Page 11 of Royal Havoc

“Leave me alone,” I cry, shaking because I’m scared. She’s the worst monster in The Row. Even the rats and spiders aren’t as scary as her.

“Get your lazy ass up. Dr. Bolton wants to see you.” Unfortunately, she finds the right key, and the metal bars clank loudly when she slides the door open. “Don’t make me come get you,” she warns in her witchy voice, hands on her hips.

“I’m hungry,” I whine, hating how the rumbling in my tummy makes me feel.

“Don’t piss your pants like a baby, and I’ll think about bringing you some toast,” she hisses, tapping her foot on the dirty concrete, watching me climb off the squeaky bed. “Move faster, or I’ll have Tobias come carry you like a baby.”

I rush to pull my blanket around me like a cape while my bare feet slap over the freezing concrete.

When I’m close enough, she grabs me, digging her long nails into my arm. “Ouch, you’re hurting me,” I whine, tears running down my face.

“Shut up, brat,” she rasps, spinning me to look at her. She bends over so she’s my size, pointing her finger at me. “You will keep your stupid mouth shut and pretend to be happy.”

“But I’m not happy.”

She shakes me until I’m dizzy. “Are you dumb? Dr. Bolton hates sad little girls. Do you want to get thrown out with the trash?”

“No,” I whine, shaking my head. “Please don’t let him throw me out with the trash,” I beg.

She stands, yanking my arm so hard I almost fall. “Then keep your lips zipped.”

Our footsteps echo, and I keep my head straight. Too afraid to look at the other cages. She pulls me through the door at the endof the hall. The light in the shiny white hallway hurts my eyes. But the heat feels so good, even though it makes my skin feel tingly.

We stop outside the black door, and she knocks. Then, we wait for Dr. Bolton to answer.

“Enter,” he yells, and she rushes inside, dragging me behind her. “You can go, Hazel,” he says, watching me from behind his big desk.

Hazel hurries out, closing the door behind her.

Dr. Bolton isn’t awful, but his crooked teeth scare me because they make him look like a demon. But he’s always been nice to me. I just hate all his questions.

“You can sit on the sofa,” he tells me.

The brown sofa reminds me of the last time I saw Mommy. She was sitting on our brown sofa crying, and then Daddy made me leave without saying goodbye.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, sitting in the brown cushy chair facing me.

I hurry to wipe the tears with my blanket. “I want to go home.”

He leans back, crossing his legs like a girl. “This is your home.”

“I want my Mommy,” I sniff softly.

He leans forward. “What do you think your Mommy will do?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “Take me home. Duh.”

“Your parents gave you away.”

“Daddy just got mad. Mommy didn’t want me to leave. She always gets what she wants,” I pout.

He nods, leaning back, and rubs a hand over his mouth. “Let’s talk about something else.” He smiles and waits until I nod. “Why won’t you eat? Hazel told me you threw your lunch at her yesterday.”

“My lunch?”

All I had yesterday was some crackers and water. The sun was up in the sky, so I guess it could have been lunchtime.

“Yes, your lunch.”

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