Scars
The steam swirls around them, each of them seated at opposite sides of the bathtub. There wasn't enough water to drown oneself in, notes Christopher. They were unable to slip onto their backs and have the water submerge their face, for their feet were pressed against each other's. If they leaned forwards, the water would not be high enough.
Thomas was off somewhere, saying that he was going to prepare the next doll. Looking at one another, Christopher and Michael saw the ravages of the operations on each other's bodies. Michael's plastic limbs contrasted with his skin color slightly. It jutted out of his shoulders unnaturally, the ball joints looking entirely out of place. He knows that Michael must be seeing similar things on his body and he winces.
Does it hurt? mouths Michael timidly. Only when he moves it, replies Christopher. A long sigh escapes from Michael and he looks down at the water. I thought someone would have saved us by now. Christopher nods quietly. If only he could hold Michael in his arms like he used to and tell him that all would be right in the end. But nothing would be all right in the end. Not after this.
Do you think he hates us? asks Michael after a long silence. It's strange how fast Christopher and Michael have learned to read each other's lips. Perhaps it was because when one had nothing to do but sit and serve as a decoration, one would do anything for entertainment or stimulation. No, I don't think so, replies Christopher. He's just lost. As much as he would like to scream and say that Thomas was being a cruel and idiotic child, he could not set a bad example in front of Michael. Even like this. Especially like this.