Page 1 of Play the Part (Marsford Bay #2)

HUXLEY

I ’m all alone.

My body is shaking.

I’m alone. I’m so fucking alone.

I curl my fingers into a tight fist, nails biting into my sweaty palms, willing myself not to shake. I can’t show weakness. I can’t show emotion.

I’m alone, so fucking alone .

Alone, alone, alone, alone ? —

“ Step up, state your name and age,” a stern voice dictates.

Snapping my head up to face Officer Berty on my left, I choke down my beating heart before quickly walking up to the bench on shaky legs where he’s waiting for me. The intake room is full of men just like me, waiting for their turn. But the silence is stifling.

“Huxley McKenna.” My voice cracks, I don’t bother clearing my throat, and push through. “Eighteen.”

Officer Berty glares down at me from the height of his booted feet, his face freshly shaven with ruddy cheeks and a severe brow.

I want to puke.

I want to scream.

I want to bash my fists against my head and wail.

“One article of clothing at a time. Got it?” His lips curl with every word.

He hates me. He hates everyone here.

My mouth is so dry I can barely lick my lips, but I give a quick little sniff and nod silently.

“Shirt first,” Officer Berty orders.

As I pull my shirt off, the first hit of the cold air on my heated skin solidifies my fate.

I’m a prisoner.

Scum of the earth.

I’m nothing but a failure.

I hand Officer Berty my shirt.

Then come the shoes.

“Bang them together,” he barks.

I do as he said.

“Socks next. Turn them inside out.”

The floor is dirty, grit digs into my naked soles as I bite into my cheek, knowing what will eventually come next.

I take my jeans off.

Shake them.

“Boxers.”

Such an innocuous word. But here. In this room. My forehead breaks out in a cold sweat.

I stick my fingers under the elastic but hesitate.

Don’t show weakness.

I push them down my legs and turn them inside out as instructed before handing my underwear to Officer Berty.

I’m now naked in a room full of strangers.

Stripped bare and hopeless.

“Stretch out your arms. Let me see your palms.”

Officer Berty’s glare stays clinical, but it scorches my skin nonetheless. His gaze sears into my soul and carves gashes into my naked body.

My mind slips somewhere far away while my body obeys his orders. His words become one long, mashed-up sentence. I barely register a thing.

Openyourmouthwidestickoutyourtongueliftupyourtoplippulldownyourbottomlipliftyourarmsintheairbendyourrightearbendyourleftearfingersthroughhair.

“ Lift your piece.”

I snap back to full awareness.

He means my dick. Shame burns like gasoline through my veins.

With cold fingers, I follow the order.

“Lift your sack.” This time, I hear disgust in his tone.

I’m sure he wants to be here just as much as I do. But I’d switch positions with him in a heartbeat if it meant I could walk out of this room a free man.

He orders me to turn around.

Lift my right foot.

Lift my left.

Bend over.

“Spread your cheeks.”

I thought I already knew what self-loathing felt like. Thought I knew it intimately. But no feeling will ever compare to this very moment. Nothing will ever match the intensity of my revulsion—my rage.

For myself. For the system that failed me. For the parents that brought me into this miserable life. For the same parents who gave me nothing.

You’re no better than her now.

Just like my mother.

Locked up and worthless.

I pretend there aren’t multiple sets of eyes on me and pin my gaze to the ground as I spread my ass cheeks.

“Cough.”

I cough.

“Alright, get dressed,” Officer Berty snaps.

A wave of relief washes over me as I hurriedly stand up, grab my clothes, and get dressed as fast as possible. He points to the end of the hallway and tells me to face the wall and not speak.

My feet lift up and down, but I feel like a puppet on a string, as if most of me isn’t even here.

A few men are already standing in line. I step up next to them.

We ignore each other.

Face the wall.

Think about what you’ve done.