Page 120 of While I’m Still Here

And I finally understand what I was trying to say. “I look like me.” My voice is barely there. Colin's fingers tighten around mine, and Danny's arm remains pressed against my shoulder, and Marcus closes his eyes for half a second. I wipe beneath my nose with the back of my hand and laugh because apparently crying this hard makes me disgusting. “I don't think I've ever looked at a picture of myself and just thought that before.”

Nobody tells me how sad that is. They don't need to. I stare at the woman on the screen a little longer, and something inside me settles even as something else breaks.

Tomorrow, I won't look exactly like her anymore.

And for once, I'm not asking her to be thinner. I'm not asking her to stand differently. I'm not asking her breasts to sit higher or her stomach to lie flatter or her skin to be smoother. I'm not asking anything from her at all.

I just want her.

Exactly as she is.

“Keep it,” I whisper. Colin nods, but I tighten my fingers around his wrist before he can move. “Actually… keep all of them.”

His eyebrows pull together slightly. “Even the shit ones.”

Danny lets out a quiet laugh beside me. “Especially the shit ones.”

I turn my wet face towards him. “Don't push it, Clarke.”

His smile is small this time. “There she is.”

And that almost fucking breaks me again.

After that, something changes. The photographs stop feeling like evidence for a crime scene. We take them slowly. Front. Side. Arms lifted. Sitting on the edge of the bed. Standing beside the window where the light is softer, then I ask Colin to take one of each breast. Separately.

Left first. The photograph appears on the screen. There it is—Murder tit—Looking completely fucking innocent with no visible sign of what is happening underneath the skin. Then the right—Healthy tit—Also completely ordinary.

I stare at both photographs side by side and feel something inside me give way because that's it. We're finished. These are the photographs, and this is what my body looked like. Tonight is the last night. I sit down on the edge of the bed and start crying.

All three men move, but none of them touches me until I reach first. I take Colin's hand. Danny shifts close enough that I can take his too. Marcus crouches in front of me, and I rest my hand on his shoulder. “I need to say goodbye.”

Nobody tells me that I’m being ridiculous. I cup my left breast. “Goodbye, murder tit.” Colin makes a tiny choking sound beside me. “Don't fucking laugh. I’m having a fucking moment with my tits. Jesus.”

He promises he's not, badly. I look down at the breast in my hand. “You have been an absolute fucking nightmare. You cost me thousands in bras. You escaped a bikini in Ibiza. You have been squashed into dresses you had absolutely no business fitting into.” My voice starts breaking before I reach the part I've been avoiding. “And then you tried to kill me.” My thumb moves across the skin. “But you were mine.”

The first tear falls onto my chest. “You were mine before you were cancer, and I fucking hate you for this.” My fingers curl around Colin's. I can barely get the next words out. “But I still don't want to lose you.”

For a while, I can't speak. Then I turn to the right. Somehow this one is worse. How is this worse? “Oh, you poor innocent bitch.” Danny makes a sound that is half laugh, half sob. “You didn't even fucking do anything. You just lived next door to a psychopath.” My hand is shaking as I cup it. Tomorrow this breast will be removed too. “I am so fucking sorry.”

I don't know whether I'm apologising to my breast, my body or myself. Maybe all three. I bend my head. “Thank you for being good.”

Colin catches me when I fold forward. Danny presses his forehead against my shoulder, and Marcus's hand settles over my knee. I cry until my ribs hurt. Nobody asks me to stop, and they let it matter because it matters to me. Eventually, when I can breathe again, I wipe my face and look down at my chest. “Thank you both for your service.”

Danny starts crying and laughing simultaneously. I sniff. “Distinguished careers,” Danny says through the tears. “Did a great job of looking fantastic in that red dress.”

Colin kisses my temple. “Some disciplinary issues. That mishap with the strapless bra at your mum’s picnic.”

“Murder,” Marcus says quietly.

I look at him, his expression perfectly straight. A laugh explodes out of me. “You made a fucking joke.”

“I've been here too long. You’ve rubbed off on me,” he mutters.

Danny immediately points at him. “We're keeping him.”

And somehow, crying turns into laughter.

“Gentlemen.” Colin already looks exhausted.