Page 35

MARISELA

I looked to the left, then quickly turned my head to the right.

Stretching my neck and trying my best to peer over the hunched body in front of me to see if I could wriggle any of my fingers, as each of my wrists was tugged straight and strapped down to a padded armrest. So tight my hands were numb.

The room was cold and windowless—except for a glass partition that took up the entirety of one wall.

I couldn’t see through it, but I had no doubt someone was there.

Probably multiple someones, the sort who weren’t allowed within five-hundred meters of a school zone.

And then went home and touched their wives and kids with the same hands they used to diddle themselves in a playground bathroom.

I didn’t know if this was their version of entertainment or foreplay. What I did know was that it was fucked. And so was I if I didn’t figure a way out of here.

I searched the room for a knife, a pencil, anything I could use to cut myself free, before a woman in blue scrubs pinched my jaw, prying my mouth open and shoving a cloth block past my teeth while her counterpart pressed down on my forehead to keep me from squirming.

It tasted like moth balls and I had to breathe through my nose to keep from gagging up nothing.

Because I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d had something to eat.

I stared up into the bright light dangling above me as one more strap was ratcheted in place, so that I had no choice but to close my eyes or sear the image of the circular bulb into my retinas.

Then all the machines began to whirl, buzzing and humming in the silence of the enclosed space.

Larger than my little hospital room but much more closed-in with everyone crowding around me.

A choreographed dance of prepping syringes, securing electrodes and monitoring my vital signs.

I didn’t need any of it to know that my heart was beating out of my chest, though.

I could hear it as much as I could feel it. Pounding in my ears and thrumming in my temples.

I’d fought them the whole way here, clawing and biting until one of the orderlies—a bald guy with skin so thick he didn’t bleed—had decided it was easier to toss me over a shoulder, the blood rushing to my head and my bare ass on display as I’d watched the hallway disappear behind us. Upside-down.

Now, I was tired and sweaty and my throat was dry from screaming. My nails were cracked and sticky but I couldn’t feel them. I couldn’t feel anything, thanks to the drugs they were pumping into my veins.

That was a lie. Because I did feel grateful for the little rubber pieces I’d hidden behind my ears with the help of that bubblegum. Especially when the first volt of electricity surged to life. My spine going rigid, my jaw clamping down, and everything else going dark.