What wasn't to understand, though, is what I really wanted to ask.
It was just a curse. No matter what I did, it ended up going wrong.
Now here I was, just a kid, supposed to have all this life waiting for me. Some fucking life.
I knew what it was going to be like. I used to be so cute and attractive, used to even turn myself on a bit just by flipping my hair in the mirror at myself, silly, I know, but now the instant I took my shirt off in front of someone I wanted to fuck around with, they'd react with fear to the giant scar I knew trailed down my back now, hell even in front of me when I took a bath, there'd be that a scar from which I could never hide.
I knew the diabetes could fuck up my kidneys, but I figured I was young and maybe I didn't have to worry so much. Now it was obvious, was there nothing left but embarrassment and slow degrees of death. Whatever chance I once had of finding someone was pretty much shot unless I stuck to the ugliest possible choice, some fat person who didn't mind what my body had become. I'd hate them for that, resent them for them being the only sort of person who would ever think I was cute again.
I was supposed to quit smoking long ago but never had found much desire to unless I was too broke for it. Now there really was no reason to stop -- might as well get it over with, fuck it, let's go to three packs of day and cheap wine on top of that, push the other fucking kidney over the cliff and make sure when it finally went there I'd be somewhere no one could find me, like dogs do when they go to die, they go away to do it in private.
Or maybe I'd convince this doctor he maybe could salvage what was left of my body and talk him into putting whatever was still salvageable on the black market, one heart, 50,000quid, the Doc wasn't such the purist he'd not be tempted to buy it.