I push myself upright, waiting until the floor stops swaying beneath me. My legs tremble, but I stay standing. I make my way to the door, gripping the handle with a flicker of hope.
Locked.
Of course it is.
I try the window next. The bars are thick and rusted into the frame like prison bars in a cell that forgot it was pretending not to be one. There’s no latch, no give. Just cold metal and the faint sound of wind beyond the glass.
No drawers. No wardrobe. No furniture to search.
Just two beds.
Two girls.
And no way out.
I’m about to crawl back onto the mattress when the door clicks open, and a man steps into the doorway.
He’s wearing a black balaclava which is pulled tight—a faceless shadow. Only his eyes are visible, and even they seem hollow. He moves toward me without a word, his footsteps eerily silent on the floor.
“Stay back,” I warn, my voice hoarse and thin. It’s a bluff, and we both know it.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t speak. Just keeps coming until I’m backed into the corner, the wall pressing against my spine with nowhere left to go.
“Take this,” he grunts, holding out a small white tablet in his gloved hand.
I stare at it like it’s poison. Because it might be.
Like hell I’m taking it willingly.
“What is it?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
His eyes narrow beneath the mask. He doesn’t like being questioned.
“It doesn’t fucking matter what it is. Take it. Now.”
I hesitate. My body screams no. My instincts scream louder. I can’t do it.I won’t.
When I don’t move, he snaps.
His hand shoots out, pinching my cheeks together with brutal force. My teeth cut into the inside of my mouth, the tasteof blood blooming across my tongue. I claw at his arms, nails digging into fabric, but he doesn’t flinch.
He shoves the tablet past my lips, jamming it to the back of my throat. Then comes the water—ice cold, poured straight from a bottle, flooding my mouth and nose. I choke, sputter, thrash, but he keeps pouring until I’m forced to swallow or drown.
Then he’s gone. The door slams shut behind him, the echo rattling through the bones of the room. I’m left gasping, water dripping from my chin, the taste of blood and bitterness clinging to the back of my throat.
I stagger to the bed and sit down hard, my limbs already starting to feel… strange. Not heavy exactly—just distant. Like they belong to someone else.
Across the room, the other girl hasn’t moved. She’s still curled into herself, her back to me, her silence louder than anything. I want to speak, to ask if she’s okay, but the words get stuck somewhere between my chest and my mouth.
My heart is still racing, but my body isn’t keeping up. My arms feel warm and loose, like they’ve been unspooled. My legs are jelly. My head starts to float—not in a pleasant way, but like it’s slowly detaching from the rest of me.
The corners of the room blur. The light from the barred window smears across the wall like paint left out in the rain. I blink hard, trying to focus, but my eyelids are suddenly too heavy. My thoughts are slowing down, like someone’s dragging them through syrup.
I try to stand, just to prove I can, but my knees buckle, and I collapse back onto the mattress. The springs groan beneath me, and I let out a shaky breath.
This is it. This is what they wanted.
Not unconscious. Not screaming.
