The showers are set on timers. Two minutes, and the water stops. Normally, we would be forced to wash in those two minutes and be done, but I don’t think I’m capable of that any more. Movement is difficult, anyway, let alone the motions of washing my hair and body. I have the feeling that I’m not being rushed, though, that I can push the button as many times as I want.
The first blast of the shower is cold as ice, stealing my breath from me. It warms up quickly, steam rising from the water as it turns my fragile skin red. I close my eyes and just stand under the spray, unsure of how often I will be afforded this luxury. When the button clicks and the water cuts off, I press it again. There’s no complaint from the doctor behind me.
I grab the soap and do my best to wash my body in hard motions, scrubbing the dirt from my skin. I wince internally when my fingers run over the sheer number of bones sticking from my body, the unnatural shapes that shouldn’t be there. This is not how I ever imagined myself. This is not what I dreamed of.
Washing my hair is trickier. No matter how hard I try, my hands won’t scrub the locks, won’t work the shampoo in, and my frustration gets the better of me. I end up flinging the bottle of shampoo across the floor, furious at the direction my life has gone. Shampoo drips into my eyes, but I don’t wipe it away. I can’t even though they burn.
“I can help,” the doctor speaks, coming to stand behind me. “If you want.”
I don’t answer, but he doesn’t wait for me. He comes into the shower with me, fully clothed, and begins to work his fingers through my hair. Slowly, gently, he begins to work the lather until he’s reached every inch. He doesn’t comment when his fingers touch the scars on my scalp; he doesn’t flinch or hesitate. He moves through the motions, and there’s nothing sexual about it. For the first time, I feel like a human being.
When he turns me around, my eyes meet his, and I would have been speechless if I wasn’t already robbed of my ability to speak. The water has plastered his clothing to his body, until I can see the well-defined muscles underneath. His hair hangs over his forehead, giving him a roguish appearance. There’s no lust in his eyes, no ill-intentions. He’s not asking for anything in return for his kindness, not yet, and his care makes my heart throb. Where did this man come from?
“Bla . . .” I attempt to say his name, the one he gave me, but he shakes his head, a small smile pulling at his lips.
“You can call me Jab, Alice. If it’s easier.”
I test the word in my mind, before attempting with my lips. “Jab.” It comes easy, surprisingly, and I stare at the satisfied smile on his face. All these pretty words with a pretty face. When will the ugly part start?
His fingers touch my chin and encourage me to tilt my head back, until he’s rinsing the suds from my hair, the water running murky with the grime sent free. Then he steps away and allows me to stand in the hot shower for as long as I want. He never once touches me without permission. He never once rushes me to get out of the shower. And when I’m done, he hands me a towel before drying my hair with another one.
For the first time in years, I cry.
Chapter 11
Aged Thirty-Three
My body is filling out with the constant barrage of food and care Jab provides. My hip bones no longer stick through my skin, my ribs are harder to count. I still feel weak, the weight not helping in that aspect, but at least I don’t look like a skeleton anymore. Small mercies.
Jab tries every day to get me to speak, and he’s more successful than any other doctor who has been through these doors. There’s something about him so persuasive, that I find myself doing whatever he asks of me, though he doesn’t ask much. It’s nice to feel cared for. I haven’t felt this way in so long, I’m not even sure I truly recognize my emotions, but I find myself fixating on the man, hoping that he will be the one to free me.
“Visualise the words you want to say, Alice.” Jab doesn’t strap me down to the metal chair in his office. He doesn’t sit behind a desk and stare at me. Instead, I’m laying on a brown couch, softer than anything I’ve felt, even though the material scratches at my skin. Jab sits close, in the metal chair I could never move. He dragged it across the room as if it weighed hardly anything before plopping it down in front of me.
I close my eyes and think hard about the words I want to say. My name is Alice. It’s been so long since I’ve said them, since I claimed the name. I don’t feel like myself anymore, and the name feels foreign even in my mind, but Jab calls me by that name. I like the way he says it.
“My . . . na—”
“Good. Focus. Force your lips to overcome your predicament. You are not what they made you. You are what you make of yourself.”
“My . . . name is . . .” I grunt, focusing so hard I feel my veins bulging from my forehead, “Alice.”
