Some Thing Called Myself (Complete)

XXXIII: Something Changed

Ch. 33: Something Changed

The present

Mara woke up with a soft knock on the door.

She looked down to find the same clothes she'd been wearing in the kitchen and up to see her empty bedroom. Her eyes widened. Mara sat up with a start and swatted at her body, pushing away the cockroaches that weren't there anymore. It's okay. We're okay. They are gone. She paused.

Still panting, Mara checked her hand, the tips of her fingers running over the ugly wound caused by the grater. The deep dents had stopped bleeding, but they were still there, the flesh soggy, insensitive, and cold.

Then, her memories came crashing in. The search for the book, Bernardo's invitation, Tai gripping her hand, meeting Numa, getting hurt, accepting the pomegranate arils, being covered by cockroaches, passing out.

And then, the dream. Memory. Whatever. Mara was almost sure that those things had really happened, but that shouldn't be possible. Her memories had been lost with her final life as a Sentinel, so why—?

Oh, shit.

Coldness swirled in her stomach. The dream didn't matter. Numa had discovered her secret. She knew Mara was a Zombie!

"Fuck," Mara whispered, hands balling at her sides. What would she do now?

Another knock, softer this time.

Mara's heart raced, and her breathing shallowed. She blinked a few times as if trying to control her darkening vision, but it didn't work. Maybe Numa had told everyone. Maybe they were here to arrest her. They would drag her to the dungeons and lock her with Alessa. Her squad would abandon her, Kiki would be raised by some other person, and Mara would become a monster.

No. Calm down. You need to calm down!

With a suffocating intake of air, Mara willed her organs to shut down, one by one, until the panic attack stopped. She opened her eyes, and the loud heartbeat in her temples slowed down, little by little, until it stopped. Mara breathed out until her lungs felt empty once again.

The words from the textbook about zombies kept circling back to her mind. Deactivation of anything that causes discomfort, both mental and physical. If that's what she was doing, she wouldn't complain about it anymore.

Goddess, this felt so good.

Her eyes felt sharper when she checked her wristwatch; eight o'clock. Considering the light coming from the window, it was eight in the morning, which meant she had slept the entire night.

Mara got up. She expected a huge headache, but instead, she felt nothing. No pain, no discomfort, no sadness, nothing. More than anything, she noticed with stark clarity that she wasn't hungry for the first time in weeks.

An envelope sat on top of her dresser with a single flower beside it and a glass bottle of water behind it. Mara forced air into her lungs—she needed it if she wanted to speak—and the cold air of July rasped against her throat to show how parched it was.

Yet another knock.

"Mara? Are you awake?"

"One second!" Even her voice was dry. Mara jumped from the bed, snatched the bottle, and went to the door. "Who is this?" The bottle was sealed, so it seemed to be safe enough to drink. She cracked the lid open and downed a few sips.

"It's your killer," Mimi said. Mara could almost hear the smile in her voice, so she chuckled a little.

The cool water did wonders for her throat. Mara unlocked the door and jerked it open, then stepped aside to let Mimi in. She wheeled her way to the middle of the room, and Mara recognized a few of the stickers glued to her wheelchair. Mimi had been keeping those since they were twelve, and she bought a bigger wheelchair for the first time.