Page 47 of Wicked Elites

My pulse pounded in my ears. Where was Ashley? Uncle Trevor? Then my mind refocused on her question. “I didn’t drink.”

“What do you remember about last night?” asked the consultant.

My throat convulsed. “Some girls from school dragged me out of bed.”

“Girls?” asked the young doctor on the left. She was blonde and reminded me somewhat of Geraldine.

“Yes. From the Brittas Academy,” I replied.

The doctor on the right stood in front of a laptop that rested on a high trolley. “Are you sure?”

I nodded and stared down at my lap. My memories of last night were still hazy, but there hadn’t been any boys. “I only saw girls before I passed out.”

“Do you think you’ll be able to give a statement to the police?”

My head snapped up. “What happened? Did I do something wrong?”

“Your wounds are consistent with assault, and we found…” the consultant’s voice trailed off.

The pounding in my ears intensified to a roar. What happened? I couldn’t remember anything from the moment they clamped their hands over my mouth and nose.

“Please, tell me,” I rasped.

“Are you sure there wasn’t a boy or a man?” asked the doctor on the right.

Nausea raced through my insides. I couldn’t understand why they drew it out. A terrible, intimate ache pushed itself through the cacophony of pain to the forefront of my awareness.

My virginity.

I gasped out a sob. Possibilities raced through my frantic mind. The queens had brought one or more boys to win that disgusting bet while I had been passed out.

Or they’d left me in that field, and a strange man had—I closed my eyes. No.

My hands curled in the sheets, and I whispered, “Why do you think a man was involved?”

“We removed mud and raw pork ribs from your rectum and vagina.”

Every ounce of blood drained from my face, and I clapped my hand over my mouth. “What?”

“It’s not the first time we’ve found a girl in this state,” the consultant said.

“Who was the other girl?”

“I’m afraid that information is confidential.”

Silence stretched out, and I didn’t dare to raise my head. Salmonella, listeria, staphylococcus, enterococcus, yersinia… I shook my head. Roundworm, tapeworm, the list of hazards from uncooked pork whirled around my mind. Tears gathered in my eyes, blurring my vision.

How could the girls hate me enough to stuff raw meat in the most intimate of places?

Ashley must have been there while they had done it. Had she stood aside, watching impassively the way she did whenever someone insulted me, or had she laughed as she had done when the queens told them Sebastian had played the pull-a-pig game?

I blinked, and two fat tears splattered on the hospital sheet.

“What can you tell us about last night?” asked one of the younger doctors. “Did you ingest anything else?”

I shook my head. “They held me down, pinched my nose, and clamped a hand over my mouth until I passed out. That’s when they must have forced alcohol down my throat. Someone made a joke about foie gras, so they must have used a funnel.”

“They?”