The words are stunted, harsh, but I still manage to get them from my lips, far more progress than I’ve ever made. I try to smile at Jab, at his excitement, but I can feel the unnatural pull on my face. Instead of something sweet, it comes across creepy and sad. Mentally, I sigh. Why does he even continue to push me? Why does he take care of me? I can’t even smile correctly any more. A man like him would never be interested in something as damaged as I am.
“That was good, Alice. Very good.” Jab trails his eyes over me, not in any way sexual. “You’re gaining more weight. That’s very good, too. I think you’re ready.”
“R-ready . . . for?”
Jab smiles and leans forward, touching his hand to the scarred skin of my wrists. The moment he touches me, I feel a jolt in my body, and it feels as if my chest opens, like I can breathe for a moment. What was that?
“The next step.” Jab releases my hand, and the feeling fades, but something stays behind. I feel just a little bit less weak, just a little bit better. It’s not enough to change anything, but, perhaps, I can sleep tonight. “We won’t proceed until tomorrow. Tonight, you should rest.”
He touches the button on the desk that let’s the orderlies know that they can come in. The door opens, and I flinch, Jab’s eyes immediately catching the motion. Roger is one of the newer orderlies, but he was here before Jab by a few weeks. He’s in his late thirties, prematurely balding, but he combs his hair over in an attempt to cover up the evidence. His black eyes catch on me, and I can see his intent there. Jab isn’t the only one pleased with my weight gain. Roger has taken liberties with me before, but since Jab arrived, they’ve been held to a minimum. Now, I know I won’t be allowed to go any longer. I whimper when he steps into the room and push myself into the couch.
Jab doesn’t say a word as Roger steps over to me. He just turns and closes the door behind Roger, sealing us all in.
Roger stares at Jab in confusion. “I’m sorry, Doctor Blatherskite. I thought I saw the button flash.”
“It did, boy.” Jab’s face is stoic, no emotion. But his eyes? “I called you in here to take Alice back to her room. Do you want to tell me why she’s terrified at the sight of you?”
Roger shrugs. “No idea. They all are. It’s pretty normal with the crazy bastards. They fear the control.”
I want to snarl at his answer, to disagree, but my lips won’t work. I can’t focus enough to force them out.
Jab’s eyes meet mine, and I see a sickening yellow color swirl in their depths. My jaw clenches. Real or imagined? I’m never quite sure anymore.
“I don’t think that’s it at all.” Jab takes a step forward, and Roger backs up, wary of the look in Jab’s eyes. I recognize the intention there, can see the anger swirling in his gaze. The problem is, I don’t know what Jab is angry about. “Have you been touching these patients against their will?” Jab’s voice is calm, calculated. “Have you touched Alice against her will?”
Roger frowns, but he doesn’t deny it. “All the orderlies do. We’re instructed that it helps keep the patients in line, doctor.”
True fury morphs Jab’s face into a gruesome mask, and Roger stumbles back, tripping over the foot of t
he metal chair. It doesn’t move even though he pushes against it. Jab reaches out lightning quick and grabs a fistful of Roger’s shirt, pulling him close.
“Why is she afraid of you, boy?” he snarls. “You didn’t just touch her.”
“I didn’t do anything,” Roger whimpers. “She asked for it.”
And then the air in the room freezes. It’s as if we walk into a void, how it feels right after a blizzard. It’s so quiet, I can’t hear anything but the frantic heartbeat inside Roger’s chest. Everything slowly begins to move again, a smile curling Jab’s lips.
“Well, then, if she asked for it, I suppose it’s alright then.” Jab lets go of Roger’s shirt, and I tense. I never asked for any of this. I never asked for him to touch me, to torture me, to defile me. I never asked for any of it. Jab gestures to the door. “Allow me to speak to Alice alone.”
I watch, angry but unable to do anything. I’m still too weak. But Roger never makes it to the door. The moment he steps past Jab, the doctor reaches out and shoves him hard. Roger hits the floor with a thump, sprawling out on the rough, threadbare carpet. Jab drops and presses his knee into his back, holding him down as he begins to scream. Jab meets my eyes as he reaches down and grabs Roger’s left leg. He doesn’t look away as a loud crack rents the room, echoing in the small confines. I grimace as the orderly’s screams grow shrill. Jab doesn’t stop. He drops the useless limb to the floor, no mercy at all in his gaze as he reaches down and grabs his right leg, the good one.
