s k i n

o n e

Monday, October 14, 2019

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Pulling myself out of bed was always harder to do on Mondays. It was the first day of a long week, and getting up early was never one of my talents. Knowing I had to do it four more times after this wasn't a good motivator.

I needed coffee before I could really do anything else, so I dragged myself into the kitchen. Cori sat at the table devouring a chocolate chip pancake and Dad was standing over the stove cooking up more. A tiny sprout popped out of the collar of his shirt.

I went straight to the coffee pot, thankful Dad had already brewed some up. As I poured myself a cup and added an immense amount of sugar, Dad spoke.

"Isaac, are you coming straight home after school? I won't be home until late tonight, so—"

The spatula he held clattered to the floor. I stopped to look over at him, and the expression he wore was complete shock. He was staring at me. So was Cori. My heart stopped beating.

I knew exactly what this meant.

I bolted for the bathroom and almost tripped on my way there. My socks slipped on the linoleum floor and I crashed into the wall in the hallway, knocking an old portrait of our late grandparents down. I heard the frame crack, but I kept going.

I didn't stop until I stood in front of the mirror, and what I saw horrified me. It was still me, but I was covered in what looked like tattoos. Head to toe, my skin was covered in nothing but words, some small, some large, a few italicized, and fewer bold.

The letters were small enough that you'd have to be standing beside me to read them. I noticed words like fuck and fucking and shit and bastard here and there, those ones always in weird sentences like Fuck Brad and I'm not into that shit. Those were bolder than the rest. On my left cheek were lyrics to a song, and those were italicized.

What freaked me out even more than my skin were my eyes. They weren't blue anymore. Instead, the irises were completely black, like empty voids. I couldn't find the pupils within the dark emptiness where the blue eyes I shared with my mom should have been.

I doubled over the toilet and puked. I fell to my knees and heaved for a long minute before I realized I couldn't breathe. I choked on all the air I drank in but couldn't seem to catch my breath. Before I knew it, Dad was on the floor holding me.

"Shhh. It's okay, Isaac," he said gently, rocking me back and forth. "It's okay."

It wasn't okay, I knew that and he knew that. Nothing about the Sickness was okay. I was supposed to be the one. I wasn't supposed to get sick. I was supposed to be me, not this. I looked like a freak.

"I'd rather be dead," I choked out without thinking.

"Don't you dare say that," Dad demanded, holding me tighter. "I love you, Isaac. No matter how you look, I love you."

I choked out a sob. After everything, this couldn't be happening. Not me too. I couldn't take this.

"Breathe," Dad said. "It's another panic attack. Just breathe, Isaac."

I bit down on my lip, trying to make it stop. My chest, my throat, my whole body ached. The world was spinning out of control and I had nothing to anchor me to it. Until I saw a little horned girl.

Cori stood outside the bathroom door, peeking in from around the threshold. She had tears running down her cheeks. She watched me with an expression I hadn't seen since Mom went awol.