Page 37 of Kill Me

“I need an aid if you want me to continuously exercise for an hour. It’s impossible for me. If I do that, I won’t be able to walk for days. My body doesn’t work like everyone else’s.”

“Use the wall.” How original. Not the first time I’ve heard that one.

“What about water? Can I have some?”

“You’ll be given water after your session. Can’t have you skipping the session because you keep needing the bathroom, can we?”

Despite the comfort of knowing I’ve taken my tablets, the withdrawals are kicking my ass. The wet patches littering my shirt have gone from warm to cold, and my head is beginning to pound. Whether that’s from dehydration or lack of medication, I don’t know.

“Come on, get off the bed.”

“I don’t think you understand. I’m trying to.”

“Well, try harder. If you’re late to exercise, you won’t get the full hour, and that will result in a consequence from Richard. Trust me, you don’t want one of those.”

I roll from side to side, trying to grip onto the mattress to pull myself up. Because of the sweat, it’s sticky, so my skin feels like it’s peeling off every time I move. I try to ignore the sting and continue building momentum, but each time I go to pull myself up, my body deflates and pulls back into its original position. I reach up to pull on the rotten windowsill and regret my decision almost immediately when it disintegrates in my fingers, and I fall onto my back with a thud.

“Now you’re just trying to be difficult.”

“I wish I was. Can you help?”

“It’s not worth my job, sorry. Try again.”

I bend my right leg at the knee and pull it underneath my bad leg and use that to push myself up until I’m basically in a variation of the downward dog. I stop to catch my breath. Deep breathes in and out as I count to four with each inhale and exhale. I rock backwards and forwards, eventually pulling myself up onto my knees and repeating the process until I’m standing on my feet.

“See, that wasn’t hard, was it?”

This fucking woman needs her face smashed in with a breeze block.

At this point it’s not even worth arguing. What little fight I have left in me is mine, and I don’t want to waste it on her. I'd like to get out of here alive at some point, and the only way I can see forward is to fall in line and be a good little girl. The benefit of having lived with voices in my head my entire life is I know how to put on a persona. I know how to convince someone I’m one thing while acting a completely different way behind the scenes. Some may call that manipulation; I would call it a survival skill.

And that’s what I intend to do—survive.

I follow Darla in silence. Making note of the directions and using visuals to mark checkpoints for future reference. We walk through the dead garden and round the side of the big house, which, to my surprise, houses a whole other building with an outside exercise area that looks exactly like what you would imagine a prison yard to look like. Wire fences around the sides, barbed wire on top and signs saying that the fences are electric and not to touch. The entirety is covered with overgrown trees to ensure none of this can be seen from the outside.

There are exercise machines across the yard, like treadmills and bikes, loose dumbbells and static weight machines. Exercising outside would be a healthy me's dream, but for this version of me, it sounds like hell.

Darla unlocks the gate and gestures for me to walk inside. There are other residents inside the building, which looks like a dance studio. Music is playing through speakers, but it’s not your standard everyday music with lyrics; it’s just the music. Like a repetitive standard beat that I can already feel driving me insane.

“Do I need to show you how to use the machines? Or are you capable of figuring it out for yourself?”

“I can do it myself. Can I just walk around instead of using the machines?”

“You can walk around as a warm-up and a cool-down, but other than that your exercise must consist of weights, or the treadmill or bike.”

“But what about those people?” I point through the door into the building.

“They’re members of Moriati house. They have added privileges which give them access to a bigger catalogue of exercise options. Be on your best behaviour, and you never know when you might be rewarded with an upgrade. I’ll be back to get you for your appointment, Quinn.”

She walks back through the gate before turning to me and smirking.

“Oh, and Quinn?”

“Yeah?”

“Smile, you’re on candid camera.” She points to a hidden camera in the trees and laughs as she walks back towards the big house, leaving me to fend for myself.

I take in my surroundings and the people here, noting some recognisable faces from breakfast on the weight machines. Over on the treadmill is the girl I sat next to. Feeling a little bit more settled with a familiar face, I walk over to the treadmill next to her.