“Can you give us a moment?” my mother asks. He nods and leaves the room. Alone with my mother, the walls feel brighter, closer.

“Well, he really is a hunk,” my mother says.

“I just—”

“Listen, sweetie, this is all we’ve got for now,” my mother says. “Get the injections.”

I picture it: The needles entering me, the knot loosening into a future flat body.

THE DOCTOR KNOCKS AND ENTERS AGAIN, a black case in his hand.

“I had a feeling you’d want to try this,” he says.

He shoots a wink at me as he unzips the black leather which opens like a mouth, giant needles for teeth.

“Excellent,” he says. “Now just lie down for me.”

The first needle appears quickly. He flicks the end with his finger.

“OK, this will hurt a bit. Look up at the ceiling.”

He slides up my gown and sinks the needle deep into my knot. A sob begins in my gut, but I imagine my throat full of cotton and hold it there.

He draws another needle and I squirm on the table.

“Now, now,” he says.

He sinks the next needle into the knot. He rubs my arm between the shots.

“How many more?”

“We’re getting there,” he says.

The next needle he sinks into my skin pinches even deeper inside.

“Just 37 more to go,” he says.

The doctor begins his own ritual.

“Here comes the sugar water, here comes the sugar water, here comes the sugar water,” he murmurs under his breath.

Needle after needle sinks into my body until I lose count.

I WAKE THE NEXT MORNING PINPRICKED. The knot is still there.

My body aches from the injections, from the memory of the needles sinking into my body.

◆In 1844, the first hollow needle was invented for injections

◆The first hypodermic medical needle was used to introduce morphine into the skin of patients who suffered from sleep disorders

◆The word hypodermic comes from two Greek words meaning “below skin”

I SIT AT MY SCHOOL DESK IN MY RED dress. I am early. Outside, it is raining. The musk of the rain is in the air, on my clothes, in my mouth.

The classroom door opens and Jarred appears. He sits down next to me.

“Morning,” he says.

“Hey.”

Then everything shifts.

He stares at me as he lowers his hand to the zipper of his blue pants. The sound of the metal smoothing open rushes through my ears as he pulls out his private self, which is pink as the bellies of the pigs.

He keeps his eyes on me and begins to stroke.

“Look at me,” he says.

I feel loose between the legs, dizzy in the head. The classroom with its posters and desks warps around me.

“I said look at me,” he commands quietly.

I pull my gaze up to meet his.