“Okay.” I wiggled the fingers that Fang was still holding.
“The other ones,” he said.
“Okay.” I wiggled those fingers.
“Go ahead and move them, Max,” said Dr. Martinez.
“I am moving them,” I said, moving them more.
“Oh,” said Dr. Martinez. “Oh, no.”
31
So there you have it, folks. The most humiliating admission I could possibly even conceive of, plus the loss of my left hand, all in one day. I mean, the hand was still there, but it was dangling limply. More decorative than anything else at this point.
Just like my pride.
Every time the hazy memory of my saying goofily, “I love you sooo much” popped into my head, I shuddered all over again. That one experience guaranteed that I will never, ever get hooked on Valium or anything like it.
Dr. Martinez was incredibly upset about my hand. She was in tears afterward and kept apologizing.
“Hey, I made you do it,” I told her.
“You didn’t make me. I shouldn’t have tried it.” She looked crushed.
“No matter what, I’m glad it’s gone,” I said. “I’m really glad it’s gone.”
The next day I was Voice-free and starting to learn to do everything with only my right hand. It was a total pain in the butt, but I was getting better. Again and again I tried to move the fingers on my left hand, and again and again I got not a twitch or a tingle. My arm ached, though.
Again and again I felt Fang’s night sky eyes on me, to the point where I was about to cl
imb the wall. When Dr. Martinez and Ella were outside for a moment, I cornered him.
“What I said yesterday didn’t mean anything!” I hissed. “I love everyone in the flock! Plus, it was the Valium talking!”
An unbearable smug look came over his usually impassive face. “Uh-huh. You just keep telling yourself that. You looove me.”
I took a swing at him, but he jumped back nimbly, and all I did was jar my left arm, making it hurt.
He laughed at me, then pointed at the woods outside the window. “Pick a tree. I’ll go carve our initials in it.”
Barely suppressing a shriek of rage, I flung myself down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind me.
My superacute raptor hearing couldn’t help registering his chuckles outside. Holding my head in my right hand, I muttered, “God help me.”
Too late for that, Max, said the Voice. Only you can help yourself now.
Oh, no.
The Voice was not connected to the chip. It was still inside my head.
Which made today’s total:
1) Useless left hand
2) Fang believing some mushy emotion I didn’t even mean
3) Voice still with us