Page 89 of Fallen Stars

“Every star, every star, every star…” I say faster and faster.

I clamp my fingers around the tops of my shins. My long, jagged nails bite the skin with ease. I focus my attention on the pain as I repeat the words over and over.

The door to my prison flies open. A man stands in the doorway. Although he is feet away, his menacing form feels as though it hovers inches above me.

My stomach churns out of habit, but nothing else happens. I haven’t eaten anything for a while. They have given me more food to make me less emaciated and more appealing to the dressy men who come to visit my cell.

For days, I have been force-fed. And for just as long, I have purged all the contents of my stomach shortly after they leave.

I’d rather die in this hell than do a single damn thing to make these assholes happy. If starvation is the answer, then that is how I will end this.

“I’ve got a present for you, Two Sixty-Three.” The man steps into the room and shoves a hand in a cargo pocket.

Yanking on the chain, I try to escape his reach. It’s impossible, I know, yet I still pray a cuff will wiggle loose and I’ll be free.

A wicked voice in my head tells me I will never be free. This is my life now.

In my time here, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness. The room and its contents are easier to see when the door is closed. When the door opens, the brightness messes with my vision. It takes me longer to make out finer details.

It’s not until a second before he brings his hand to my neck that I make out the slight shimmer of the needle. As the syringe registers in my mind, it’s too late. The thin metal has already pierced my skin.

I jerk my head away from the sting and reach for my neck.

A moment of déjà vu hits as warmth spreads from my neck to my chest and out to my limbs. The room becomes hazy as my body melts into the floor.

“What…” The word is sludge on my tongue.

“Time to sleep, Two Sixty-Three.”

Within seconds, my eyes close. For the first time since I’ve been in this place, a sense of peace washes over me. I bask in the sensation as my body becomes weightless.

Just before sleep takes me, green eyes and dark hair flash in my mind. In that minor blip of time, it feels as if I’m home again.

My tongue is heavy and dry as my mind slowly wakes up. Exhaustion gnaws at every muscle, bone and cell in my body. It feels as though I’m floating and drowning at the same time.

I lift my hand toward my face but only make it an inch before my arm is jerked back. Confused, I peel my eyes open. The room is blurry, unfamiliar, and a bit brighter than before.

Where am I?

The floor rattles a little before the room teeters.

I slam my eyes shut, inhale several slow, deep breaths, and hum the melody I’ve had in my head for a while. When I exhale the tenth breath, I ease my eyes open again. I take my time glancing around the space as my gaze adjusts to the new setting.

Across from me, just out of reach, a woman sits on the floor. Her legs are folded to her chest, a leather strap wrapped around them and pinning them to her torso. Thick metal cuffs hang loose on her wrists, a clasp on them connected to cuffs on her ankles. Trailing up her legs, I pause at her throat. A wide, worn leather collar encircles her neck, a metal ring at the front.

For several breaths, I stare at the strip of material. The simple piece of animal flesh is also a symbol. A representation of what we have become to the world in these people’s eyes.

Property.

As I think the word, the band of leather around my own neck chafes my skin.

Slowly, I lift my gaze to the woman’s face. Her eyes are on mine, but she doesn’tseeme. There is no life in her eyes, in her expression, in her soul. She is just a body—frail, inanimate, praying for death.

I turn my head to survey the rest of the room and it sways. I close my eyes again and wait for the feeling to pass. Whatever they stuck me with must still be wearing off.

When the ground steadies and stills, I open my eyes and scan the room. What I’m met with is unexpected and unsurprising at the same time.

As far as I can see, other captives sit pinned to the wall. Many are unconscious, their head slumped and close to their knees.But quite a few are awake. One by one, we meet each other’s gazes. Some are lifeless while others are riddled with panic.

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