Page 12

12

LAVINIA

A few days of quiet routine, time passing in a sort of mindless haze, is all I get before Dorin announces the next violation.

“Time for therapy,” he says in a clipped voice as he comes into my cell sometime after feeding me the second bowl of porridge of the day.

“You don’t need to do this,” I protest, but my voice is weak as I lift my hand to dry the tears gathering in my eyes.

Since the episode with the straitjacket a few days ago, it’s been a constant battle to keep them at bay, and my fight has drained wholly and utterly.

I spend hours upon hours sleeping, and whenever Dorin comes into my cell, I meekly follow his instructions, opening my mouth to let him feed me and now getting off the mattress to let him take me to get electrotherapy.

I don’t know why.

Part of me thinks I’ve fallen into a deep depression, but as he closes his strong fingers around my arm, I feel this urgent pull that begs me to sink into him and seek that same comfort he gave me after he’d shattered my dignity—and set me free.

I want to feel that again.

Badly.

But as he leads me down the hall, all I can think about is the terrifying pain of the electrotherapy.

I’m trembling, my legs threatening to give in, once he opens the door to the medical room.

“Please,” I try one more time in a weak voice at the sight of the horrifying chair with the stirrups and all the straps.

“This will help you,” he insists, spurring me on with a small push at my back.

I scoot onto the chair, not knowing what else to do.

It’s all so very hopeless.

Dorin straps me in tight like the last time.

Arms, legs, chest, stomach.

So many straps I can barely count.

A tight knot keeps growing in my throat to the point where I can barely breathe.

I feel faint and nauseous by the time he grabs the bite block from the side table.

“Open your mouth,” he says.

“I don’t feel so good,” I tell him weakly.

His impassive gaze roams over my face, and the harshness of his features seems to soften somewhat as he watches me.

A line forms between his brows, and it almost looks like worry.

He pushes the bite block in place, nonetheless, when I slacken my jaw and part my lips.

Next comes the thick layers of roller gauze to keep my mouth shut and the bite block in place.

I squeeze my eyes closed to block everything out.

Defeat is a heavy weight on my chest as Dorin presses my head into the seat and pulls a final strap over my forehead.

At that moment of searing helplessness, there’s only one thought in my mind.

Regret.

Deep, aching regret.

I should have sliced the knife deeper.