That woman had HIV.
And on my report, the same three letters stared back at me.
“Self-degradation,” my mother spat before turning away, never looking back.
My sister dumped an entire basin of cold water over my head.
“You’re disgusting,” Trisha screamed. “Don’t ever say you’re my brother again!”
Celeste picked up a towel, her hand hovering in midair.
After a moment, she lowered it, her expression empty.
Overnight, I lost everything.
They sent me to an infectious disease hospital on the outskirts of the city.
On New Year’s Eve, my fever refused to break. I begged the doctor for medicine.
He glanced at me coldly.
“The chairman gave instructions not to pamper you,” he said. “A fever might do you some good.”
I escaped the hospital and ran all the way to the Golding family’s gates, collapsing to my knees in the snow.
Celeste never appeared.
Philip came out instead. He looked down at me, shook his head lightly, and turned back inside without a word.
Moments later, a servant emerged carrying a trash bin and dumped its foul-smelling contents over me, from head to toe.
“Where did this filthy thing come from? Get lost!”
My fever had climbed to nearly 104°F.