When I performed the pre-marital health screening for my best friend, Chloe, she tested positive for HIV. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she begged me not to tell her boyfriend, Derek: “Stella, please don’t tell him. I love him so much. He’s the one for me. If he knows, he’ll never marry me.” Bound by my professional duty, I strongly advised her to inform him herself. She swore up and down that she would. In the medical recommendation section of the report, I wrote: [Marriage deferred / Not advisable for procreation]. A month later, Derek, leading eighteen other men, stormed into my office, furious. They hacked at me twenty-eight times. Every single blow was meant to kill. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Chloe standing by the door, a look of pure schadenfreude on her face. “Serves you right!” she sneered. Even after I died, their rage wasn’t sated. They didn’t even leave a complete body. They stuffed my dismembered remains into black garbage bags and dumped them in the city’s grimiest corners. Reborn, I found myself back at the moment Chloe and Derek came for their pre-marital health screening. Again, I wrote “Marriage deferred / Not advisable for procreation.” I closed my eyes, hiding the hatred boiling within, and swore to make every single one of them pay in blood. 0
“Stella, Derek and I are getting our marriage license today, so we’re here for our pre-marital check-up.” Sitting at my desk, I spun my pen, my mind a blank. I vividly remembered the sheer terror as Derek’s knife slashed towards my neck, the agonizing, soul-ripping pain when it tore through my chest. I was just pain. I couldn’t do anything else. The other eighteen men held me down, each taking a turn with their knives, butchering me like a slaughterhouse animal. Dark red blood splattered the walls, the floor a gruesome mosaic of minced flesh and limbs. A split second before my heart stopped, Derek hacked off my head and tossed it out the window. It bounced on the ground, and then, I felt nothing more. After my death, they still weren’t satisfied. They dismembered me further, stuffed me into black garbage bags, and tossed me into various sewers. I remembered their cruel, brutal faces with chilling clarity. “Stella! Stella Smith!” A familiar female voice dragged me out of the bloody, painful haze. I looked up to meet her worried eyes, catching a glimpse of Derek engrossed in his phone. The scene of them hacking me to pieces flashed before my eyes again. My nails dug into my palm, blood dripping onto the desk. The pain was less than a thousandth of what it felt like to be butchered alive. Seeing my ten fingers, perfectly intact. I was certain. I was reborn. “Stella, are you sick? You look so pale.” Chloe’s face was etched with concern as she reached out to touch my forehead. My body instinctively flinched away. *Screech!* My chair scraped across the floor, tipping backward. I crashed to the ground. “Stella, what’s wrong with you?” I swallowed the hatred churning in my gut, the words “Serves you right!” echoing in my mind. I couldn’t understand. I’d just written a medical report. How did *that* warrant such a fate? Ignoring her concern, I turned to ask my boss for leave. Seeing my pale face and cold sweat, clearly not faking it, my boss urged me to go to the hospital immediately. Just as I stepped out of the office, Chloe, who had been waiting by the door, grabbed my arm. Her fingertips dug into my flesh. I quickly yanked my arm away, keeping my head down, refusing to look at her. I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from grabbing anything nearby and just ending her right there. Chloe stepped forward, trying to link arms with me again. “Stella, are you not feeling well?” I dodged her, catching a fleeting glimpse of a dark glint in her eyes. “Yeah, I need to go to the hospital first.” She reached for my hand again. I tried to shake her off. Having just reborn and now seeing those two demonic faces that terrified me. The sheer terror made me utterly powerless; I couldn’t get free. Chloe dragged me aside, looked around to ensure no one was watching, and then lowered her voice, scolding me. “Stella, what’s going on? I specifically arranged with Derek to come to *your* clinic for our check-up today because I knew you were working. How could you just leave?” My eyes widened in disbelief. We’d known each other since kindergarten, at three years old, inseparable until high school graduation. Even when we went to different cities for college, we called and Snapchatted every day. She’d had one breakup back then, and after it, she changed her Ins bio to “Sleep with all handsome men.” I worried she was falling apart, worried something bad would happen to her. I called every day to check on her, comforted her, told her jokes, hoping she’d get through it. Until one day, she said she was over the breakup. I was happy for her. Then her roommate told me to talk some sense into her, to tell her to value herself. That’s when I found out she’d started a “new boyfriend every week” routine. Later, she got bored and it turned into “one-night stands.” “Sleep with all handsome men” became her favorite motto. Ever since I learned about her countless one-night stands, both as a best friend and a doctor, I’d pleaded with her countless times. Not to change boyfriends so often, to always be safe, to always use protection. Every time, she promised she would. Then her roommate would send me a recording of her cursing me out in the dorm, saying I was nosy. Our childhood friendship gradually faded. Calls and Snapchats went from several a day, to once every two days, then once a week, and eventually, once a month. The last time we saw each other was six months ago. In my previous life, when she came for the check-up, I thought it was just a coincidence. I didn’t think much of it then. Now I understood. Chloe knew she had HIV all along. I stared intently into her eyes, not missing a single expression, and probed: “It’s just a check-up. If you’re healthy, what’s there to be afraid of?” 0Chloe rubbed her nose, a flicker of guilt in her eyes, and chuckled awkwardly: “Of course I’m healthy! What disease could I possibly have? You’re my absolute best friend, I just really, really wanted your blessing here.” I masked the raging hatred in my eyes, wanting to confirm my suspicions once more. “I already blessed you. If you’re healthy, it doesn’t matter who your check-up doctor is. I don’t feel well, I’m going to the hospital first.” This time, I would never put myself in danger again. She held onto my arm, a playful grin on her face. “Hehe! How can my health be more important than our wedding, right, Derek?” But I felt a deep malice in her words.
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