Chapter 1
Addison
My wrists are bound.I feel each thread of the rope as it digs into the sensitive skin. My ankles are tied to the corners of the table with my arms over my head. I fight against my restraints as much as I can, but no matter how hard I try to break free of these ropes, I can’t.
I hardly remember the last time Iwasn’trestrained like this.
If it’s not the ropes holding me to the table, it’s the oversized metal collar wrapped around my neck at all times. It’s thick and heavy, and on days when they weaken me, I can hardly lift my head because of it.
The door opens, and I try to crane my neck to look at the man who enters. I don’t see him until he’s standing right over me.
Dr. Hendricks. He stares down at me with his cold, steel gray eyes and his lips turned in a twisted smile that makes my stomach curdle.
“How’s our patient doing today?” He brushes his hand down his stark-white lab coat that’s draped over his thin frame. His hair is blond and slicked back with a shiny oil that almost makes it glow white in the dizzyingly bright overhead lighting.
His hand moves to his pocket, and my entire body goes tense. I know what’s about to happen before he pulls the needle out. Ithrash against the restraints, hoping to break free once and for all. His eyes move to a tall, broad-shouldered guard standing in the corner of the room. Carlisle is one of the cruelest of the bunch.
He walks toward me and presses his hands firmly against my shoulders, pinning me flat to the metal table. I grit my teeth and stare up at him, studying every hard line of his weathered face to commit it to memory.
I don’t understand how they could be so cruel, how they could see someone else in pain and do nothing to help them.
“Thank you, Carlisle,” Hendricks says. His footsteps approach the table, and he stands right beside me, his neck bent to look down at me with the same smile he wore. “You’ll feel a slight pinch.”
“No!” I shout, shaking my head as fast as I can. I try to scoot away from him, but the guard presses down on my shoulders even harder. “Please, not again!”
My pleas go unanswered as the cap falls off the syringe and the doctor pulls my arm toward him. His fingers press against my vein before the cold metal of the needle breaks my skin.
He was right, I do feel a little pinch.
But that’s immediately followed by an intense burning that floods every cell in my body all at once. I’m no longer struggling against the guard because it takes everything in me to keep my eyes open while I feel like I’m being burned alive.
Every hair on my body stands upright, and I arch my back, letting out a scream that comes from deep within me. Even a brief scan of the room shows the guard wince at hearing it.
“It burns!” I cry out in what feels like an endless fashion. “Please make it stop!”
I repeat myself over and over, hoping that with each syllable, they’ll come closer to stopping this torture. They’ll finally see that whatever they’re doing here is wrong, and they’ll let me go.
All I want is for them to let mego.
But nothing ever grows from that hope. It’s just a dream that will never come true. I should have learned by now never to hope for anything. Otherwise, I’ll only live with disappointment. I’ve attempted to escape before, but I never get far.
The burning in all of my limbs eventually subsides after what feels like hours. When it’s over, I feel the moisture on my forehead, and every muscle in my body aches like they do after the doctor puts me on the running machine for hours.
It hurts to breathe. My throat is raspy from screaming, and every painful moan that creeps out of my lips is torn to shreds by the time anyone can hear it.
“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” the doctor asks, the smile faded from his lips, and his voice was grim.
I want to insult him. Actually, I want to break free from these ropes and slash my overgrown fingernails across his face just to see him bleed. I want him to know pain like he’s forced upon me.
But I’m too weak for any of that. My body is limp against the table, and the guard isn’t even standing over me anymore because he knows there’s no point. I’ve been completely weakened by whatever was in that syringe.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice weak.
“Take her back to her room,” the doctor orders.
Before I know it, my restraints are being undone, and I feel a spark of hope in my chest, thinking I might be able to escape. The moment the thought crosses my mind, it fades away when I feel just how weak I am.
My entire body feels like the slop, rubbery noodles they give me for dinner on “special occasions.” I can barely lift my arm, much less use it to fight back against the guard who’s nearly three times my size.
