Page 67 of Juniper Unraveling

Dani

My body jostles with movement, breaking me from dreams, and I open my eyes to the gray wall before me. As I snap my head back, a jolt of panic climbs my spine when I find Doctor Falkenrath at the side of my bed, the light from the lab filtering in.

“You slept through the morning horn. Is everything all right?”

The dryness in my throat feels like a thick sock, as I try to swallow and sit up in bed. “Yes, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear it.”

“I’ll be waiting in the surgical suite. Get dressed. There’s a new subject waiting there, and I’d like you to document him.”

With a nod, I slide my legs over the edge of the bed and wait for him to exit. Once he’s gone, I slip into the bathroom to relieve myself, and clutch my stomach as I sit on the toilet seat. Peering down into the bowl, I notice a red tinge in my urine and wipe to find bright red blood streaked across the paper. I didn’t yet have my menstrual cycle, but I was familiar with my mother’s, as I often had to rub her lower back to relieve pain. It’s possible I’ve begun, or it could be the result of Ivan’s torment.

Multiple times a week, for the last two months, I’ve been ordered to meet Ivan after lights out in the S block building. Our trysts are usually short and rough, and the night before he was particularly cruel. I could smell the liquor on his breath, the bitter scent of whiskey that Doctor F keeps in his office. There are times when he inserts objects for his own amusement, but the night before, he opted for the baton at his hip, pushing the ribbed handle up inside of me. I’m certain that’s the cause of the blood.

I dread our meetings, even the times when Ivan brings me gifts of food and pretends to be nice. The night before, he told me he’s developed feelings for me, and that if I ever leave him, he’ll hunt me down and feed me alive to Ragers. I don’t honestly believe he has feelings, to have developed them for me. Ivan’s spent far too much time as a soldier, living among men, and I’m nothing but a nugget of entertainment. A vessel that he can use to release his pent up frustration.

While I hate being an object of obsession for him, it’s served to keep me alive.

I make my way into the surgical suite, but pause the moment I open the door. The stench that hits my face is unbearable, striking my stomach, and the tickle that rises into my chest sends me rushing back into the anteroom, with Doctor Falkenrath calling after me.

I just make it to the wastebasket, expelling what little broth I ate the day before. Over and over, I heave the contents of my stomach, until only the acid burn of bile is left, and I catch my breath.

Doctor Falkenrath steps inside the room, having already removed his suit. “You’re ill.”

“I’ll be okay. It’s just … that smell. What is it?”

“It’s nothing you haven’t smelled before. Perhaps you need to eat. You missed breakfast.”

“No. I’m not hungry.”

“Come with me, Dani.” He leads me into the lab and gestures for me to have a seat at the table there. After rifling through cabinets, he returns with a needle and tourniquet, as well as a red-top tube.

My stomach twists when he dons a pair of gloves and opens the alcohol packet, wiping down my arm in circles. I’m familiar with this routine, which usually takes place at the end of the day, to check for any progression of Dredge. “Doctor, I’m certain it’s just something I ate.” I won’t tell him about Ivan and risk the retaliation. Ivan has made it clear to me every night that, if I say a word, he’ll have me and Doctor Falkenrath punished. I’ve also come to learn that Ivan’s father holds a higher position than Doctor Falkenrath, so he certainly has the power to do that.

Ignoring my comment, he wraps the tourniquet around my arm, and I have to look away.

“Have you menstruated yet?”

The question sends a shot of warmth to my cheeks, and I shift in the seat. “No.”

A sharp sting hits the crook of my elbow, creating a tickle in my gut that threatens another round of vomit. I choke it back, as a minute later, he withdrawals the needle, holding a small square of gauze at the puncture.

“What is this for?”

“Ordinarily, we keep HCG tests as tumor markers. High levels of HCG in males indicates the presence of cancer.”

Eyes wide, I watch him secure a Band-Aid over the cotton ball he’s replaced for the gauze. “I doubt I have cancer.”

“In females, high levels of HCG indicates pregnancy.”

My mouth goes slack, and I can’t spit out the words as I watch him pulse the tube in the tabletop machine that agitates the liquid.

“I … I don’t know what you mean.”

“At the officer’s table during lunch last week, I overheard Ivan bragging about a girl. One who seemed … agreeable to what I consider some rather sadistic forms of entertainment.”

“He … promised. He said he wouldn’t …”

“Exhaustion. Lack of appetite. Vomiting.” He sets an object to my temple, and after about fifteen seconds, it beeps. “No fever.”