For The Sake of Science

Chapter 8: Empty Promises

Emily rolled over, clutching the edge of the blanket.

She'd been dimly aware of one of her roommates coming and going—doors opening, footsteps soft against the floor—but the exhaustion held her down like an anchor.

It wasn't until the nausea hit that her body jolted upright.

A bolt of pain split through her skull.

The back of her hands pressed to her temples trying to keep the pressure from tearing her open. The blanket tangled around her legs as she stumbled to her feet.

The silence was thick. Ringing. Dull and sharp all at once. Like her ears had filled with static.

She moved toward the bathroom, legs weak beneath her. Everything swayed.

She collapsed into second stall. Her mind ached, and her throat burned.

She got sick.

Her shoullders shook. Her breath caught. Her eyes stung.

She stayed like that, crouched on the floor, until her arms gave out. And then she laid there—just for a moment.

⸻

Later—minutes or hours—she was standing. Stripping. Moving through water. The shower tiles blurred in front of her.

Mint burned her mouth.

Gripping the sink with one hand, the other holding up the towel wrapped around her–she spaced out, barely noticing the pale girl staring back at her in the mirror.

She looked like someone she vaguely recognized. Steam clouded the glass, so it was hard to tell.

She found her way back to her bed. Curling in on herself.

⸻

The next time she opened her eyes, the world felt... quieter.

Not muted like before. Not spinning.

Just still.

Her head ached—a dull, heavy pulse at the base of her skull—but it was manageable. The fog was gone.

She was in bed. Still wrapped in the towel. The blanket had fallen to the floor. Her pillow was damp beneath her cheek.

She shifted, bringing a hand to her face.

Her fingers felt like hers again.

She rubbed the tiredness from her eyes. They felt swollen, she'd been crying.

She sat up slowly, letting her body catch up. Her hair clung to her neck in thick, tangled strands. Her muscles ached, but not in any way she could name.

It wasn't a dream.

The memory of the bathroom stall. The burning in her throat. The sterile room. Salem's face.

They did it.

The procedure. The implant. Whatever they'd promised.

A knot twisted low in her stomach.

She glanced at the digital clock on the dresser.

She'd lost time again.

Her jaw clenched, but she stayed upright.

For a moment, she just sat there, breathing. Feeling. Reminding herself that she was still here. Still her.

She didn't know what they'd put in her.