Page 54 of Don't Say A Word

Then he offers himself to me and I lose myself in him.

But I do not love him.

I cannot love him.

To do so would risk my chance at escape . . .

UNTIL YOU'RE MINE

MIA

There used to be a small amount of safety within the four walls of my cell. But not anymore.

I still know everything it contains. I know every rough patch on the floor and the exact location of the red pebble. I can find it by feel. I tested myself once, on my hands and knees, fingers searching the floor until I was confident that the red pebble lay beneath.

I know the arc of the sun and the moon and how the square of light will spill across the room, over the floor, and the shape of its distortion when it touches the walls.

I know the stars that travel across the sky, not their names but their patterns, the ones that blink on and off. But I no longer think God is watching. It would be too cruel if He were.

I know the level of shampoo left in the bottle. I know how far to twist the faucet to stop it from dripping. I know the shape of the watermarks that stain the walls.

But now it seems foreign. It no longer feels safe. I watch the red light of the camera, knowing that if it flicks off my nightmare might begin again.

There is nothing to tell what is beyond that door, whether it leads to more doors, just like mine, or if Star and I are the only ones here. Or if she is here at all.

I haven’t strayed from the bed since Ryker left. I’m lying in patches of blood that have seeped into the sheets from each time I shift. My entire body pulses with pain. I cannot escape it. I can feel every lash of Marcel’s belt across my skin, and each time I swallow, the pain is a reminder of his fingers around my throat.

I long for relief, for Ryker to come back and hold me in his arms, or at least to give me a painkiller. My prayers are answered when the beeps of the keypad sound and the door sighs open. But the face that rounds the corner isn’t that of Ryker’s. Instantly, I recoil from the stranger, but when Ryker walks in behind him, my racing heart calms.

“Ah, yes.” The man walks over and kneels beside my bed, placing a case down on the floor and opening it to peruse its contents. “What was used, may I ask?”

He talks to Ryker and not me. In fact, the man doesn’t look me in the eye at all. His gaze floats over my body then back at the case lying on the floor. Ryker hasn’t looked at me either. It’s like his eyes are glued to the man at my side, as though there’s some magnet that keeps his gaze away from me.

“Leather belt,” Ryker says. His eyes flick my way, just once, and so quickly that had I not been staring at him, I wouldn’t have noticed at all. “Studded,” he adds. He swallows and his Adam’s apple bobs up and down in his throat.

The man kneeling on the floor draws in a whistle of air and shakes his head. He’s rifling through the contents of his case. His glasses keep slipping down his nose. I lean further over on the bed, wincing at the pain it brings, but manage to see what’s in his case. He must be a doctor of some sort. I allow myself a small smile when I see the collection of pills and potions in his case, desperately hoping that he will give me something to relieve the pain.

“Is she allergic to anything?” Again, the doctor looks to Ryker for the answer.

Ryker shakes his head, this time his eyes caught on the ground. “Not according to her file.”

The doctor nods and tips a couple of pills from a pottle into his hand. “She’ll need water,” he says to Ryker.

As Ryker leaves, I beg him to look at me. I need to see into his eyes. I need to know what he is thinking, why he won’t look at me. But he doesn’t even give me a backward glance.

The doctor instructs me to lie on my stomach as he examines my wounds. He makes tutting noises and shakes his head, but he doesn’t speak to me. When Ryker walks back in, the doctor takes the glass of water from him and tells me to take the pills. Even with the water, they are painful as they slide down my throat, but I don’t begrudge the pain as I know it will bring relief.

Ryker leans against the wall behind me, out of my line of sight as the doctor continues. He draws blood. He takes swabs. He listens to my heart and my lungs and records the pressure of my blood.

“When was her last cycle?”

Ryker clears his throat. “She’s been here for ten days. Nothing in that time.” His voice is low and gruff.

The doctor merely nods and presses a needle into a bottle, drawing the liquid into the syringe.

When he goes to inject it into my arm, I jerk away. “What is it?”

The doctor doesn’t answer and instead wraps his fingers around my upper arm, holding tightly and pulling me back toward him. I tense, resisting his grasp and the doctor turns to Ryker.

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