Page 44 of I Will Mend You

He moves his lips, but I can’t hear anything through the roar of blood between my ears. Something’s going wrong. I’m having a bad reaction to one of the drugs.

By the time the door swings open, my vision goes black, and I land on the padded floor with a thud.

Everything goes still for several heartbeats until water splashes on my face. As I return to the painful present, large hands roll me onto my back. My eyes snap open, and I inhale a noisy gasp.

Grunt stares down at me through wide eyes, his face hidden by that surgical mask. “Amy,” he says, his voice panicked. “Are you alright?”

The question tickles something inside me I didn’t know existed, a bizarre kernel of black humor. A laugh traps in my chest, cutting off my air. My entire life has already gone to shit. I’ve been sliced open, violated with pseudo-medical equipment, drugged and raped. How the hell does Grunt think I’m feeling?

“Can’t breathe,” I reply. “The straitjacket is too tight.”

His brow furrows. “I brought your food.”

“Can’t eat. Jacket’s too tight.”

He rolls me onto my front and loosens the buckle holding my sleeves together. My arms fall free, and I suck in lungfuls of air.

“Better?” he asks and helps me sit up.

I blink away the spots. Shake my head from side to side, dislodging the brain fog. Xero has disappeared again, which could mean anything. Since he isn’t around to discourage me from trusting Grunt, I take a chance to establish some communication.

“Eat,” he says.

My gaze lands on the dog bowl containing the same mush as before, now hardened with a brown crust.

“If I eat that, I’ll throw up.”

Grunt glances toward the door. “Dolly says you must eat.”

“Then I’d better have something solid, because that isn’t even fit for a dog.”

The large man’s shoulders sag. “She won’t be happy.”

“I’m going to die, right?” I ask.

When he drops his gaze, I add, “That’s what I thought. Why would I add to my suffering by eating that slop?”

Silence stretches between us for several heartbeats. Grunt continues to crouch in front of me, his gaze softening to something close to pity or even regret.

I want to say something else to humanize myself, but my mind goes blank. He works for an organization that makes snuff. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was one of the men in that graveyard movie. Nobody stumbles into this line of work by mistake. If he’s feeling empathy, it’s only temporary. He’s upset Dolly, and the others treat him like shit.

Rising to stand, he retreats toward the door, reaches into his pocket and extracts a cereal bar. I straighten, my gaze darting up to meet his masked face.

Before I can even ask what he wants in return, he tosses the bar across the floor. It skips past the dog bowl and lands by my bare feet.

The door swings shut, and his footsteps disappear down the hallway, leaving me alone with the bar. It’s covered intransparent wrapping, which will be difficult to remove since I’m in a straitjacket, but at least he freed my arms.

I pick up the cereal bar with fingers encased in thick cotton and examine its wrapper for punctures. So far, it’s untouched.

“Good idea,” Xero says. “In case they injected it with something.”

Some of the tightness around my chest eases at his return, and I exhale a breath of relief. Holding the bar between my teeth, I twist and pull at the wrapper until the plastic gives way, releasing the mouth-watering scents of honey, nuts, and oats.

I take a bite, filling my mouth with enough crunchy, sweet goodness to chase away the taste of chemicals. I chew slowly, savoring each bite, allowing the flavors to spread across my dry tongue.

My stomach growls at the reminder that it’s been days since I last ate or drank. Tears spring to my eyes, and I shuffle toward the dog bowl and examine the liquid. It’s clear enough to look like water, but how do I know it’s not laced with drugs?

I shuffle forward to take a sniff, but all I smell is the mush.

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