Page 21 of Writhe
But I’ve seen the empty beds—the ones that belonged to girls who used to be here. Girls who didn’t learn fast enough. Girls who fought too hard, or not hard enough.
Rina might be a liar, but she’s not stupid.
A sharp whistle cuts through the garden, signaling the end of our precious hour outside. The moment the sun hits my skin, it’s ripped away, swallowed by the cold sterility of the asylum halls. Orderlies round us up like cattle, their hands firm but uninterested as they herd us through the doors.
Rina walks ahead of me, her hair swinging as she slips easily into her role. She laughs, she flirts, she plays the part she’s chosen. And they let her.
I envy her, just a little.
She’s right. There’s a way to survive here, but I don’t know how to pretend.
The Doctor asks Theo and I to join him in his office for our first session. He says that it would be more beneficial for me to work with just one other person versus a group. So, these sessions are in lieu of group ones. His office is sort of dingy—void of anything personal. The metal desk has meticulously organized papers, a fewmanilla envelopes stacked on top of one another, a legal pad, and a pen cup with four of the same black ball-point pens.
The Doctor scratches something on a notepad, pushing his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. I shift uncomfortably in the plastic cushioned chair—it squeaks.
A collar sits on the table. It’s made of thick black leather with a large metal buckle. In a way, it looks pretty just sitting there. Waiting to be used. I’ve had my fair share of kinky partners, but the thought of collaring? Why does it arouse me? Only slightly, though.
Finally, the doctor looks up from his scribbling. He sighs softly. “So today, we are going to start with something simple. Since you didn’t enjoy my trust exercises. We need to start with something more . . . insightful.”
He eyes the collar, then looks back at me and Theo, who is beside me.
I don’t move. Neither does Theo.
The Doctor leans back in his office chair, legs crossed, the clipboard balanced on one knee. He hasn’t looked at it once—he doesn’t need to.
“Eliza. Come here.”
I don’t.
He gestures to Theo. “Theo . . . you will take that and collar her.” Theo’s eye twitches in the corner, but it’s the biggest reaction I’ve seen from him since we walked in. He looks at me and I see it all right there on his face. The nerves, the shame, the thing in him thatknows this is wrong. But that doesn’t stop his hand from moving.
Slowly, he reaches for the collar. His fingers hesitate over the buckle and he swallows hard. “Eliza. Just?—”
Just comply. Just let it happen.
I shake my head.
The Doctor sighs. “Theo.” This time, there’s no hesitation. He moves. Fast.
The collar is rough against my throat as he fastens it into place, fingers clumsy but get the job done. A sickness slithers through me. He doesn’t want to do this. But that doesn’t mean he hates it. Who are these sick freaks?
The thought makes something in me recoil, a twisted thing curling deep in my ribs. I want to rip the damn thing off, want to spit in the doctor’s face, but Theo is still touching me. His fingertips ghost along my neck, like he’s checking the fit, like he’s making sure it’s not too tight.
Like he’s pretending to be gentle.
“Good,” the doctor says, and I want to tear the word from his throat. “Now, she needs to learn obedience. Make her crawl.”
My stomach twists so violently I think I might be sick.
“What?” Theo tenses.
“Go to the other side of the room and make your pet come to you.”
“Doctor . . . I . . . uh . . .”
“Come on. You need to train your pet.” He looks at me. “Just get on your hands and knees.”
I stare at him and the air in the room shrinks. My breath is too loud in my own ears. My pulse beats hot and angry in my throat—against the collar—like it’s trying to break free. This is ridiculous—degrading. No part of this is therapeutic. My brain wants to tell him to go fuck himself. To rip this leather collar off of my neck and storm out of here. But I can’t.
