Sobbing hard, I closed my eyes and prayed for it to be over quickly.
“Mmmmm….Keanu’s got good taste in freaks.”
I felt him rip open my shirt, cut the straps of my bra with the knife and expose my breasts. Molesting my body, he groaned as he assaulted me.
I didn’t open my eyes again until it was over.
Thankfully a shower routine was introduced the very next day. I scrubbed my body harder than I’ve ever scrubbed before. Some parts of me were raw from the self-inflicted cleaning regime, but I had to get him off of me.
Everything about him lingered on me like a rash.
Night after night, he returned.
Strapping me down and ravaging my body like a rabid wolf, he seemed relentless in his efforts to destroy my spirit.
I’d like to say he lost—but he didn’t.
He’d won the first night he attacked me. He stole what shred of humanity I had left within me, and destroyed it.
In my old life, I would’ve gone to the hospital and been examined. The police would’ve been informed and a charge would’ve been made. Agent Meyers would’ve likely have gone to jail for what he did to me.
In this reality, this new existence, I had no rights, no empathy and no justice. Day after day, my routine consisted of waking up, being led to the showers, eating three square meals, being raped, and going to sleep.
The animals at the zoo had it just a bit better than me.
Weeks went by, maybe months, the same routine, the same day over and over. Thankfully, Agent Meyers seemed to tire of me and left me alone once in a while.
Most days, my mind drifted over the borders of sane and insane. I could literally feel the line where my thoughts delved into the world of crazy. I was at the point where I didn’t care if I lived or died anymore. My survival instincts had betrayed me.
Some days, I cried all day. Some days I raged and beat my hands bloody against everything in my tiny white cell. Some days, I beat myself bloody, disgusted with the creature that I’d become.
I hated not knowing what I was.
Was I an alien? Was I some gross mutation?
A mutant. The thought made me nauseous.
Maybe Meyers was right. Maybe I was just a freak. A freak of nature.
How fragile the balance of one’s humanity is. What is the line anyways? What makes someone human versus inhuman? Don’t feelings count? A soul? Didn’t I too, have a soul buried deep within me? A consciousness?
Why did my blood, or my DNA, something so insignificant, get to decide whether or not I was human? How fickle the human race was to accept me as one of their own at face value, but reject me at a microscopic level. How flimsy the standard of human rights become when they are scrutinized at a genetic level.
Can this get any worse?
Chapter 8
Hot droplets kissed every inch of my skin and rolled over my body as though caressing me. Cascading through my hair and running off my shoulders, the water hugged me at every contour like an appreciative lover. Steam rose and hovered in the air around me, cocooning me in a blanket made of mist. Raising my chin to greet the oncoming waterfall of warmth, I allowed a small and grateful smile to grace my lips.
The highlight of my day…a shower. The one place where an unbiased element nurtured me without a judgmental stare or awkward gaze.
Walking down the hall behind the armed guard, taking me to and from my daily bathing, I received nothing but sideways glances or avoidance from passing agents and workers. It was like being a leper of society without any visual proof of illness.
Drying off and dressing myself in the standard white jumpsuit issued to me after my clothes had ‘mysteriously’ been cut off, I was led back to my room.
Breakfast was always waiting for me when I returned. Day after day, the routine was the same—until today.
Agent Evans was standing in the middle of my cell when I returned. His face looked pale and he seemed agitated. I couldn’t help but notice the worried frown on his face.
“Is something wrong?” I asked, suddenly concerned for my own welfare. Briefly, my mind wandered to Agent Meyers and his assaults, hoping that maybe he’d been caught and Agent Evans was going to put a stop to it.
“Wrong?” He sighed as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. “I don’t know if I’d call it wrong.”
I sure hoped he didn’t mean that what Agent Meyers was doing to me was okay! My hands clenched into fists as I glared at him. Suppressed anger began to flood to the surface of my body. I could feel myself becoming volatile. I envisioned lunging at Agent Evans and tearing at his throat like a wild animal would after being caged and unfed for months.
A knock at the door invaded my deranged fantasy.
“Excuse me.” Agent Evans mumbled as he quickly walked to the door. The door cracked open slightly, I couldn’t see who was on the other side, but Agent Evans had a very quiet conversation with that person.
Wishing I had better hearing, I tilted my head in their general direction. I focused all my attention to my ears in hopes of catching anything, even just a word, a sentence, something, but I couldn’t make anything out.
Apparently these people were good at secrecy. I wasn’t surprised. I had determined long ago that they were part of a secret government sect, but it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.
“Okay, yup, okay.” Agent Evans finished his mysterious conversation with the unknown person on the other side of my cell door. Turning his attention to me, I stood with a defensive stance. My arms folded across my middle, I gave him my best ‘what the hell do you want’ glare.
“Yes, well, someone will come for you shortly.” Avoiding my abrasive expression, he looked past me at the wall.
“Come for me? Why?”
Walking quickly toward the door, he knocked to signal the guard to let him out. For a moment I thought he wasn’t going to answer me, but at the last second, he turned and gave me an unreadable expression. “We need to do another test.” And with that, he walked out.
Sitting down beside my uneaten breakfast, my stomach lurched at the thought of food.
Test? What kind of test? How painful will this one be? Curling up in the fetal position, I wondered what these jerks had in store for me now.
“Pee into this.” The lab assistant (whom I recognized as the asshole who’d taken a chunk of scalp from my head a couple months earlier) insisted as he handed me a little plastic cup.
Two armed guards had led me to a bathroom near what appeared to be the lab and then left me alone with the lab assistant. Hovering in the doorway, I gave him a cold glare.
Is he just going to stand there and watch me?
“Go ahead.” He stated, crossing his arms.
Out of all the torturous tests and inhumane acts, this had to be one of the most demeaning. Unzipping my white jumpsuit and pulling it down to my knees, I sat upon the cold, white plastic seat. Thankfully my long hair fell over my face and acted like a black satin curtain, blocking the gawking attendant from my view.
Holding the little cup between my legs, I waited for my bladder to release. There’s nothing more difficult than trying to relax an embarrassed muscle.
Finally, after what felt like forever, I managed to let my fluids go. Catching it in the little cup, I fought back the tears of humiliation as I handed him the warm liquid.
With his hands outstretched to obtain the sample, I intentionally tipped the cup and spilled some urine on his hands. I grinned with satisfaction under my veil of hair.