Chapter 2Watch Me Die In Your Machine

I stood there, paralyzed, watching them. I tried to pat my own cheeks, but I felt nothing.

Maybe this is better, I thought. One less mouth to feed. One less tuition to save for. Now, Daisy can have it all.

Mom pushed the wheelchair right through me, the sensation like a cold draft of wind. She turned on the TV for Daisy—some mindless sitcom where the laughter was canned and loud.

Daisy reached out, her fingers trembling as she turned the volume down until the room was nearly silent, save for the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of Mom chopping vegetables in the kitchen.

The smell of beef stew began to waft through the air. I drifted into the kitchen, watching Mom carefully pick every tiny shard of bone out of the meat before she served it. She filled a bowl to the brim, a look of grim satisfaction on her face.

She carried the tray to the table and called out toward the living room.

"June! Enough. Come eat."

I sat in my usual chair, trying desperately to answer. I’m here, Mom. Please, stop calling.

Mom waited. When no answer came, the tenderness vanished. She slammed the spoon onto the table.

"June! Are you deaf? I said come eat!"

Her voice rose to a screech. "You ungrateful brat. Daisy and I have been suffering at the hospital all day, and you’re in there playing games and throwing a tantrum!"

I watched her face contort with rage. I picked at my ghostly cuticles. I’m not trying to be bad, Mom. It’s just that you can’t hear me anymore.

Just as Mom started to get up to drag me out of the machine by my hair, Daisy reached out and caught her sleeve.

"Mom, don't," Daisy whispered. "Let her sleep. She’s probably just exhausted."

Mom looked at Daisy’s thin, porcelain-white face, and the fire in her eyes died down. She sighed, shaking her head.

"You spoil her," Mom muttered. She put a piece of broccoli in Daisy’s bowl, but her eyes kept darting toward the living room, toward the machine.

That night, Daisy rolled her chair over to the frame. She looked at the body inside—my body—and her eyes filled with a terrifying mix of guilt and pity. She reached out and draped a handmade quilt over the "sleeping" girl.

"Don't get cold, June," she whispered.

I hovered near her, wanting to scream Get away! Don't look! I didn't want her to see what was under the blanket.

But the room was dim, lit only by a tiny plug-in nightlight. Daisy couldn't see the details. She went back to her room and returned with her own heavy winter coat, laying it over the quilt. She did this four times, back and forth, until sweat beaded on her forehead.

Mom walked through the living room and saw the mountain of clothes on the machine. She sighed, walking over to tuck the edges in.

She went into Daisy’s room and squeezed her shoulder. "I wish June was half as thoughtful as you."

Daisy gripped Mom’s hand, her eyes red-rimmed. "Don't say that. You guys spent everything on me. June... she’s been lonely. It’s my fault she’s like this."

I stood by the bed, shaking my head. It’s not, Daisy. I’m not lonely anymore. I felt what you felt today. It was so much worse than I ever imagined. How did you do it for years?

They hugged, and I tried to wrap my arms around them both, a hollow, cold embrace.

Mom’s voice broke. "We thought... we thought having a second child would mean you'd have someone to look after you when we're gone. Who knew you’d get sick the same year she was born?"

She sobbed into Daisy’s hair. "I shouldn't have brought her into this world just to suffer. I owe her so much. So much..."

When Mom finally left the room, her eyes were puffy. She went to the kitchen, found a dry piece of bread, and left it on the table for my breakfast. Then, she grabbed her purse and slipped out of the house.

I followed her. It was nearly midnight. Where was she going?