“I just want to thank you,” he says, his voice low. “A group of scientists told you that my genes were damaged, that there was something wrong with me—they showed you test results that proved it. And even I started to believe it.” He touches my face, his thumb skimming my cheekbone, and his eyes are on mine, intense and insistent. “You never believed it,” he says. “Not for a second. You always insisted that I was . . . I don’t know, whole.”
SCREAMING CRYING THROWING UP