“Alice never asked you to rape her,” Jab snarls. “And I never asked if you wanted to die. But here we are.”
Crack. I watch, enraptured, as the second leg falls to the floor, twisted at an odd angle, as Roger violently sobs into the carpet, begging, pleading for the mercy he never showed me.
“Come here, Alice.” Jab holds out his hand for me to join him where he crouches on the floor, his knee still pressed into Roger’s back. I hesitate. “Come on. It’s okay. I won’t let him harm you.”
Slowly, I unfold myself from the couch and stand on unsteady legs. I shuffle forward, closer to the sobbing man and the doctor. That yellow sheen jumps across Jab’s eyes again, and I know I didn’t imagine it that time. Still, I slip my shaking hand into his steady one. I let him tug me down to my knees beside him.
“Are you angry, Alice?” I nod my head. “How many times have you wanted to hurt this man?”
I stare into Jab’s eyes. Too many times to count. I can’t get the words out, but Jab can see them in my eyes. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small knife, flipping it open so easily, I’m envious. He gently sets it in my palm and curls my fingers around the handle.
“Then hurt him.”
My eyes widen as I look down at Roger, sprawled out on the floor, incapable of escaping. Even if I let him go now, he will never have a life again. It’s almost poetic justice, to have him live the rest of his life as a cripple, much the same as I have been forced to do. But it isn’t enough. I’m not the only one he’s touched. Roger is notorious for abusing the patients, some more than others. I even heard the other orderlies talking about how he brutalizes the male patients, too. He doesn’t deserve any sort of mercy.
But I’ve never killed like this, not with the person helpless beneath me. It’s always been in self-defense. Roger isn’t hurting me at this moment, but he has hurt me far too much to get away with it. My fingers clench harder around the handle, but still I don’t bring the knife down.
Jab curls his hand around mine, steadying the shaking. His eyes meet mine. “Make him pay, Alice. He doesn’t deserve the mercy he never showed you.”
“I-I . . . cannot.”
“You can. You’re stronger than you think.” He pauses, his eyes softening the slightest bit. “Let me help you.”
Without waiting for my answer, Jab brings our joined hands down onto Roger’s back, a strangled, wet scream wrenching from the man’s mouth. The blade slides into his skin like butter, blood welling out instantly from the wound to coat our hands. I don’t get a second to register what I’ve done before Jab pulls the knife and my hand away and brings them down again. The sight of the blood excites me in a way I never expected, and the next time the knife comes down, it’s by my hand alone. Roger’s screams fade away as I stab and stab and stab, blood splattering the white pants and top I wear, staining it, until I’m covered in red. Jab doesn’t stop me as I continue the attack long after Roger stops breathing. He watches, a small smile on his face, sitting on the floor cross-legged as if he doesn’t have a care in the world. Small spots of blood dot his normally pristine clothing, too, but he doesn’t seem to care.
The smile drives my madness forward, and I tire of the body beneath me. I turn without warning and go for Jab, even after all the kindness he’s shown me, even after letting me kill my rapist, I turn the knife on him. I spring forward, but the smile on his face only grows. Jab grabs my wrist easily, holding me back from stabbing him, from brutalizing him. No matter how hard I try, I can’t move the knife any closer to his jugular like I want.
“So beautiful,” Jab whispers, studying my face coated with blood splatters, the savageness I’m sure that shows in my eyes. “So blood-thirsty.”
I want to make you bleed, I think. If only I could move the knife forward.
“Will it make you feel better?” His other hand reaches up to cup my jaw, his fingers tracing patterns in the blood there. “How badly do you want to see me bleed, Alice?”
So badly. I ache with the urge, my body humming with adrenaline. I feel stronger than I have in a while, and I want to take advantage of it. Suddenly, Jab lets go of my wrist, and I fall forward, the knife sinking into his shoulder rather than his neck. He grunts in pain as it slices through muscle, his eyes flashing bright yellow. Panic fills me. I just stabbed the only person willing to help me escape. I just ruined my chances.
