Page 34 of Writhe
And what’s worse is I’m not even sure if I completely hated it. The truth is I liked being manhandled—treated like I was nothing more than a doll to be thrown around. I came on the doctor’s dick multiple times. But I still cried. I still wanted him to stop. I wanted Theo—I wanted Theo to experience this with me. But he looked at me like I was shattering pieces all over the floor. And maybe I was. Maybe it’s the medicine that allows me to accept what happened to me. It’s not like there’s any other choice. Accept what happens and move on. Hope it doesn’t add to another fucking illness to add to my ever-growing roster.
The Doctor promised to cure me, but all he’s done is teach me how to crave the sickness. The sickness?
His fucking dick.
“Did you hear?” Isla tries again, flicking a torn piece of polish onto the table. “Some girls on the third floor bit a chunk out of one of the orderlies’ faces. Straight-up ripped it out with her teeth.”
Tobias lets out a breathy, amused chuckle. “Heh. Nice.”
I barely register their words. I’m still watching Theo.
I don’t know what I expected. Maybe I thought he’d be proud of himself—smug. Maybe I thought he’d look at the way the others do after they’ve done something to me. Satisfied. Triumphant. But he looks hollow. Like something inside him has rotted away.
I lean back in my chair, folding my arms across my chest, letting the silence stretch. Letting it choke him.
“You’re being weird,” Isla mutters, leaning in slightly. “Weirder than usual.”
I finally shifted my gaze to her. “And?”
She blinks, then shrugs, uninterested. “Nothing. Just an observation.”
Tobias places a single card face-up on the table. The Queen of Hearts. He isn’t playing cards with either Isla or me, and I’m not entirely sure he’s playing with himself. He just keeps shuffling the cards and randomly picking one out of his stack.
I stare at it. Something about it makes my stomach turn. I push back from the table, standing abruptly. Mybody protests—my legs are weak—but I don’t sit back down.
I turn away from the table, but I don’t look at Theo again—I won’t give him that satisfaction. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want him to look at me like I’m something broken. Not that he would even look at me at all. Instead, I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, on the tile beneath me, on the distant hum of the overhead lights. I just need to keep moving.
The walls press in as I make my way toward the far side of the room. There’s a window near the exit—barred, smeared with grime, but still, a window. I don’t know what I expect to see beyond it. Maybe I just want to remind myself that a world exists outside of this place.
I barely register the sound of footsteps behind me until a voice cuts through the static in my head.
“You’re different.”
I freeze.
Clint is standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his bony chest. He’s another swirly thing, his fiery red hair can’t decide which way it wants to lay on top of his head so most if it just decides to be vertical. He cocks his head, studying me like a puzzle missing a piece.
I don’t answer.
“I mean, you were always fucked up.” He shrugs. “But now you look . . . I don’t know. Like someone gutted you and didn’t bother sewing you back up.”
A laugh sticks in my throat like a shard of glass. If only you knew. “You sure do know how to complimenta woman. Tell me, Clint, did you get a lot of pussy on the outside?”
I turn away, but he steps closer. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can hear his breath, smell the stale cigarettes clinging to his clothes. “I’d ask what happened,” he muses, “but I think I already know.”
My jaw clenches.
“Was it him?”
That makes me snap.
I whirl on him, “Shut up.”
He doesn’t flinch. “It’s funny,” he continues, unbothered. “I’ve been here the longest and didn’t picture you for one of his ‘pets.’”
Something ugly twists in my chest. I don’t want to hear this—I don’t want the truth to be put into words. Knowing that I am not special to the doctor brings a pang of jealousy to me, and I hate that. I hate myself for feeling that way.
“You don’t know anything,” I hiss.
