Page 167 of Morally Corrupt

My efforts were in vain. I'm tempted to spit on the floor, just to cleanse my mouth of him, but I know he must be watching. So, I put on my best behavior. I have to think fast. I can't doanythingfrom here, and Adrian is in danger.

What could I possibly do now? My eyes frantically search around the room for any idea that might be helpful. But none comes.

Desperation grips me like a fine glove, so I do the only remaining thing.

I bite my tongue.

Hard.

Blood floods my mouth and pours down my lips.

Good.

The first step is done. Then I push myself backward again, making my body shiver uncontrollably, hoping to imitate a seizure.

Sure enough, he's back through the door. Hewaswatching.

He cradles my head in his hands and pushes my mouth open, taking hold of my tongue. I continue to make my limbs spasm. He's trying to make sure I'm not swallowing my tongue. My eyes roll back into my head, and I pretend to be out.

He barks some commands in Spanish, and then he unties me.

Good… good.

I moan in pain, half-pretend, half-real since my tongue does hurt.

"Are you okay?" he asks me after I'm free of my restraints. I manage a nod before I make myself faint.

"Shit.Un médico!"he yells, and I hear more movement. He takes me into his arms and leaves the cellar with me, taking me who knows where.

* * *

I surreptitiously open one eye, and I see that he's rushing me to one of the more furnished rooms with a bed.

He carefully places me on the bed, and I do my best to seem out of it.

"¡Un médico, pendejo! Ya te lo he dicho. ¿Qué estás haciendo?" He yells out some more commands.

"Perdón, patrón." Some people apologize, and there's more shuffling.

I'm lying on the bed with my eyes closed, and Carlos is still caressing my forehead.

His movements are… tender. I almost scoff at myself for thinking that.

It's not much later that a doctor finally arrives. After having a chat with Carlos, the doctor examines me, shining light into my eyes and looking at my mouth.

"Tuvo una convulsión. Déjala descansar y la voy a examinar otra vez mañana. Le voy a dar unanalgésico por ahora," the doctor confirms my charade.

"¿Doctor, está seguro que no es nada grave?" Carlos asks, making sure there's nothing wrong with me.

"Si, claro. Quiero hacerla una prueba de sangre," the doctor continues, asking to draw some blood from me.

"Dale. Tengo algo que solver, pero mándame los resultados cuando los tienes." Before leaving, Carlos drops by the bed and fastens each hand to the bed frame, effectively limiting my movements. At least my feet are free now.

I'm left alone with the doctor, and I keep my eyes closed, waiting.

"You can stop pretending," the doctor says in accented English. I open my eyes and stare at him. My mouth is sore, and I can still feel the taste of the blood.

The doctor is a man in his forties, dressed in a regular black shirt and jeans. Seeing that he caught me in my ruse and didn't expose me, I don't know what to expect from him.

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