The Pain · The Long Way Down to Morning · Pulse Beat
One morning in February she could not close her fingers around a cup. She stood in the shared kitchen of the student house with the tea going cold, trying, and the hand lay in her other palm like…
One morning in February she could not close her fingers around a cup.
She stood in the shared kitchen of the student house with the tea going cold, trying, and the hand lay in her other palm like something borrowed. Pins and needles ran up the forearm. She sat down on the floor.
Mira found her there and did not ask a single question. She took the cup, made a new tea, put it in Anika's good hand, and sat down opposite.
"How long?"
"Months," said Anika.
"Months." Mira closed her eyes. "You idiot. You wonderful, stubborn idiot. Come, we are going to a doctor, now, today, and I am coming and you are not allowed to say no."
"I have a lesson at two."
"Then you will miss it." Mira stood and held out a hand. "Anika. I would rather you hate me for a week than lose the hand."
They went in the rain. In the waiting room a poster showed a skeleton hand, every bone labelled in German and Latin, and Anika could not look at it, and could not look away.