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Awake. It's pumping into me. Awake. Not from sleep. From unconsciousness. There's a difference. I open my eyes. Bright. Squint. No. Open them. Same room. White tiles. Metal table. Metal gurney. White chair. And me. Held. The headband cuts into my forehead as I twist. Bastards. One band. And across my shoulders. Pinned. I flex my feet. Strapped. The one at my left wrist is tighter. They all are. But this one? I wriggle my fingers. Fucking pins and needles. Great. Why not add blood circulation to the torture list?

I wait. /Drip/. /Drip/. They never turn the hose all the way closed. /Drip/. Fucking shut up. Shut up. Shut up. Let me wait out my treatment in peace.

It hurts. I wriggle. Hurts more. Stop. Fuck it. Shift. No, stop. /Drip/. Fucking stop. It's almost as bad as his screams. They go on and on. And on. Constant. I join in sometimes. Let him know I'm here. We're in this together, me and him. Fucking collateral. Fuck them all.

I'm still not telling their secrets. I'd be dead before I can get myself out of here if I did.

They come in. White. Faceless. Gloved. I taste latex as fingers shove into my mouth and yank. Out comes the tube. I cough. Retch. Vomit. It's on me. On them. Aimed right. Let them taste it. I laugh. Hollow. Thin. Scratched. No time for words before they shove it in. Tie it tight. My teeth clamp down. Choke. Swallow. Silenced.
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Johanna Mason

March 2026

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