Better Off Dead

Chapter Three: You Should Smile More

A few minutes later we started the experiments. I took a seat at the big table and waited for complete chaos to ensue.

"Taylor, you should sit down." Devon said with no explanation and even less inflection. But it wasn't needed. I knew exactly what he meant.

Taylor wanted some blood samples, so I had to take off my jacket. It's better if people are sitting down for that. Better, but not perfect.

Taylor screamed, fell off the chair, scrambled behind the chair, and put a hand over her mouth to prevent further screaming. So the usual reaction.

Devon had an unusual reaction. He took his calmness to such an insane level that he was sitting there like a statue. I don't think he was even breathing for a minute there. Eventually he regained the ability to move and continued on like nothing had happened and he wasn't staring at a zombie and everything was fine.

Liam looked fascinated and leaned closer, like I was a really cool exhibit that just opened at the zoo. He didn't look concerned, but I doubted he had a lot of fear of physical threats. The guy could have sumo-ed a grizzly.

He looked around at the reactions of the others, then decided to give me some super helpful advice. "You just need to smile more."

"Right. Because smiling with half a face really comforts people." I doubt Harvey Dent scored a leading role in any dental commercials after the incident.

He shrugged. We both knew it was true.

Eventually Taylor got the courage to pick up a syringe with a trembling hand and slowly approach me, making sure to avoid any sudden movements. Again, the usual.

This always irritates me. "I won't bite. I promise." I will admit that my tone wasn't encouraging, but it's hard to be placating under these circumstances.

Taylor cringed a little bit, but I wasn't sure if it was because of my words or just that she had to touch my arm. She was wearing gloves, but it's the principle, I guess. She did not otherwise react or respond to my statement, so it was hard to tell if she heard me at all.

I'd like to take a moment here to point out that I've been a pretty considerate person in relation to my appearance. I take measures not to ooze plasma from my raw flesh all over everything, because it's gross and no one wants to deal with that, myself included. I carefully style my hair so that it falls in front of the missing half of my face, not because it successfully covers the raw flesh, but because it hides the fact that I don't have an eye there. Because for some reason, not having an eye freaks people out more than if I had an eye sticking out of the meat on my face. So you're welcome, world. I put in the effort to conform to the standards as much as possible.

Taylor took a lot of samples. Blood samples. Tissue samples from my normal half and... less normal half. Then she scurried off to the lab looking like a child who'd stolen toys from a scary dog and was running off to play with them in secret.

Personally, I avoid thinking about science. Actively. Which I think is pretty understandable when your dad was a mad scientist whose brilliant work involved turning you into a chimera of meat. Science doesn't exactly bring up great memories for me. So signing onto this little science experiment was not something I was looking forward to, but if it was the only way to figure out a way to die, I'd put up with a lot. Science included. Actually, I just put up with a lot in general.

Liam, who had been quietly cooking something and really should have just stuck to doing that, tapped my nose with a tuna-salad covered wooden spoon. Yeah. Tuna salad. On my nose. "You're totally like Frankenstein, huh?"

Frankenstein was the scientist, the monster was Frankenstein's monster. Everyone knows that. If he was going to insult me with literature, he could at least do it accurately.

"Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster." Devon said.

Huh. Respect.

Liam thought about this, tapped himself with the spoon, and suddenly realized it was covered in tuna salad. As was my nose. Still. But he didn't notice that part.

Eventually the tuna salad ended up where it was supposed to be. In sandwiches. On plates. Not that complicated.

"This is great." Taylor said in undisguised shock after taking a bite.

"Compliments to the chef." Devon's expression was exactly the same as always, but his voice sounded impressed.

I didn't say anything, but had to admit it was true. This was in fact the best tuna sandwich I had ever eaten. Liam might have been annoying, but he was a damn good cook. Which surprised me, since my initial impression of him was an overly comical neanderthal with no aspirations in life. Someone who could create little more than toast so burned you'd worry about having a stroke. Of course, I could have been wrong. I'm not great at first impressions, but hey, can you blame me? It's hard to judge individual personalities when everyone just stares at you in abject horror.

But on the plus side, no one marginalizes me for qualities like race, gender, species, or any of that. All groups hate and fear me equally. So that is truly a comfort.

The chef beamed. "Glad you like it." After that he inhaled his sandwich before I really even noticed we'd all started eating and returned to his domain.

I decided to pour myself some iced tea, but when I looked down my glass had already been filled. All the glasses had been filled. As if by magic. Then I saw motion and noticed Devon putting down the pitcher. Huh.

Taylor was sitting as far away from me as her chair would allow, and occasionally gave me a sly glance to make sure I wasn't doing anything. I was wearing my hoodie again, so I was just a scary looking person hiding their face once more, but everyone remembered what I looked like. It's easy to tell by their faces, even when they try to play it cool.

The tea was refreshing and I chugged the whole glass. I wondered how much more there was. When I looked down at the glass I was holding it was full again. The man was a magician.

The magician spoke. "There's someone we need to see."