Page 34 of Operation: Defiance

Chapter Eleven

The cold never leaves.

It settles into my feet and stays there, a patient ache that sharpens over time, as if the temperature is learning me.

I curl my toes for warmth, and pain answers at my wrist.

My breath hitches, and I go still at once, my heart racing.

Movement invites attention.

Attention invites hands.

Hands bring pain.

Time starts passing in interruptions.

Being moved from the chair to the floor, then back again. Or standing until the pressure drops out of my head, my balance falters, and I collapse, giving them another excuse to hurt me.

Restraints are adjusted, chains shortened and lengthened and corrected with quiet efficiency. Liquid nutrition is delivered without warning, the straw pressed between my lips before I can brace myself.

Sleep isn’t…sleep anymore.

My body shuts down in pieces and restarts without recovery, leaving my thoughts more muddled each time.

I start cataloging touch because it’s all I can hold onto.

Not who touches me. That changes.

How.

A hand guiding my elbow when I stand. Steadying my shoulder when I sway. Correcting my posture when I slump.

Each contact brings pain. Never where I expect it.

A thumb pressed into the base of my wrist. Fingers digging just under my collarbone. A sharp flare along the side of my neck that wipes sound and thought down to static.

“Careful.”

“Don’t pull.”

“Relax.”

I learn quickly that relaxing doesn’t help.

Nothing does.

If I hesitate, they correct. If I resist, they escalate. If I comply, they change the rules.

My body starts bracing before my mind can catch up. My muscles lock, my breath goes shallow, and my skin crawls in anticipation of hands that may or may not come.

I try to hold myself perfectly still.

It doesn’t work.

While being guided from the chair to the floor, my knee buckles.

Pain slices through my elbow, the bruise along my nerve worsening every time they decide I’ve done something wrong.