Page 28 of Writhe
Because they forgot the most important rule: You can’t fix what isn’t broken.
Now I’m on my knees, scrubbing someone else’s blood from the floor, waiting for a man in a white coat to tell me what I am.
Session in ten minutes.
I should be thinking about that. About the doctor. About Theo. But instead, I’m thinking about how soap here doesn’t lather right—it's thin and waxy, barely doing its job. I scrub anyway, because I have to. Because the doctor said so.
Freshly showered. His words, not mine.
As if I could be made clean. As if all the filth is justsitting on the surface, waiting to be rinsed down the drain.
I scrape my nails against my skin, pressing hard enough to sting. It’s not like they give us razors here. Nothing sharp, nothing dangerous. Though that doesn’t stop people from finding creative ways to bleed.
Like the girl from earlier. She sat across from me at breakfast and she had this look. That glassy, hollow stare. The kind that says,I’m already dead.My body just hasn’t caught up yet. I should’ve known. And maybe I did.
Because when I found her in the showers, slumped against the tile, her wrists a mess of jagged, bloody ribbons, I wasn’t shocked. I wasn’t even horrified. I just stood there, watching the red curl down the drain, hypnotized. I rinse off my arms, staring at the last traces of her blood swirling at my feet.
What am I feeling right now? Envy? Jealousy?
I exhale.Get a grip, Eliza.
I finish scrubbing and shut off the water, standing there, dripping, watching my reflection in the polished metal above the sinks. I wrap myself in a thin, scratchy towel, but it doesn’t do much to warm me. My fingers tighten around the towel. What does the doctor want?
Control.
Obedience.
Submission.
My stomach twists. I shouldn’t care, but my body does. I press a hand to my chest, my fingers splayed over my racing pulse. It shouldn’t thrill me—thethought of what he’ll do next. Of what he’ll take. Of how much of me will be left when he’s done.
It shouldn’t.
And yet.
A breath shudders out of me, shaky and thin.
I lean closer to the mirror, taking myself in. I see the same face I’ve always had, but it’s somehow different. My lips are fuller, parted, my pupils blown wide. I look like prey, or something worse. Something that wants to be caught. The realization burns, shame crawling up my throat like a bile. I rip my towel off and yank open my locker, my movements sharp, angry, desperate.
Get dressed. Go to the session. Don’t think about it. Simple. Except nothing is simple anymore. Because when I close my eyes, I still feel his hands, and I don’t know if I want to run.
Or if I want to kneel.
Ishould leave. Deny therapy. Make a noose and lights out. It would be much less humiliating than what I am going to be subjected to in that Doctor’s office. After showering, I returned to my room to find a small black shopping bag. Inside was an outfit—or what was left of one—and a note:
Wear this to your next session.
It took me over fifteen minutes to figure out how to put on the damn contraption. It’s a harness of some sort but only made out of leather straps. A collar, similar to the one from the last session, is already fixated on a suit with a singular hook for aleash to be fastened to. It’s a perfect fit—it must have been handmade. I have put on my fair share of lingerie to know the difference. I don’t come from money, but my fiancé did, and he would make sure I had the nicest outfits to play in.
I wave my pass that allows me access to the office to the guard and he lets me enter the hallway where all the doctor offices are. I count the doors until I reach the fourth one on the left and I slowly twist the handle and slide inside.
The door clicks shut behind me.
The Doctor tips his glass of whiskey toward me, swirling the amber liquid like he has all the time in the world. His lips curl at the edges, a lazy, amused smirk. “Hello, Eliza. How are you this evening?”
I swallow hard, shifting in my sweats, the leather biting into my ass cheeks.
“Look at her, Theo—already trembling. Like a rabbit who knows it’s about to be skinned.”
