Camera.
High up in the corner. Red light blinking. Watching everything.
Shit.
I barely move my lips when I whisper it, just a breath of sound.
So, I can't act stupid.
Can't ask too much.
Can't make it obvious I'm trying to figure anything out.
My hands are shaking.
I press them flat against the mattress, trying to stop it, but they won't listen. My breath is coming too fast, too shallow, and I have to force myself to slow down before I hyperventilate.
Think, Inez. Fucking think.
I need the doctor.
He's the only one who looked human in all of this.
The only one who looked like he didn't belong.
I shift slightly, just enough to make it real, and a sharp breath tears out of me before I can stop it.
"Fuck…" I mutter, louder this time, curling slightly. "It hurts—shit—"
The pain isn't fake.
That part's easy.
Footsteps outside the door.
I freeze for half a second, my heart slamming against my ribs so hard I think it might crack them the rest of the way. Then I let another strained sound slip out.
"Please—"
The door opens.
The doctor comes in first, just like before—pale, shaking, eyes darting everywhere except at me. His hands are trembling. He looks like he hasn't slept in days.
The guard stands behind him, gun in hand, watching.
Always watching.
"Check her," the guard says flatly.
The doctor moves fast, too fast, like if he doesn't hurry, he's the one who's going to get hurt. His hands hover over my side, my ribs, my ankle. He's not even really touching me—just going through the motions.
"They—fuck—it hurts," I whisper, grabbing lightly at his sleeve. My voice cracks. "Please… help me…"
His hand stills.
Just for a second.
Then his eyes flick up to mine.
