“Good morning, PX-3. Don’t try to sit up; the stitches on your stomach might tear. Please just rest.” There’s a warm voice to the side of me. I try to turn to look, but can barely make out a face. Only the slicked-back white hair and thick, black-frame glasses that sit on their nose.
I let sleep take me, feeling a burning sensation in the veins of my arm.
?
The healing sector is quiet today. I’m the only person in a bed, which means the doctor has been sitting at his desk all day. It’s been two weeks since I arrived, the maximum amount of time you’re allowed in the healing sector, no matter the injury.
Groaning, I force myself to sit up, despite most of my cuts being closed and beginning to scab over finally. The cuts to my stomach were particularly deep, and the doctor says they will need an additional week before being completely closed without risk of tearing.
I stare at the tray placed at the foot of the bed, my stomach growling in excitement. I’ve barely managed to keep anything down with the medication they’ve been giving me. While the strong painkillers do wonders for the pain, they seem to make me incredibly ill.
Starting with the porridge, I force myself to eat slowly despite my stomach wanting to consume the bowl completely. What would usually take me three minutes to eat, I force myself to take ten minutes, stopping every time I feel nauseous again. Only when the tray is empty do I stand, changing into my training uniform and tucking the top into my pants before lacing up my boots.
“PX-3.” The doctor clears his throat, walking over. “I will be giving you a pill to take every day. You must take the dose until you run out of the pills. It is to prevent any infection.”
I nod, taking the container and placing it in the pocket of my pants while I place my gun and knife back into their holders on both sides of my pants. “Anything else, sir?”
“Try to avoid any direct hits to your stomach for the next week. Otherwise, you are free to go.” The doctor tries his best at an empathetic smile. Returning the gesture with a nod, I walk out of the healing sector, going straight for the bunk rooms.
I manage to make it up the steps before Bella, Lauren, and Kylie ambush me, forcing me into the bunk room and locking the door. “What the hell happened to you?” Bella asks before Kylie says, “You look like shit.”
I almost want to smile; it’s so good to see them all alive.
“I was just in the chair, you know the deal.”
Kylie rolls her eyes, her black hair shaking as she throws her hands up. “Just in the chair. She’s impossible.” I look to Lauren, who’s looking back at me with so much worry in her eyes.
“I’m fine, my stomach will heal in a week and then—” I’m cut off by Bella lifting my shirt and inspecting the wound herself.
“Oh fuck, that was deep.”
“Wow, really? Didn’t notice that. Thank you, Doctor, I’m cured.”
All four of us burst into quiet laughter, careful not to be too loud and get caught breaking rules.
“It’s good to see you, Darlia. No more being the hero, yeah?” Bella smirks, and I nod, turning to Lauren who still hasn’t said a word.
“A thank you for saving your life, would be nice.”
“Thank you,” she whispers so softly it’s barely audible.
What the fuck happened while I was recovering? Did something happen to Lauren?
“Everything okay?” I ask Bella, knowing she’s the least likely to bullshit me, and she shrugs.
“I didn’t see anything.”
Chapter 11:
Bella and I grab our trays from the dining sector as we walk to our usual table in the back corner of the room, joining Kylie and Lauren. Lunch is different today, some type of fish, I think. It’s pink and smells fishy, at least. Beside the fish is rice, some cut-up celery and carrot, and a small container of some sort of thick white sauce that I mix in immediately.
The dining sector is silent, none of us risk talking, not when tensions are so high today. I’m sure Madam will be looking to impose her favourite rule: Girls of The Academy are seen and not heard. Her whiny voice plays in my head. I would love for her to hear the sound of my bullet going through her head, but it never does. I’m not completely insane. I know doing that would mean certain death for me, and they will send someone else, possibly worse, to the other girls.
I may be selfish, but I would never put their safety at risk.
The food, much like all the others, is bland and surprisingly dry. The rice is undercooked and still hard, while the fish is overcooked and dry. I’m pretty sure this is another punishment they give us, purposefully giving us barely edible food so we’re always desperate for more.
“Madam has requested you, PX-3, as well as you, PX-57.” A guard appears at the table out of nowhere making me jump. Jesus, these meds have knocked my sensors off.
