Page 7 of Straightjacket

The further I’m dragged down the hall, the more the idea of safety falls away. Pieces of it are slipping away in the wind, and I’m all but scrambling to bring them back, but it’s no use. I know in my gut that something isn’t right.

My head feels cloudy and I can just make out the distant noise of voices behind the pounding that’s stabbing into my brain. It sounds like screaming, crying in pain yet no one seems to comfort them, they’re left to writhe in what sounds like true agony.

I thought this was a hospital?

Why is no one helping this person?

Where’s Silas?

I can’t seem to think straight at all. My thoughts are battering me from all sides and I want to scream, to run away from the danger that I can feel surrounding me, but I won’t leave without him– not without Silas, there’s absolutely no way I can, or will do that.

We have to get out of here together; there is no other option.

The white-wash floor beneath me starts to slow down and before I’ve even had the chance to collect my bearings, whoever is holding me up swiftly turns down another corridor and into a room. The rapid change of movement sends my head spinning, bleach and antiseptic is so heavy in the air that it burns with every inhale.

I feel like a ragdoll as my weak body is dropped to the hard floor. Bones crack against the polished tiles, and to the naked eye it looks clean from afar, but from where I am I can count every single speck of dried blood that’s seeped between the intricate design of the tiles. It spreads off like a spider's web, thin gangly legs reaching off into far corners.

I can only imagine what traumas lie within these walls. The horrors people have faced, and I dread to think what my fate will be here. I can’t even bring myself to lift my head, too afraid of what I might find, of what monster is occupying this room with me.

“Strip.”

That one word has me jolting out of my own head, successfully throwing me back into the present and even though I’m afraid, scared to fucking death even, I refuse to be kicked down again. Silas needs me, and I can’t save us both if I don’t push myself into gear.

Slowly I push myself up from the cold floor, my body screaming at me for forcing it too far and brush the length of my hair away from my face to reveal the two guards who dragged me in here.

Both men, who are definitely in their late forties, stand side by side, blocking off my only exit out of this hellhole. They stand, shoulders wide and stocky, hands clasped together in a tight fist. Stark white uniforms cover their bodies, but my gaze immediately zones in on the belts around their waists. These aren’t typical doctors or hospital staff because there’s no way you’d find them in possession of a gun and a police baton.

I can’t seem to pull my eyes away, completely fixed on the deadly weapons.

What could they possibly need those for?

Fear spreads through my body like a tidal wave, drowning me from the inside out. I’m so consumed by it that I can’t even begin to gather my thoughts, they’re too heavy to keep a hold of, like bricks crushing my hands.

“Are you fucking deaf, bitch? I said... fucking strip!” One of the guard's snaps at me then takes a step forward, his hand hovering over towards his gun. I shuffle further backwards into the corner, tucking my knees up into my chest in the hopes that it’s enough to protect myself.

“I don’t think the little bitch heard you. Maybe she needs to be shown how to strip instead, you know, a little visual learning.” A wicked grin pulls across his weathered face, skin dark and dull with thick wrinkles around his mouth, like he’s smoked one too many cigarettes. I can see the wicked gleam in his eyes as his gaze roams over me, slimy and filled with sordid thoughts.

The other guard laughs at his colleague's comment. “Yeah, I think you might be right. She clearly isn’t great at following simple commands.” His tone turns dark, like sharp gravel scraping across my skin. It’s like I can feel every single word rubbing across my flesh.

Anger forces the fear that once settled in my blood, out.

I refuse to be weak, and that probably isn’t a smart move considering my situation, but I allowed James to treat me like shit, I allowed him to drive those acid-soaked nails into my skin– there’s no way I can do that again.

“I heard you loud and clear. I just wasn’t fucking listening on purpose, and I sure as hell won’t be stripping either. Come near me and I’ll bite your fucking ears off.” I spit, a dark venom lacing my tone. My gaze never leaves the two of them, wary of their next moves as I try to keep my face neutral.

Both guards, I guess you could call them, although I would choose the word fuckwits, turn to look at each other. Something passes between them both and they laugh. Sinister chuckles bouncing off the walls around me and I struggle to find the joke, because I meant every word that I said. I’ll take a chunk out of these fuckers if they try anything.

“Oh, that’s cute,” the guard who stepped forward before, clutches his stomach as he tries to control his breathing. “The thing is darlin’... you’re locked in here with us, and we’ve been told that we can do whatever we wanna do to you. There’s no escaping, and we’re not leaving until we’re done with you.”

Physically, I can feel the blood drain from my face. The reality of the situation settling in my stomach like a dead weight.

“Where the fuck am I?!” I scream out from the corner like a trapped animal.

The second guard comes closer, a sickening lust swelling in his gaze. He runs his thumb across his bottom lip then cups his crotch tightly, causing a deep groan to rise up his throat. “Fuck, I love em’ a little spicy. Don’t you?”

“Mhmm,” the other guard agrees. “They’re my favourite. Always ready for a little fight. It makes me rock hard.”

His admission makes me sick. I can feel the bile rising from my stomach, leaving an acidic burn in its wake but I refuse to throw up, to show them the satisfaction of affecting me.