Page 20 of Writhe
“Please,” he gasps. “Please, I have to go.”
Eliza stiffens, her grip on the book tightens. One of the orderlies, a thick-necked man with a permanent sneer, leans down, resting a heavy hand on the patient’s trembling shoulder.
“What’s that?” he mocks. “You gotta take a piss?”
The patient jerks his head in a frantic nod. “Please, I?—”
A slap, hard and sudden, rocking his head to the side. He whimpers, blood pooling at the corner of his mouth. Rina winces but doesn’t look away—no one does. This is the kind of place where looking away is worse. It marks you as weak. Asnext.
The orderlies laugh. One of them, a woman—tall and gaunt, with eyes like a bird of prey—crosses her arms, smirking. “Then go.”
The patient freezes. “What?”
“Go,” she repeats, feigning innocence. “Ain’t stoppin’ you.”
His gaze flicks downward to the straps holding him in place. His throat bobs. “Please,” he tries again,quieter now—thick with the weight of realization. “I just. I just need?—”
A hand fists in his hair, yanking his head back. “You think this is a hotel?” The inevitable comes slowly, but it comes. The dark stain spreads, pooling beneath him, the acrid scent of piss filling the room. The orderlies howl with laughter and the woman takes a dramatic step back. “Jesus, that’s disgusting.”
“Poor bastard,” another snickers. “Guess he really had to go.”
Thick-Neck slaps the man’s damp cheek, wiping his hand off on his shirt with exaggerated disgust. “Clean yourself up.” More laughter. More mocking. The patient doesn’t respond, doesn’t fight. Doesn’t move. He’s already gone somewhere else.
Eliza makes a small sound, barely audible, but I hear it. I see the way her jaw clenches, the way her fingers twitch against the pages. She wants to move, to do something. But she won’t—-she knows better.
Rina exhales sharply, looking away. “Fucking assholes.”
Eliza says nothing, just stares down at her book—eyes burning holes through the pages—until the orderlies get bored and leave, still laughing. The air is thick with the stink of piss and humiliation.
The patient doesn’t move. Then, slow and shaking, he lifts his head. His eyes sweep across the room, searching, pleading. They land on Eliza and she flinches. A tiny movement—barely there—but he sees it.Isee it. She curls in on herself, shoulders hunching like she can disappear completely. Like if she ignores him—ignores all of it—it’ll go away. It won’t. It never does.
The sun presses warm against my skin—a rare comfort in this place. I tilt my face toward it, letting the light seep into me, trying to hold on to the feeling, trying to make it last. They allow us an hour out here a week to sit in the gardens. Some patients play with a ball, tossing and catching. The grass is freshly cut, the fresh smell bringing me back home—to my childhood. Next to me, Rina talks without stopping, her voice spilling over itself in frantic waves.
“It was beautiful,” she says, eyes bright with the memory—or the lie. “White sand, water so clear you could see straight to the bottom. We stayed in this resort with these huge balconies. You would’ve loved it.”
I hum noncommittally. I don’t know if it’strue—I don’t know ifanyof her stories are true. Rina is a habitual liar. A storyteller. A girl who spins worlds out of words because the real one has been cruel to her. The more she seeks me out, the more I have found comfort in her presence. Even if it’s persistent in nature.
An orderly passes by, a redheaded, freckled little thing, but he must go to the gym because he’s built well. He winks at Rina and I watch her. She smirks, tilting her chin up slightly in acknowledgment, but doesn’t stop talking. When he’s gone, I say, “You’re sleeping with him.”
She grins. “Jealous?”
“No. Just wondering what you get out of it.” This isn’t the first time Rina has slept with an orderly to get her way. At least this one is halfway decent looking.
Rina stretches her arms overhead, tilting her body like a cat in the sun. “A little of this, a little of that.”
I stare.
She laughs. “Fine. You want details? He gives me cigarettes, extra desserts, some extra privileges, and one day, he’s going to get me out of here.”
“Oh? He told you that?”
“Mm-hmm. He said he’s going to marry me—take me away from all this bullshit. We’ll have a little house somewhere warm. Maybe even go back to that island I told you about.”
“You really believe that?”
“Believe it? What choice do I have? You either play the game or you get crushed. Do you think they let people out of here just because they’re better? No. Theylet out the ones who know how to make themselves . . . useful.”
I wish I could say she was lying.
