Page 243 of Mad As Hell

I gasped, slamming back against the tiles of a shower as people started pulling off my underwear.

Wait—where the hell were my clothes?

I pushed at their hands, a pathetic attempt to stop people who were much stronger than I was. Even still, I managed to land a weak blow on something soft, and someone grunted.

“Bitch punched my fucking tit,” a high-pitched voice whined.

Something—or someone—shoved me, and my head cracked against the tiles. Pops of light exploded behind my eyes.

“Calm down or we’ll drug you again,” a harsh voice warned.

God, anything but that again. I forced myself to be still as they finished stripping me and cold water rained over my head.

A rough washcloth was scrubbed over my body, and then hands were in my hair, washing it. I winced as they caught on a tangle and yanked their fingers free.

Biting the insides of my cheeks, I closed my eyes and let it happen.

The water shut off, but I was still freezing. A thin towel was tossed at me.

“Dry off,” the first voice snapped. “Then get dressed.”

I opened my eyes and saw a pile of clothes on the floor. Two women stood before me, not seeming to care that I was freezing and naked.

The one with the high voice cocked a brow. “Or we can walk you through the halls naked.” She sneered at me down a long nose. “Skank like you probably gets off on that shit.”

I forced myself to move and dried my body off with shaking hands. I dropped the towel twice, and it took several attempts to get the clothes on. Finally the second woman yanked my shirt over my head like I was a toddler.

“Let’s go,” she ordered.

A shudder rippled down my spine as I tried to figure out where I was.

It looked like an old locker room with a few showers, none of them separated by even a curtain for privacy. There were stalls for toilets, but none of them had doors.

“Sh-shoes?” I asked as my feet slipped on the tiles.

The second woman glanced at my bare feet, and she gave a tight shake of her head. “No shoes until we know you aren’t a suicide risk.”

“I’m not suicidal,” I said slowly.

She shot me a yeah right look. “They all say that.” Using a keycard, she swiped the lock by the door and waited for it to beep and turn green.

Great. So the bathrooms were on lockdown.

The first woman scoffed at me and turned to start cleaning up the wet towels.

“Let’s go,” Number Two snapped, nudging me out of the bathroom. “You need to get to your room.”

I followed her, trying to get an idea of where I was, but there were no windows. Just fluorescent lighting, white walls, and white tiles beneath my feet. There were doors—so many doors—each with a tiny circular window, but that was it.

“Where am I?” I asked quietly as we turned down another hall. I was trying to remember all the turns we’d taken, but I was exhausted and scared.

She glanced back over her shoulder at me. “The Hightwater School.”

“What’s that?”

She didn’t answer. Instead, she stopped at a door and used her keycard to unlock it. “Here’s your room. Lights out at nine. Breakfast at seven.”

I stepped inside the tiny square room. A twin bed with no bedding on it was bolted to the floor. A toilet and sink were against the wall across from the bed, and I could see the space where a mirror had once hung. Above that, a clock hung on the wall, surrounded by a metal cage. The only other piece of furniture was a silver nightstand, also screwed into the floor.

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