Page 13 of Fated

The words slammed into me. Trembling, I slowly raised my arms, but before I could comprehend what was happening, rough hands yanked me out of the closet with brutal force.

They dragged me to my feet, my head spinning, as strong hands gripped my arms, and twisted them behind my back. The cold bite of metal clamped around my wrists, pinching the skin.

I swayed on my feet, dizzy and numb, my vision blurring, scanning the room.

Angry, tense faces surrounded me, their eyes hard and unforgiving. My own drifted beyond them, landing on the bed.My mother.

Her lifeless body lay still and cold against blood-soaked sheets.

The sight hit me worse than a punch to the gut, my knees buckling beneath me, and I collapsed, wrenching violently as my stomach convulsed.

Vomit spilled from my mouth, yet I barely noticed. All I could see was her—my mom, gone. The air seemed to thicken, becoming too heavy to breathe, my vision beginning to blur at the edges. Darkness came creeping in until the room around me dissolved into nothing.

And then, there was only blackness.

***

I tried to open my eyes, but the harsh, blinding light overhead sent waves of pain through my skull, intensifying its pounding throb. As my vision slowly adjusted to the room, nausea twisted my gut, threatening to rise again. The metallic stench of blood mingling with the sour odor of vomit filled the air. Endlessly, I blinked, disoriented, taking in the cold metal bars against which my body leaned. My wrists were still bound behind me, cuffed tightly, while the shocking reality of where I was began to sink in.

A suffocating wave of panic crashed over me, chest tightening, struggling to breathe.

With my hands behind my back, the sense of entrapment grew rapidly unbearable.

I gasped for air, my breaths coming shallow and fast, the room seeming to close in.

My body gave way, collapsing forward onto the rough concrete floor, pain flaring in my cheek as my face smacked against the cold gritty surface. Now, I was choking, desperately clawing for air but it felt like drowning, wholly lost in the all-consuming panic.

The metallic clang of the jail cell door opening echoed above me.

Footsteps approached, then the tight grip of the handcuffs loosened as a dark-haired female officer unlocked them, freeing my aching arms, sending relief through my tense body.

Trembling, I tried to push myself up off the floor, my muscles weak and shaky.

The officer’s hand gripped my arm, steadying me as I staggered to my feet, my legs barely able to support my weight.Once upright, I stumbled a few steps back before collapsing on the cold metal bench, the officer lingering until I was seated.

“I’ll be back in a few minutes to begin your processing,” she said before leaving me alone again in the cell. I didn’t respond, I couldn’t. All I could do was sit there, my mind swimming in the chaos of everything that had just happened, unable to make sense of any of this nightmare.

I focused on controlling my breathing, trying to calm the storm of raging thoughts.

None of this made sense. How had everything in my life fallen apart in just a few hours?

Did I somehow lose my mind and murder my own mother? The idea sent another round of nausea and panic hurtling through me, the sheer thought unbearable. But then reality hit again—my mother wasdead.I doubled over, arms wrapping tightly around myself, as if that could somehow hold together the pieces of me that were breaking apart.

The officer returned, her footsteps echoing off the cold walls as she unlocked my cell door a second time. I forced myself to stand, my limbs still shaking. Barefoot, I followed her down a cold empty hall past a row of cells, keeping my head low, eyes fixed on the floor.

Every step felt heavier than the last, as if I was dragging myself through a nightmare from which I couldn’t wake.

She opened a door to a small private room, then gestured for me to enter.

Inside, she handed me a blue uniform—a pair of pants and a button-down shirt—and told me to change. The officer didn’t leave the room as I peeled the soiled pajamas from my body, shoved them in a plastic bag, and donned the uniform. The garments were rough against my skin, and the entire experience was surreal, akin to watching myself from a distance.

Then, she lifted a blue plastic bowl in front of me. “Remove your jewelry,” she said.

I glanced down at the silver and gold chains on my wrist, the last physical connection to both of my moms—pieces of the women who had loved me, pieces of lives now cruelly ripped away.

Teeth clenched, I forced myself to unfasten each one, my hands trembling uncontrollably.

The sound of the metal clinking into the bowl represented a final blow, the last fragile thread holding me to my past.

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