Page 33 of Gorgeous Nightmare

“Boss wants you cleaned up before he comes to see you,” he states flatly, like it’s just another job for him.

“Hope he likes sloppy seconds,” I say before spitting at them.

That earns me a hard slap across the face. He throws me into the corner as the other guard grabs the hose sticking out of the wall.

“This is gonna hurt, bitch.”

It doesn’t register at first. What he’s talking about.

But then, I hear it.

A hiss.

Like steam escaping a pipe.

Then, I feel it.

Pressure.

So fucking much of it.

My body screams, crumpling on instinct. My knees hit the floor first, elbows scraping against the coldconcrete before I feel pain radiate through my body from my shoulder, crunching under me.

And the stream keeps coming.

I try to move, but everything is slippery.

Wrong.

Every time I raise my arm, it’s knocked back down.

Every time I try to breathe, it’s like my lungs are caving in on themselves.

Every movement I make offers a new spot to hit. My stomach, my arms, the bruised mess between my legs.

The water isn’t just cold.

It’sviolent.

Pinning me. Flattening me. Drowning me without even entering my lungs.

I think I scream, but I can’t hear the sound of my voice over the shrill roar of the pressure washer.

It’s drowningeverything.

My vision goes white around the edges. There’s a bright, blinding light, and I know I’m going to pass out if they don’t stop.

They don’t.

This isn’t about cleaning me, it never was.

This is about pain.

Punishment.

Helplessness.

This ispower.

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