Page 30 of The Preachers' Promise
“Porridge.” The girl looks and sounds incredibly bored by this whole thing, as if she’s got a reason to hate her life the same way the inmates do.
Maybe she does. I don’t know. I sigh as I stare at the bowls, waiting to get the porridge dumped in them. I don'twantthe porridge, but Ineedto line my stomach. Because otherwise the pills will be stronger in my system.
I give her a false smile. “One serving of delicious porridge, then, please.”
She takes a bowl and slaps the thick food into it, splashing some of it on my top.
I take my bowl, return to my seat, and finally sit down at my place at the table. I stare at the lumpy gray offering, and my stomach revolts at the sight. This is not going to be easy to eat.
Picking up my spoon, I force myself to take a mouthful. I nearly gag again. It’s disgusting. Thick, lukewarm, and salty. They haven't even sweetened it.
Anger bubbles inside me. This place is supposed to be helping me get better, and I have to believe that it's what Father wants. But so far, it's more like a prison than a hospital of any kind. Everything they do here seems calculated to dehumanize aperson in the worst way. The way we all must wear pink, male or female, while the staff get to wear white. The staffs’ uniforms are all made of what appears to be thick cotton, whereas our clothing is thin and scratchy. The food we are given is a disgrace, and I expect my father is paying a pretty penny for this.
I look up and see Carter watching me again from the corner of the room. Just as I'm about to look away, he lifts his thick middle finger, the one that was in my mouth moments ago, to his own mouth and sucks it inside.
There is no way to mistake the intent of his actions. My stomach drops. This cannot be happening. My father, in his rush to help me, has put me in danger.
I know I’ll lose every last part of my sanity if Carter forces himself upon me.
When I got home from the commune, my mother just wanted to know that I was okay. Father did too, of course, but he also asked if I'd been touched inthat way. I knew exactly what he meant bythat way,and I knew exactly why he was asking. In our world, a girl should be pure, and even though he loves me, he's still a traditional man at heart. It would be ironic if by sending me here, he causes me to be assaulted.
It would also be ironic for Carter, if he did that, and then found himself dead for his troubles. There is no way my family would let that go unanswered, never mind what the Preacher’s would do to him.
I force myself to take a few more bites of the horrific breakfast and pick up a glass of water to wash it down. Everybody has water by their bowl, and I notice that nobody looks at anyone else. They all focus on their plate. Some of them are eating mindlessly, like robots, while others mess about with the food, stirring their spoons through it aimlessly.
One girl, opposite me to the right, catches my attention. There's something livelier about her than the other inmates.
She must sense me looking at her because she glances up and gives me a sly smile. As I watch her, I see her run her finger under her tongue and slowly pluck one of the tablets from underneath it. She sticks it into the middle of the porridge, covering it with the rest of the slop.
How did she do that? How did she manage to hide the tablets from the staff when she had to open her mouth?
There must be a way to do so, which gives me hope for tomorrow. I am determined to talk to her as soon as I can and ask her how she hid them in her mouth for so long. I’m already beginning to feel the effects. My eyelids are heavy, and I let out a long yawn.
The idea of losing control of my thoughts, and worse, my body, in this place is making me rigid with icy fear.
I wonder what combination of meds I’m on, but it must be a strong cocktail. Four tablets, and presuming at least one of those, if not more, is a sedative, I could be totally out of it withing ten minutes.
Crap.
I yawn again and feel my eyes drifting closed.
“Don’t fall asleep. Fight it,” the girl whispers to me from across the table.
I don’t know how I can fight it. I try to snap myself awake and pinch the inside of my wrist, hoping the pain does the trick. There isn’t even any coffee I can chug to help keep myself awake.
When it doesn’t, and my head lolls forward again, I almost faceplant in my porridge.
A bell rings, making me jump and finally giving me enough of a jolt of adrenaline to stop me falling asleep in my breakfast.
“Okay, people, let’s get to group therapy quickly and calmly, please.” A large female nurse, with hair that’s a strangely yellow shade of blonde, claps her hands.
My fellow inmates get up at various speeds, and as one small, skinny guy walks past Carter and another nurse, he falls.
I glance at him as the staff bend down, helping, but turn my attention back to the nurse with the yellow hair.
I stare at her hair and smile a little. It reminds me of wheat in the fields. Yellow, lovely wheat. Is porridge made from wheat? I can’t recall. No, it’s corn, isn’t it? No, that’s wrong, too.
“Silly thing to forget,” I say out loud with a giggle.
