Untouched

36. Unknown

Today the symptoms have subsided yet it doesn't give me any relief because I know this will be short-lived. It always is. Once I start to recover, Ben returns with another set of syringes and the pain starts all over again.

I pull the blanket over my head to block out the blinding brightness but small pricks of light filter through. The sound of the door opening makes me pull the blanket around me tighter as though somehow a flimsy piece of fabric will stop them.

The rattling trolley clatters noisily towards me, taunting me with the knowledge I'll be subjected to more injections, more horrendous symptoms, more pain.

'Time for you to eat.' Ben pulls back the blanket, and I blink several times.

The odd outfit he recently started wearing has been replaced by the usual white coat him and his colleagues wear. He smiles widely and attempts to pull me up to sitting.

I hate his smile.

Smacking his hands away, I sit myself up slowly and every one of my muscles creaks with the movement.

I feel like an old decrepit woman. Maybe, time has passed faster than I thought and I've been here years. I hope not.

Ben offers me a bowl of food which I don't take. He frowns. 'You must eat to keep your strength up.'

You mean, I must eat so you can continue your tests.

I snatch the bowl and slowly spoon the thick liquid into my mouth. My throat is raw and the food hurts on the way down to my stomach. My arm shakes with the exertion, but I refuse to ask for help.

I'd rather starve than allow Ben to feed me.

Ben sits on the edge of the bed and waits until I've finished, before taking my empty bowl and spoon. My eyes drift to the top shelf of the trolley positioned next to the bed, and my stomach drops when I see a machine.

'We're only taking a few samples, then you'll have some time to rest.' Ben starts to hook me up to the machine, inserting wires into my arms which have been poked so often I'm surprised my blood is still contained within my now porous skin.

Every time his skin touches mine I flinch, and a brief pained expression passes across his face which confuses me.

I'm the one being experimented on, not you.

I'd like to believe he feels guilty about what he's doing though I doubt it. I'm certain I'm searching for empathy in a moral vacuum.

Ben presses a number of buttons on the machine. A hum and buzz fill the room, and my arm tingles where the tube is connected. I watch my blood run along the clear tube through the machine and into a bag. I don't feel nauseous anymore at the sight. instead, I feel violated as I watch it enter the machine.

That's mine. That blood belongs to me.

I instinctively reach for the tube to pull it out but Ben reacts swiftly, his fingers gently pressing on the connection to my arm as he shakes his head. 'We're only collecting a small volume of blood. You'll be fine.'

I don't believe him. I'm sure they want to kill me. Their plan is to slowly drain me dry until all that's left of me is a hollowed-out bag of skin and bones.

An image of the dead rotten corpses me and Zach found return, but this time they're pale and bloodless. Even with the risk of Virulence, I'd rather die free than be penned in this room. Except until today, I haven't been able to walk, let alone plan an escape.

'Do my family think I'm dead?' I don't recognise my voice, my vocal cords are strained and tight due to the lack of use and regular vomiting.

Ben doesn't mask his surprise at my question, or maybe he's more surprised I've voluntarily said a sentence which doesn't involve insults or retching sounds.