Page 6 of However You Want Me

The woman grabs my face with her fingers and turns my head to look at her. Her thin fingers dig into my skin so deeply they hurt. I swear her nails will puncture my skin.

“You will not watch,” she orders. “You will study your new rules.”

Then she turns my head to face the window again.

There aren’t any rules to study, except on the far wall of the room through the mirror. I struggle to read them. The woman stands behind me, close enough that I can feel her there but not close enough to touch me.

There’s a man in the room with the boys. It’s the middle of the night. Why are they up so early doing jumping jacks? It makes no sense. What’s wrong? What’s happening?

I hunch forward, shivering.

“Sit up straight,” the woman barks, and pulls me up by my hair. I hold in my yelp and try to sit still. I try to do what she asks.

It’s hard to sit up when I’m shivering so hard. The chair doesn’t make it easier. The plastic is hard and cold, and I can’t warm up. The room is cold, too.

The man in the room with the boys shouts something at them, and they start doing jumping jacks faster.

One of the boys looks through the window and meets my eyes.

“Faster,” barks the man and the boy turns his head just slightly.

Can they see me?

Canhesee me? I can see the boys, but I don’t know who to believe. The boy’s eyes stay on me, burning through the mirror. Maybe hecansee.

I’m not supposed to look back at him, but the rules are written on the wall behind the boys. I can’t help it. I don’t want the woman to touch me again, so I keep facing forward and try to cover myself.

The woman paces behind me. Her footsteps are loud threatening in the room.

The man in the room with the boys looms over him, and he stops looking at me. He keeps doing jumping jacks, shoulders rising, arms, lifting and falling. An ugly bruise decorates his arm. My own arm throbs from where the men held me when they took me out of my bed.

That must be how they touch people here. How they handle kids like me. More of the boys have bruises, but I don’t dare look too long. The words on the wall don’t make sense, but I keep trying to read them.

I don’t know how long it’s been when one of the boys in the back breaks down crying.

“I’m tired,” he says. “I’m fucking tired. I can’t do this.” He falls to his knees, begging, tears streaming down his face.

He’s the only one showing any emotion. The other boys wear matching blank expressions as if they can’t hear his cries.

The door in that room bursts open, and three men stream in. They head for the crying boy, but not to help.

To restrain him.

They pin his arms behind his back and force him into a curled position that has to be excruciating.

I get to my feet and only realize it when the desk scrapes against the floor. None of the boys look at me.

“Sit down.” The woman’s hand digs into my shoulder.

“They’re hurting him!” I scream as she shoves me down. Every inch of my body runs hot with fear and anger.

On the other side of the mirror, the boy’s eyes flick towards me. One of the men has a taser.

He’s going to use it on the boy who’s being restrained.

It takes everything I have to stay upright and only watch. This isn’t right. This just isn’t right.

When the woman pushes on my shoulder again, I break away and run.

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