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“That’s it,” the same voice says. “You’re doing fine. Just relax.”
Relax? How can I relax when I’m strapped to something in the dark? When I don’t know where I am or who I’m with?
The whirring noise starts to fade and then there’s silence. Only, my ears are ringing.
Then, a blinding light floods the space. I squeeze my eyes shut, but the brightness seeps through my eyelids. Footsteps approach, and then the voice speaks again.
“Welcome home, little sis,” the voice says. “Won’t be long now. We just need to take care of that tracker first.”
My heart rate triples, beating so fast I’m convinced it’s going to tear itself right from my chest as terror and something close to hysteria bubbles up from my chest.
No! Not the chip! They won’t find me if it’s removed. My psychos won’t know where to look for me.
“Kayla, relax,” a soothing voice says, a warm, comforting hand rests on top of mine and squeezes gently. I know that voice. It’s female.
“D-doctor?” My speech is slurred, clumsy. I don’t feel right.
“Yes, Kayla. It’s me. We did it. We got you off the island. You’re safe now. Just one small procedure to remove your chip and you can be free of the asylum.”
“N-no…n-need…”
“What’s wrong with her?” The doctor asks sharply. I don’t know who she’s talking to, she’s never spoken to me like that before.
A deep, masculine voice responds, “She’s been heavily sedated for the trip. Her mind is clouded and confused right now.”
The doctor lets out a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s good. So long as you used the drugs I prescribed. We can’t risk anything happening to the baby. Let’s get started then.”
The cold metal of a surgical instrument brushes against my neck. I thrash and try to scream, but my weakened body is no match for the restraints.
“Hold her still,” the doctor orders, sounding a lot less comforting and reassuring.
Hands grab onto my limbs, pinning me down, and the restraints around my body are loosened.
Rather than being able to make a break for freedom, rough hands flip me over and slam me face down onto a cold metal table.
Holy shit. Is that an operating table?
The restraints are replaced, tighter than before and I can’t move a muscle.
Tears stream down my face as the instrument digs into my flesh. A sharp pain shoots through my neck, and then everything goes numb. I’m awake. But not. Present. But so far away. Sounds seem to be coming from underwater, and echoes of my past, or my childhood, ring in my ears. I don’t want to get lost, trapped in those hellish memories.
I watch with cool detachment as medical instruments – a lethal looking scalpel and wicked long nose pliers – pass before my face into gloved hands.
There's pressure, then release, and hot liquid runs from the back of my neck, down to my shoulders and chest, dripping onto the table. It’s an alien sensation, like wearing gloves in hot water. I think it’s my blood, but I can’t move to see.
Even though I’m petrified, my heart beats steadily. A machine counting out the beats, tormenting me with its calmness.
I’m not calm! I’m not steady. I’m raging on the inside, absolutely convinced that I’ve fucked up. I put my trust in the wrong person, and I’ve exchanged one prison for another. Only this time I don’t have the love of six psychos to keep me strong.
That’s when it hits me.
I love them.
And I’m sure they care for me too. Maybe even love me, if they’re capable.
But my love for them is irrefutable.
More tears seep from my eyes, but they’re not just tears of fear. They’re tears of regret, of longing, of despair. I think about the psychos and how they must be feeling right now. Do they know I’m gone? Do they miss me? Do they even care? I think they would.
