Page 8 of Marked By Tank
My toes curl against the stage.
That is the only sign my body gives me that I am still inside it.
The man with the microphone glances toward the back of the room, listening to something through an earpiece. Then he smiles wider.
“Sold,” he says. “Via phone to one of our long-time clients.”
The men clap.
The sound washes over me.
Flat.
Far away.
A hand closes around my arm.
Then another on the other side.
Two security guards.
I know that matters. I know it should make this feel more real than it already does.
Instead, I just stand there for one more second with my face blank and my heartbeat knocking slow and hard inside my chest.
The guard on my right tugs.
“Move.”
My legs obey.
I let them lead me off the stage and into the dark.
