He'd promised we'd take the academy entrance exam together—but Gretchen could only get into a vocational college, and he'd rather tank his own future than let her feel left behind. He even dragged me down with him.
What he didn't know was that my family, terrified I'd walk the same road as my father, had already quietly arranged a university overseas for me.
The future I'd fought so hard against had become my only way out.
I called my mother.
"Mom, I'll go. Yes, next month."
——
Gretchen hadn't used any anesthetic. My reddened arm still throbbed with a low, constant sting, and the slightest movement sent cold sweat down my back.
I looked at the glass of milk on the table, the one Curtis had brought me himself:
"You're always saying you can't sleep. Warm milk should help."
I've always been wary by nature. That milk was probably not just milk.
I'd had nightmare after nightmare while I was out, but none of them were as horrifying as what I saw when I opened my eyes.
The lines on my arm were crooked, wobbly, childish as a toddler's crayon scrawl—and this pathetic little doodle was enough to erase years of everything I'd worked for.