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“You can settle down, too,” Ken says. “This isn’t how you handle material. You’re making her a hundred times worse.”
“How the hell would you know?”
“I’m holding her,” Ken argues.
“What’s going on?”
Mary, Ken’s fiancée, has emerged from the ring. She’s drenched in sweat, has a big blue mark across her torso, and looks pissed. I’m guessing she just lost her round. This is a complication we do not need.
“Hang back,” Ken tells her. “I’ll get to you in a second.”
Just what every woman wants to hear from the love of their lives. I see storm clouds rolling in on every front. The tension is about to break, and I have the feeling it could turn into a brawl.
“That’s enough.”
Quiet, but determined tones interrupt the stand off. They are the mature, icy tones of a woman who knows how to wield power like a knife. I feel a shudder going through me, an instinctual reaction to the woman who runs this place. We’re not on a first name basis. I don’t think anybody knows her name. She might not know it anymore. She’s been the Head as long as anybody around here seems to remember.
The Head is a refined woman wearing business attire, a steel gray pantsuit which matches her eyes and her demeanor. She does not look pleased. Her presence changes the dynamic of the gathering instantly. The male posturing comes screeching to a halt, and Tyko especially deflates, his shoulders drooping, head hanging. He’s been caught in an act of brutal incompetence and he knows it.
“This is a professional facility,” she says, her voice crisp and cool. “You will conduct yourselves professionally within it.”
Electra is not cowed. She alone seems to be immune to the Head’s energy, which tells me she has neither fear or respect for the woman. “Let me fucking go!”
The Head gives the girl the benefit of her gaze. “Miss Electra, we will discuss your behavior shortly.”
Electra
I hate this bitch. She’s worst than Tyko – he beats me, but she’s the one who holds me here. She’s the one who denies me a life. If it wasn’t for her I’d be free. Or maybe dead. Either one of those options would be preferable to this torturous existence.
“You’re going to have to kill me,” I growl. “You’re never going to hold me here. I’m going to get out. One way or another. I don’t care if it’s in a box.”
“It would be in a plastic bag in your case,” the woman says, cold as ice. She looks right through me. I don’t exist to her, not really. I’m just a thing. Something to own. A tool to use. That’s how it has always been. That’s how it always will be. Nothing can save me from this place and these people.
A hand descends on my shoulder. The doctor has been holding me for a while, but now he is comforting me. His touch makes me flinch at first. I’m not expecting it. Usually when someone touches me, there’s force behind it. The doctor’s touch is gentle. There’s empathy there, like he knows I’m in pain.
“It’s okay.” His warm, dark eyes settle on me. A handsome smile breaks through the clouds of my anger. It doesn’t dissipate it, but it does help a little. It makes it possible for me to stand here without screaming.
“It’s not okay,” I growl.
It has never been okay.
He doesn’t get angry at my growling. He doesn’t try to argue me out of it either. He just smiles at me, not a smirking grin like so many of these assholes have, but a kind look which makes me feel, just for the briefest of moments, like maybe this could be okay one day.
“Return Miss Electra to her room,” the Head orders.
“Hang on,” the man with the nice eyes intervenes.
“You have a problem, Doctor Ares?”
“That’s your name! Doctor Ares!” I exclaim as the Head turns her gaze on him. It doesn’t do much to him. Just rolls off his big, mellow body.
“This girl had a razor blade in her mouth, and she was handled fairly roughly. I’d like to ensure she hasn’t done herself any damage.”
It’s just because he’s a doctor. I guess that’s why he feels the need to care when nobody else does. My heart sinks a little. I was stupid enough to think maybe he cared. That’s never going to happen.
Disciplinary Medicine
Electra
My failed escape attempt ends in the medical bay. I kind of figured it might, but I thought I’d be more seriously injured when it did. Instead of being stretchered in unconscious, I’m marched in, hands cuffed behind my back. Tyko has me now, of course. I’m never going to be rid of that asshole. That bitch, the Head, insists on having him supervise me.
The doctor washes his hands, puts a pair of surgical gloves on and turns back to me.