“I’m . . . s-sorry,” I force out, staring at the knife protruding from his shoulder. A tear leaks from my eyes.
“Don’t be,” he whispers, his fingers still cupping my jaw. “Apologies are for the weak, Alice. And you are strong.” Then he brings my face forward and presses his lips against mine. I freeze beneath the onslaught, my first instinct to fight, but it’s overshadowed by the desire that crashes through my body. I’ve never felt like this, never felt truly wanted. Another tear falls as my lips begin to move against his.
Jab takes me back to my room himself. When I step inside the padded prison, there’s a cot with a pillow and blanket for the first time since I came to this place.
The pillow catches my tears.
Jab doesn’t come to my room again for two days, even though he said we were moving on before. I start to worry that whatever happened in the office got him fired, or worse, that he decided I’m no longer worth his time. I’ve replayed that kiss a thousand times in the past two days. Each time, I imagine something different.
Sometimes, Jab shoves me away in disgust. Others, he pulls me closer, and we go much further than a mere touching of lips. I drive myself crazy with the thoughts.
Even though Jab doesn’t come for me in those days, the food arrives like clockwork. The second day, there’s cake with the meatloaf, and I take it for the apology it is. It’s been so long since I’ve had dessert. The first bite is decadent, almost too sweet, but I don’t push away the chocolate treat. I shove more in my mouth, until I feel as if I might faint from the sugar rush.
Oh, how I’ve missed cake.
On the third day, I’m sitting in my room, staring at the notepad in front of me. Jab had given me a notepad and a small pencil to work on my hand functions. The lines are still shaky, but I’m getting better every day, even if it’s in such small amounts, no one could notice but me.
Shouting from the hallway makes me look up in confusion from where I had been studying my letter A. The doors are thick to the rooms, meant to prevent escape, so I can’t make out the words, but it’s definitely a male voice shouting. I set aside the notepad and pul
l myself to my feet, moving towards the sounds. Before I can press my ear against the metal, the door is thrown open.
Jab stands framed by light, giving him an unholy garish glow. For a moment, his eyes flash bright yellow, the pupil changing shape, before they’re normal again.
“Come with me, Alice. Hurry.”
“W-what . . . is—?”
“I’ll explain later. Just please, come quickly.” Jab holds out his hand, and I slide mine into his. I don’t understand what’s happening, but I trust him just the same.
He yanks me through the door the moment I thread my fingers with his, pulling me off of my feet. I stumble into him hard, grunting in pain. He doesn’t stop to see if I’m okay; he scoops me up into his arms and begins to run. More shouting comes behind us. I peer around his shoulder, curious, to see orderlies and nurses chasing us. Their shouts blend together, until I’m only able to pick out words rather than sentences.
“Imposter!”
“Killer!”
What are they talking about? Are they coming for me? Have they finally decided it’s my time?
Jab doesn’t run for the exit. That way is blocked by the angry group, anyway. He heads straight for his office, kicking the door open and slamming it closed behind us. He gently sets me down on the couch before he locks the door behind us and closes the blinds. The angry shouts get louder for a moment before they grow softer, moving in a different direction. My hair hangs in my face as I watch his hasty movements. He shrugs the white coat from his shoulders and tosses it aside, showing his sleeves up to his elbows.
“You’re going to have to feed, Alice. I can only push so much power into you without the feed.”
I wrinkle my brow, staring into his eyes. I focus very hard on my next words, searching for an answer.
“What . . . do . . . you . . . mean?” My words are weak and quiet, but Jab hears me. He always does.
“My blood,” he clarifies, pulling the pocket knife from his slacks. I don’t flinch as he lifts it and slices it across his wrist. Blood wells immediately, and he takes a seat next to me on the couch. He holds his arm out towards me. I curl my lips up in disgust. I’m not going to drink his blood. Jab doesn’t give me any chance to lean away, to escape. His hand threads into my hair, gently but completely, his fingers touching my scars there, and pulls me forward until my lips are against the red coating his skin. I try to fight against his hold, the idea of drinking his blood is revolting, but I’m so weak against his strength, I accomplish nothing except to force some of his blood into my mouth.
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