Page 15 of Writhe
I don’t answer. He doesn’t expect me to.
“You believe everyone in this facility is against you. You refuse to engage in productive discourse. You reject help when it is offered.”
Still, I say nothing.
He tilts his head slightly. “Do you disagree?”
“I don’t believe help exists here.”
There’s a ghost of a smile on his lips. Gone before I can blink.
He shifts his attention to Theo. “I see.” A muscle ticks in my jaw and the doctor hums. “We all want the same thing. For you to get better.”
I glare. “You don’t want me to get better. You want me to break.”
He ignores me. “As I said, your inability to trust is an obstacle to your recovery. So, we are going to remove that obstacle.” I don’t like the way he sayswe. I don’t like any of this. He gestures toward Theo. “Mr. Graves has been selected to be your partner in this exercise.”
I glance at Theo. He looks just as confused as I feel. He’s not as timid as I remember him, or maybe it’s because it’s morning and his meds are working in full force.
“What kind of exercise?” I ask.
“A simple trust exercise.” The Doctor clasps his hands in front of him. “Mr. Graves will stand behind you. You will close your eyes and fall backward. He will catch you.”
I stare at him. “You’re joking.”
“I assure you; I am not.”
I bark out a short, humorless laugh. “You want me to trust someone I met yesterday to catch me?”
“Yes.”
“No.”
The Doctor sighs like I’m being difficult. Like I’m the one who’s being unreasonable. “Eliza, I need your cooperation.”
“You’re not getting it.”
His smile is patient. His eyes are not. “We can do this the easy way, or we can do this the hard way.”
I grit my teeth. “You don’t scare me.”
That’s a lie, but I’ll die before I let him see it. I don’t have time to react before a fist slams into my stomach—the doctor’s fist. The air whooshes out of my lungs. My knees buckle. I hit the floor hard, my hands slamming against the cold tile as I gasp, choking on nothing. A boot presses between my shoulder blades, forcing me down, my cheek pressed against the floor.
Then the weight disappears. I roll onto my side, coughing, arms wrapped around my midsection. Theo is pale, eyes wide with horror. “You—” He looks at the doctor, then at me. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“On the contrary,” the doctor says smoothly, adjusting his cuffs. “I believe I did.”
I drag in a breath, lifting myself onto my elbows. “Fuck. You.”
The Doctor sighs again. “Put her in position.”
Hands grab me. I thrash, but I’m weak from the blow, my body still struggling to catch up. The orderlies drag me to my feet, forcing my arms behind me, making me stand rigid and unsteady.
Theo steps back as they shove me into a place in front of him. I hear his breathing. Shallow. Uneven.
The Doctor gestures. “Again.” I keep my feet planted. Another blow lands. This time for my ribs. I bite back the sound that wants to escape, my head swimming. “Again,” the doctor repeats.
Theo looks at me, frantic expression, pleading. “Just . . . Just do it, Eliza.”
