Page 53 of Resolve
Chapter nineteen
Dane
I’mfalling.
Darkness surrounds me with no end in sight. I open my mouth to scream, to shout for the others, but nothing comes out. My arms and legs won’t move. I’m a prisoner in my body, plummeting deeper into pitch-black.
A faint beep echoes in the distance. Another follows, steady and slow.
Then a motor hums, and something clamps around my upper left arm. Before I understand what’s happening, I hit solid ground.
I jerk my arm, but it still doesn’t move. The buzz now shifts into a slow chug as the stranglehold eases.
I inhale sharply, peeling my eyes open. Drop ceiling tiles and recessed lighting stare back at me. The unexpected brightness spikes my headache, and I groan.
“Oh, you’re awake,” a woman says nearby. “Good, you should drink some water.” Something pokes my left cheek. “Turn your head.”
Where the fuck am I?
I force myself to blink and squint through the lighting. I try to lift my hand, but my arm doesn’t budge. My wrist and elbow are pinned by restraints.
The beeps increase as realization sinks in.
No.
I struggle to move both arms and legs. A strap catches my throat, giving me barely two inches before it stops me.
“I’d advise you get yourself under control before you pass out,” the woman states casually.
Whipping my head around is a baaaad move on my part. Everything spins. Pain jackhammers in my head like a demolition frenzy, and nausea rolls in my gut.
Fuck.
There’s a short huff, then heels click away from me. “You’re almost finished with your session. I’d stay still if I were you. I’ll be back in an hour for your transfusion.”
Transfusion.
Shit.
Fuck.
When I open my eyes again, a straw stares me down—three straws linked together, dipping into a jug of water. Machines crowd the space beyond it. Wires trail to electrodes, to a blood pressure cuff, to an IV of fluids, and an another filled with blood. My blood.
No wonder I feel like shit.
I lean as much as I can to reach the straw, and wrap my lips around it.
After several chugs, I finally feel sated and slowly roll my head onto the pillow and assess my situation.
I’m alone in a tiny room with a curtain for a door.
There’s a toilet and sink in the corner—no privacy—but I take that to mean at some point they’ll let me out of this bed for bathroom breaks.
Considering how tightly I’m locked to this bed, it’s my only opportunity for escape. I could be anywhere, though.
I close my eyes, trying to ignore the pounding headache and failing miserably as it consumes most of my attention. Fear snakes up my limbs and wraps my chest in tight coils at the direness of my situation. Even if I did escape, I wouldn’t make it off this place against everyone here.
What about the others? Are they okay? Are they together, at least?
