Under My Skin by Laura Diamond

thinking Mum and Dad were demons set on torturing me for eternity in Hell. Cheers to me. That being said, I still don’t feel solid. I’m sure Shaw will catch on soon enough and we’ll begin Round Two of our mental boxing match, with Mum and Dad standing by sidelines to cheer Dr. Shaw on.
    I glance at the calendar posted on the wall across from my bed. Day two of a New Me. I’ve just got to figure out who this Me is.
    I suppress another shiver. Ice huddles in the window’s corners and spreads its feathery tentacles across the surface. It’ll dominate the entire area in frost if the temperature keeps dropping.
    With my teeth clenched, I trace my fingers along the advancing edge. Such a small distance keeps me from the raw element. Yet I’m here, exposed, frozen from the inside out. Nothing is as chilled as my heart. The new one beating in my chest.
    The one I’ve stolen to survive.
    I rest my forehead on the window.
    A small voice, whispered from the back of my mind says, I shouldn’t be here .
    Someone knocks on the door. I pull my gaze away from the mess of snow. It’s like tearing myself out of a trance.
    Mum hovers in the doorway. She’s wearing a surgical mask. A Doozy’s Doughnuts bag rests in her palms. She swings it back and forth as she sweeps into the room. “Brought a treat.”
    I lower my legs to the floor. “Thanks.”
    She hands me a chocolate glazed doughnut. “There’s peanut butter crème inside.”
    I take a bite. It’s not on my diet, but I don’t bother saying so.
    “Yummy, right?” Mum hands me a napkin.
    I wipe glaze from my mouth. “Yes.”
    She leans against the sill. “You seem so glum today. I thought … I hoped that things would be different now that you’ve had the surgery.”
    I plop the doughnut on a napkin and return to bed. “Mum, don’t start. Please.”
    She shrugs. “Start what? I’m just trying to understand what’s happening with you.”
    “Nothing’s happening.” Nothing she’d comprehend anyway.
    She tosses the treats into the trash with a heavy sigh. Clearly they were a ploy. One that didn’t work as she’d intended. “There most certainly is something happening. I’m scared for you, Adam.”
    I draw up my knees. “You don’t have to worry about me.”
    “Doctor Shaw says post-op depression is common. And on top of you were feeling before the surgery, well, it seems you’re getting worse.”
    “Shaw says that?” So much for fooling everyone. I flip through TV channels. Pictures flit on the screen, barely having enough time to focus before I click onto the next program.
    “She’s trying to help you.”
    I snort.
    “She can’t do her job if you don’t talk to her.”
    I drop the remote onto the bed. “I talk to her.”
    “That’s not what she said.”
    I glare at Mum. “You’re going to believe her over me?”
    “You’re holding something back and I can’t trust that you’re being totally honest, so, yes, I’m believing her over you.”
    I drag my hands through my shaggy hair. “Is it so wrong that I don’t trust her?”
    Mum throws her arms up in frustration. “What possible reason do you have not to trust her? She’s a doctor. She cares about you.”
    My stomach roils. It wouldn’t be the mental gymnastics she puts me through or how she twists my words or how she scowls at me when we’re alone. Or how she simultaneously says she wants to help me live while convincing me I want to die.
    Outside, a mess of snowflakes tumbles down, spinning a whirling dervish. Quiet chaos. Opposite to the cacophony in my mind.
    “Adam?” Mum sits on the bed. She rests her palm on my hand.
    “Why are you wearing a mask?”
    “I woke up with the sniffles. Didn’t want to risk you catching anything.”
    “You don’t have to stay if you’re sick.”
    She moves her hand away. “Your father will be spending the night with you. I need to run some errands, clean the house … ”
    I face her. “You need a break from me.”
    Her cheek twitches