Setting Fire to the Stars (a MM Sci-Fi Romance)

Chapter 32: Seven

(Note: this chapter contains elements of intentional bodily harm, torture, forced drug use, and profanity.)

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Lauren
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Columbus, Ohio
Minerva Laboratory

[ Day Twelve of Incarceration ]

Four hundred and sixty-two.

That was the number of squares that lined the enclosure of my padded prison. Wait, nope, four hundred sixty-one. I counted that one in the left-hand corner twice, for sure this time. But it felt weird to end on an odd number, so maybe it was sixty-two. But couldn't they have rounded off on a nice, even number? I mean, what kind of a sick lunatic put four hundred sixty squares in perfect formation and then added one? That was diabolical. Should I start just over?

Shit, I really am losing it, aren't I?

Blinking lethargically, my head swayed to the side from where I sat on the uncomfortably lumpy bed. Bright fluorescent bulbs seared into my retinas, my eyesight bleary from the sheer force of keeping my eyes open. Closing them proved to be a gamble because I could never predict when the drugs would kick in.

I always woke up in the same place. White walls, white chairs, a white desk. The pungent smell of chlorine stings my strained eyes, reminding me of an indoor pool.

Everyday, a woman clothed in a bright yellow hazmat suit would open the door, accompanied by two armed guards who appeared to have jumped straight out of a monster movie. One sported a shaved head and a gnarly scar running diagonally along his cheek. The other had a grim reaper tattoo on his arm. My personal watchdogs were nasty fuckers, giants with tree trunks for legs and mugs only a mother could love. Jesus, what were they feeding these guys, steroids?

The bastards enjoyed roughly stuffing me down the narrow hallway which led to a concrete room and shoving me into a metal chair with metal restraints for good measure. The lady would then interrogate me, asking the same questions over and over.

"Why did you come here?"
"What do you want?"
"How many more of you are out there?"

That's where things got weird. They thought that I was one of them; an alien. Declared that there was something in my blood, a component, a non-existent gene. Something real special, so I "can't possibly be human", whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean.

Despite my best efforts, I learned that it didn't matter what I said. In the end, no answer was good enough to placate my ruthless inquisitor. No matter how many times I told her the truth, no matter the number of the days I spent saying that I wasn't one of them, that I was born on Earth, that I was human, my nefarious jailer would only flash the same fake-ass smile.

It was always followed by the sickening crackle of pure and gut-wrenching agony. I'd lost count the number of times she had zapped me with that fucking stun baton. It was meant to, as the woman put it, "encourage accurate results and inspire patient candor".

Ah, yes, because there was nothing more encouraging or inspiring than sending thousands of volts of electricity straight through the nervous system. By now, multiple blistering welts spanned my torso and thighs, courtesy of the mad doctor's constant cattle prodding. The first day, she shocked me over eight times until I ultimately passed out, rid of the excruciating pain only to wake up in this God-forsaken prison.