I lift my head. Emily crouches at my side, her plait brushing my shoulder. “Sarah,” she begins, and I actually raise my hand to stop her. My heart thumps so hard I feel it in my ears.
“I’m not Sarah,” I finally say. “Sarah is my little sister’s name. Sarah Harris.”
Emily’s hand drops from my shoulder. Is it just me, or is she staring at me uneasily? The air feels combustible, and it hurts to breathe.
From somewhere far away comes Emily’s strained voice. “Who are you, then?”
My head and heart throb so loudly I can barely hear her. I have one more bombshell to drop, and it might as well be right now. I raise my head and look her right in the eye.
“Lizzy,” I whisper. “My name is Lizzy.”
Chapter 19
June 4
Dear Diary,
The first time I knew something was wrong with me was the day I lost my arms.
Okay, that sounds crazy, but hear me out. I was a teenager, lying in bed, reading a book I wasn’t interested in. Dad had mercifully left us a few months earlier and not once asked for custody rights. It was hard not to take that shit personally.
Sarah walked to school at 8:30, laughing loudly with the school kids who lived on our street, and I followed numbly behind. I spent my school hours looking out the window, holding my breath and pretending I was dead. Mum would retreat to her room at 4:00p.m.and emerge red-eyed and drowsy at 8:00 to make dinner, but mainly she didn’t emerge at all.
I called them Ditto Days.
One Ditto night, Sarah snored quietly in her single bed, and absolutely everything was normal.
And then it wasn’t.
I snap the diary shut and drop the pen. It rolls off my desk, falls to the floor before coming to a stop next to my big toe. My heartbeat is frantic. My hands cold and jittery. I feel like I’ve been caught stealing. I remind myself that this is what I wanted. This is why I bought the diary this morning on one of my rare trips to town. But it doesn’t make it easier.This time I can’t just erase the words with a click of a button. This time they remain.
