“Number eight!” I jerked, sitting up straight as a strangled voice filled the room.
I didn’t remember falling asleep. I also couldn’t remember the last time I had a bed. I didn’t care that the mattress was thin and the blanket was scratchy. It was clean, and apparently, I was more tired than I thought.
“Asher, that’s you.” Erik’s voice was followed by his light steps coming towards me. “They always call us by our numbers here. Names aren’t...it’s too personal.”
“But not in this room. We use names.” That voice was muffled like they were talking into their pillow.
“You have two minutes to use the bathroom and be ready at the door you came in through,” Erik went on, still standing at the edge of my bed.
There was no point in trying to figure out what was about to happen. It was one of those things I’d find out sooner rather than later.
I had just barely finished in the bathroom when there was a hard knock and some sort of clicking noise before the door was pulled open. I stood where Erik had told me to, exactly three feet in front of the opening, hands at my sides and head down.
“Follow one step behind me. If you wonder off...” the sharp voice went straight through me. I knew what was left unsaid.
All I could do was nod.
The man turned, and I did as he said. I followed two steps behind instead of one, keeping the bottom of his legs in view at all times. Even though a part of me wanted to look around to see where I was going, or where I had been, to figure out where I’d have to go back to.
Instead, like the good lamb I was, I followed the man step for step. Hopefully, he’d walk me to my death and there’d no longer be any more worries or wonders about what was going to happen to me. Or pretend that I could be somewhere else that wasn’t a place called Hell.
“Sit.” The man ordered after he opened another door.
Lifting my gaze enough to see around the room, I spotted a metal table, big enough to be a bed. Was that where I was to sit? Or was the floor the only option?
“Don’t make me pick you up and place you on that table, boy.”
Alright, I guess that answered my question.
Slowly, I stepped up to the metal slab, pulling myself to sit on the very edge. The cold instantly seeped through the pants I had been gifted hours ago.
Once the man determined that I was where I needed to be, he stood in front of the door, back towards me. At least that gave me a chance to look him over.
His hair, from what I could see, was thick and black. His clothes were like everyone else I’d see. A fitted gray shirt that stretched over his muscled shoulders, and simple worn jeans. He appeared to be like so many of those men who had to follow orders, too. They were stuck in this type of life just as much as I was.
Looking around the room, other than this metal thing I was sitting on, there wasn’t much to keep my attention. The cupboards were closed, hiding whatever was in them. The strange light thing in the corner was odd enough to keep my gaze for a couple of extra seconds.
Turning my focus back to the floor, I kept my hands folded loosely in my lap, lightly swinging my legs back and forth.
There tended to be moments like this, where I felt small, insecure, and possibly my true age. I didn’t know what being a kid, or a teenager, was supposed to be like. Nor would I ever. I didn’t get to have that option, since I was born in this type of life with no say.
My thoughts were cut off as a heavier set of steps neared. The thumps of rubbery shoes filled the space I was in, echoing down the hallway. Moments before the next man entered the room, I stopped my swaying legs, holding as still as possible.
When my heart threatened to beat out of my chest, I lifted my eyes upwards. Only far enough to see the slightly protruding belly over the top of a belt. His black pants had white powdered prints as if he were eating something and didn’t bother to use proper manners to clean his hands before coming in here.
“Age, boy?”
“Fourteen?” Or was I fifteen now? Or even still thirteen? I had no idea, to be truthful.
“I’ll have to take your word for that,” he mused. I looked up in time to see him press his fingertips against some form of screen he held in his hands. “Have you ever been screened for STDs?”
I shook my head, not a clue what that meant.
“None of ya do,” he mused, setting the tablet down on a small shelf that stuck out from the wall. “Stand and strip.”
I shoved down the emotions that wanted to bubble forth. It was harder than it should have been, but also something I was used to doing without notice.
Slipping from the table, I did as commanded.
