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I did as instructed and stepped into the room, turning just in time to see Professor Delo give me one last, scrutinising look. The door closed in my face, making a sucking noise as the seal fitted into place followed by four loud clunks as it locked.
At first, it was pitch black inside but at the sound of locks falling into position, a dazzling light filled the room. I stood and surveyed my cell while my breaths came quickly and I fought against the urge to crumple up into a ball and start rocking.
This can’t be happening!
Everything was white. There was a small bed to one side of the space with something blue folded on top of it and a single, hard chair sat beside it. That was it. A small opening to my right held a washroom with a shower, sink and toilet.
I could see the gleam of cameras and speakers bolted from the ceiling and I chewed on my bottom lip as I tried to figure out what I was supposed to do now.
“Hello, Maya. Please change into the outfit on the bed and place your biohazard suit by the door," a friendly male voice spoke over the speakers.
“Okay…”
I moved towards the bed and picked up the pale blue tracksuit. It might not have been to my taste but at least it would give my eyes a break from all the white. I glanced up at the cameras again and moved into the wash area for a bit of privacy to change.
Taking off the clingy fabric was a relief after so long. My hair stuck to my back and I felt like I'd run a marathon. I switched the shower on and held my hand out to check the temperature. The very thought of washing myself clean loosened some of the tension that had been growing in my muscles and I stepped into the hot water, letting out a deep breath.
Everything’s going to be okay. This is just protocol. Before I know it I’ll be back in my tiny apartment and attending class with the douchebags.
Once I was clean, I felt much better, like I’d washed off anything which might have been clinging to my skin from outside.
I stepped out of the shower, drying myself on a soft towel and pulling on the blue tracksuit with a sigh of relief.
I reached out to wipe the steam from the mirror and studied myself carefully. After a close inspection, I was pleased to see I still hadn't turned orange or anything and I released a slow breath.
It’s going to be fine.
I headed back into the main room of my cell, placed the biohazard suit by the door and lay down on the bed. It was hard and the sheets were starchy but I could cope with that.
My mind spun and I wondered whether Artie and Taylor had been locked up in cells like mine. I hoped Taylor was alright, he was probably blaming himself for everything and worrying himself sick but I just had to focus on the long term. One day we’d look back and laugh about this. Our great adventure gone wrong. I just hoped that day would come sooner rather than later.
I spread my wet hair out behind me and tried not to overanalyse the workings of my body. It must have been getting late but the lights weren't getting any dimmer. My stomach rumbled, just a normal rumble for someone who hadn't eaten all day... I took a deep breath and pulled the blanket over my eyes. My lungs did not feel scratchy.
I gritted my teeth and fought back the desire to cry. I couldn’t let my imagination get carried away. Everything would be alright. I had to believe that.
I just hoped I was right.
When I woke, I could tell that I’d been asleep for some time. My biohazard suit was gone and a table had been placed next to the chair with a glass of milk and a bowl of porridge on it.
I tried not to think about how creepy it was that someone had come in here while I was asleep and got up to inspect the food.
I moved to the chair and tasted the breakfast. Cold. Great.
"Thanks for waking me up," I muttered to no one in particular, though I hoped they were listening in and I wasn't just starting to talk to myself.
After draining the milk I paced the room for several minutes. I glanced into the washroom and noticed a small bag of toiletries that hadn't been there yesterday.
I brushed my hair, then brushed it again. When I finished, I examined the large amount of hair left in the brush and felt a cold sweat prickle along my spine. I pulled some of it from the brush and let it run through my fingers and drift to the floor.
I looked at myself in the mirror and turned my head to get a look at my scalp. I trailed my fingers through my brunette curls and let them fall flat again. A single hair came loose and landed in the sink. I stared at it for several seconds before turning my attention back to my reflection. I reached up and took hold of a lock of my hair. Steeling myself, I tugged on it. It didn't fall out, not a single strand. I laughed shakily, sank down onto the bed and crawled back under the covers.
***
The table had another glass of milk and a cold soup on it this time. I drained the milk again but I wasn't going to lower myself to eating cold soup. My stomach growled in protest but I held firm.
"Can I have something hot?" I looked directly at one of the camera lenses. No response.
My mouth felt dry, chalky. I moved to the washroom and peered into the mirror. I caught hold of my tongue and pulled it out for inspection. It looked bumpy and a little white.
