Читать книгу The Styx - Patricia Holland - Страница 16

Rett Syndrome does lots of bad things to me, inside me. Some days are bad, often the days are bad. Some days the pain in my head, in my bones, in my everywhere, comes on and I scream. And scream till blood comes into my throat.

In the early days, my mother gave me medicine—red mercy medicine—but it took a while to work. I screamed in her face, my hands wrapped in her hair, wrapped in mine, twined, twisted in crazy-girl fists grabbing, dragging, ripping the pain away—hers and mine—my face in her face, noses smashed together, me screaming in her face, she screaming inside, weeping outside, her tears washing the red medicine stains from my chin down my neck, soaking our clothes. Until the pain stilled. Fist nests of black and gold hair stilled. Then I’d sleep. But she wouldn’t.

After she left, the hair was only gold.