Shake them.
“Boxers.”
Such an innocuous word. But here. In this room. My forehead breaks out in a cold sweat.
I stick my fingers under the elastic but hesitate.
Don’t show weakness.
I push them down my legs and turn them inside out as instructed before handing my underwear to Officer Berty.
I’m now naked in a room full of strangers.
Stripped bare and hopeless.
“Stretch out your arms. Let me see your palms.”
Officer Berty’s glare stays clinical, but it scorches my skinnonetheless. His gaze sears into my soul and carves gashes into my naked body.
My mind slips somewhere far away while my body obeys his orders. His words become one long, mashed-up sentence. I barely register a thing.
Openyourmouthwidestickoutyourtongueliftupyourtoplippulldownyourbottomlipliftyourarmsintheairbendyourrightearbendyourleftearfingersthroughhair.
“Lift your piece.”
I snap back to full awareness.
He means my dick. Shame burns like gasoline through my veins.
With cold fingers, I follow the order.
“Lift your sack.” This time, I hear disgust in his tone.
I’m sure he wants to be here just as much as I do. But I’d switch positions with him in a heartbeat if it meant I could walk out of this room a free man.
He orders me to turn around.
Lift my right foot.
Lift my left.
Bend over.
“Spread your cheeks.”
I thought I already knew what self-loathing felt like. Thought I knew it intimately. But no feeling will ever compare to this very moment. Nothing will ever match the intensity of my revulsion—my rage.
For myself. For the system that failed me. For the parents that brought me into this miserable life. For the same parents who gave me nothing.
You’re no better than her now.
Just like my mother.
Locked up and worthless.
I pretend there aren’t multiple sets of eyes on me and pin my gaze to the ground as I spread my ass cheeks.
“Cough.”
