Page 21 of Brainwashed

I’m not sure that’s possible. Of course, I don’t know the Irishman at all, but based on that one interaction when I first arrived in Alabaster Pen, I think I can tell he’s very different from my new Russian bestie.

Pressing my ear up to the wall, I listen closely, trying to pick up on any sounds he could be making. Unfortunately, I can’t hear anything over the vicious sound of my stomach eating itself. Closing my eyes, I rest my head on the wall.That’s what I should have asked Velle… When will the starvation thing get old?

My lips part as I prepare to say hello to my new neighbor, and finally get his name. But before I can, I hear a door opening and closing up the hall. The footsteps aren’t aggressive like those of the guards, but rather sort of… prancing.

Suddenly, there’s a man outside my cell holding a bunch of items in his arms. He unlocks the door and steps inside, grinning at me with this sort of imbecilic smile that could only be described as psychotic.

I gulp at the man in the all-white lab uniform, assessing his features. He’s short, with a tan complexion, patchy facial hair, and one of those receding hairlines that somehow turns into a ponytail in the back. He’s very odd to look at, especially with that bizarre grin on his face. It’s really giving me the creeps…And I’m a fucking murderer, so that’s saying a lot.

He clears his throat, then nods behind me. “Go to the far wall and put your forehead on it, then clasp your hands behind your back. Please.”

It takes me a moment to move because even his voice is weird. It’s like, too high-pitched or something.This guy is very strange.

Doing as he says, I stand still and listen to him make noises behind me. Then I feel him approaching, all of my muscles tightening in wait. He gets up next to me, far too close if I’m being honest, and my stomach clenches, my heart rate picking up quick.

“I’m Claude,” he says right next to my fucking ear, and I try to move away. “I work for Dr. Johansson. I’m an orderly.”

His tone is rife with this sort of jovial nonchalance, and I can’t tell if it makes him seem like a nice guy or even more of a weirdo. My face pivots in his direction and we lock eyes. His are dark brown, almost black, and devoid of any real emotion. Something I recognize well.

“Hi, Claude,” I whisper. “I’m Felix. And I don’t know who Dr. Johansson is.”

Claude’s strange grin widens. “You’ll meet him very soon. He’s in charge down here.” He steps back a bit, then pauses. “Oh, and it’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Felix. I’m a… big fan.”

My brow furrows at him. I’m sort of shocked…No one’s ever said that to me before.

“Alright.” Claude sighs and claps his hands together. “Let’s get you strapped up here.”

I’m distracted for a moment by the saliva rapidly filling my mouth because I smell food. My eyes dart around fast, and I notice a paper box that I think contains something delicious.Jesus Christ, the reaction my body has to the smell of whatever is in there is one of the most intense sensations I’ve ever experienced.

“C-can I… eat that?” I ask, my fingers twitching as my stomach roars with hunger pangs.

“Not just yet,” Claude says. “First, I need you to sit down on the chair please, Mr. Darcey.” He gestures to the chair in the middle of the room with the shackles on it.

My nerves return with a bang. Being cuffed is one thing… It happens several times a day, every day in this place. But to be shackled to a chair seems like an entirely different premise. People only strap you down for one reason, and it’s not really something I want to explore.

My head shakes slowly.No. No chair.

“Mr. Darcey… please,” Claude asks nicely. “I’m going to need you in that chair.” When my eyes flit up to his, pleading with him for some kind of sympathy, his head cocks. “It’s the only way you’ll get to eat what’s in that box.”

He looks to the paper box that I’m almost positive contains fast food.French fries, at least. I can smell them.

My mouth isoverflowing, stomach churning and burning from the most primal need to eat… It’s too overpowering. I’m so hungry, I think I would do just about anything for a bite of something right now.

So I hop onto the leather chair and settle in.Whatever.They’re already starving me to death. Whatever they’re going to do to me in this room, they’ll do with or without my consent.

I push that thought away while a pleased Claude scampers over to me and straps me in. He does my arms first, slipping my hands through the leather cuffs and tightening them around my wrists. Then he does the same to my feet, shackling my ankles. And lastly, he fastens this thick cuff around my throat, holding my neck down so I really can’t move.

I’ve never felt this vulnerable before… And I’ve felt my fair share of vulnerability in my life.

My muscles are straining with mild fear as my heart jumps in my chest. I glance around, looking for Claude, but he must be behind me because I can’t see him. A few moments of him shuffling things around out of sight pass before he slinks toward the door.

“Wait, where are you going??” I gasp. “I thought I was going to get to eat!”

“Patience, Mr. Darcey.” Claude grins. “They’ll want to meet you first.”

Claude leaves as I thrash within the tight hold of my current state. I really don’t like the feeling of being held down. Control is something I enjoy having, and being strapped up like this takes it all away. Plus, all I can smell is that damn food and I’m fuckingsalivating. I have to swallow it down every two seconds to keep it from pouring out.

“Theywant to meet me…” I scoff to myself and roll my eyes. “I don’t give a fuck aboutthem… I’m hungry.”