I keep wanting him to wake up. I keep expecting him to open his eyes and glare at me, and tell me that he doesn’t like me watching him sleep, because he was always like that.

But they say that he’s not going to even breathe on his own for a while; and when he does, that he’ll probably have the memory capacity of that guy in those movies about the secret agent who doesn’t remember crap.

“Go to bed,” Lord Christopher says to me every night on his way to the tower.

“I will,” I always reply. But in the morning, it’s always the same. I wake up with my torso resting on Mr. Joseph’s stomach. And everyday, I talk to him.

First, I touch his head, as if it would cause him to stir, but I guess he won’t. I check to see if the monitors are still in order, and if Mr. Joseph still has a pulse. Then I begin to talk to him.

It doesn’t much matter what I talk about, but I like to talk. I read in an ancient medical journal that the sound of someone’s voice stimulates a person’s brain, even when that person is in a coma.

I guess that the state that Mr. Joseph is in is like a coma… So this must help. At least, that’s my train of thought. But I don’t know, I’ve been wrong before.

“So,” I begin, “Today, I have to leave you around two o’clock to watch Mr. Mengle with his experiments. I don’t actually want to be a Lesion. Did you know that they cut up the bodies? Yep, and they make them into soaps. I haven’t used soap in about a year since I found out. But don’t worry, I still take baths, it’s not like I’m dirty or anything…”

I guess that I ramble like that a lot, but I think it still stimulates his brain. Sometimes I talk to Mr. Mengle about it. He thinks that I’m being stupid, but Mr. Mengle isn’t a nice person.

Mr. Mengle is always trying to make passes at me, but I don’t think I’m even that pretty yet. Maybe Mr. Mengle is sick in the head or something. I think he’d have to be to do what he does all day.

It’s a real shame that I was chosen to be his assistant, and to eventually take his place. It’s really boring just watching him cut people up. He says that our motto is “no one goes to waste”, and I don’t think they do, but why can’t people just be dead in peace?

Today, Mr. Mengle is listening to a genre of music that’s from a place called Earth, and the music is called ‘country’. I think I like ‘country’, even if the guys’ voices are as twangy as their banjos.

“Christina,” Mr. Mengle snaps at me, “Are you paying attention?”

“Sir,” I sigh, “We went over the heart yesterday.”

“Yes,” he replies, “But you failed your test.”

“By half a point.”

His eyes are so pretty, but they get really cold, “Are you arguing, Miss Christina? Do I need to remind you who gave you the job? Were it not for me, you would be chipped right now.”

I nod. Mr. Mengle is not a nice man, but he did give me a job… Even if it was just to make passes at me. Mr. Joseph would never glance so lustfully at me while he was angry.

That night, I sit next to Mr. Joseph again. “I don’t like him,” I say, “He wants to hurt me I can tell. He wants to hurt me or do something to me, but I don’t like him. Even if everyone says that we are engaged… He’s a bad man…”

And Mr. Joseph’s brain activity monitor starts to beep faster.

“I think he would cut me up too. I think…” I stop, it’s a stupid idea anyway. Mr. Joseph was hurt in the Library Fires. But still… “I think he might have hurt you.”

Mr. Joseph’s brain activity monitor beeps crazily. I stand up and back away. Mr. Mengle is a bad man! A very bad man…

“Lord Christopher! LORD CRHISTOPHER!” I scream.

Lord Christopher comes running, his black hair held to the side of his head with the ceremonial chipping material. “I’m a little busy,” he snaps, his hands stained in blood. Chipping is a messy ceremony.

“Lord Christopher, Mr. Mengle has hurt Mr. Joseph.”

“What?” Lord Christopher’s face is drawn with worry, “What makes you say that.”

“Look at Mr. Joseph’s brain monitor! It started spiking when I talked about Mr. Mengle.”

“Christina,” Lord Christopher looks at me sadly, “I don’t want you to think about Mr. Mengel’s relation to Mr. Joseph right now. After all, Mr. Mengle is your betrothed, and Mr. Joseph is, or should be, nothing to you.”

I nod as Lord Christopher leaves, then sigh. “Don’t worry,” I promise Mr. Joseph, “I’ll help you.”

---

Mr. Mengle is drunk again. He’s staring at me oddly from the couch in the back of the lab beside the waiting chairs. In his hand is a green bottle. He’s mumbling something, but I don’t want to hear.

“Mr. Mengle,” I say nervously, “Do you like Mr. Joseph.”

I have to lean in to hear Mr. Mengel’s reply. It’s rough and slurred, “That bastard,” says Mr. Mengle.

“Why?”

“He… and you…” Mr. Mengle is grinning at me now, trying to sit up, and grasping at the arm of the couch.

I will not let him get up. I wrap my legs around his waist and put my hands on his chest, pushing him back. “What about him and me?”

He’s reaching for my neck now, “You and him. That’s it… it’s just… you and him. It’s supposed to be you and me.”

I wish I was stronger. He’s got his hand around my face and is pushing me back. It hurts a little… now a little more. Shit, shit… Escape, I need an escape as he forces is tongue into my mouth and licks my teeth.

The green bottle is still in his hand, and I grab it.

Smash.

There’s blood everywhere, and Mr. Mengle is screaming. I take a piece of broken glass and stab. Again and again. There is silence. Mr. Mengle is dead below me. I un-wrap my legs from his body and jump down.

I’ve seen it done before. I know how to make use of a body. The eyes and other organs go in jars… The fat goes with the lye… The skin is burned and the ashes used for makeup.

No one goes to waste. Not my mother, not my father, not Lord Tino, not even Mr. Mengle.

“What have you done?” I hear the voice from behind me.

I smile as I turn around to face Lord Christopher, “No one goes to waste.”

“You’re filthy,” he shakes his head, “but I suppose this will save some trouble.”

“What do you mean?”

“There are two ways for a junior Lesion to become a senior. They must either kill, or marry the senior. I suppose you’ve killed him.”

I nod. I have, but there is no evidence except the blood on the couch and floor. “Yes. Am I senior Lesion now?”

“No, not yet. You’re not old enough yet. We’ll find a new senior from a neighboring country, but you will be.” Lord Christopher ushers me out with a sigh, “Such an odd little girl.”

I run all the way up to Mr. Joseph’s room and wait by his bed. I know now that he will open his eyes. I sit beside him all night.

In the morning, I feel pressure on my head. Slowly, I open my eyes.

“Was it you?” Mr. Joseph’s voice is soft and tired.

“What?” I sit up and rub my eyes.

“Talking,” he has taken off his ventilation mask and coughs slightly, “Was it you?”

I nod eagerly. “Yes!”

He smiles then sighs, “You ramble a lot. Every single day. Couldn’t you have left a radio on? You talked every single day.”

I laugh and begin to cry from happiness. We will go on, Mr. Joseph and I.