[Part III - The End] - Chapter 31 – “To love at all is to be vulnerable.

Heavy sleep seeps from my body. My eyes won’t open. I attempt to wipe away the weight from my lids, but my arm won’t move. My fingers open and close, my hand rotates. I try to shift my leg, but feel the same constraint at my ankle. Unconsciousness drains from my brain along with the knowledge of every rotten thing I’ve ever done.

Horrible memories.

Can’t move my hands.

Horrible past.

Can’t move my legs.

Horrible life.

Can’t open my eyes.

I lived like a jerk. I’d been more than stupid. Now I’m locked up in The Center while all my ancient actions have me bound and frozen. It was dumb to trust Daniel at home. Dumb to trust him in The Chapel. Very, very dumb. I lost all the battles I’d been in. Dad. Daniel. Even my last revenge was anything but a victory. Instead, I’m pregnant from a one-night stand.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Well not any more. If I can change anything going forward, I’m going to stop being stupid. I try my legs again. My foot moves and my toes wiggle, but that’s all. Something has them tied down. The same is true for my wrists. My heart responds to the lack of movement in my limbs, racing faster and faster. I rock my head back and forth on the pillow, messing my hair and loosening the panic. I force a hard blink, but my eyes won’t open.

I’m trapped.

I should never have gone after the guards. All the hate and anger and hunger for love led me here. Bound. Wrists. Ankles. Eyes. I lift my shoulder to wipe my face, but it doesn’t even reach my cheek. I inhale a deep breath and try one final hard blink. The mucus breaks from around my eyes.

The gray ceiling stares down at me. The room isn’t rustic, but laboratory pale. I exhale, winded at the effort. Electricity hums through a solitary lamp on the bedside table. Shadows climb what must be white paint. Four windowless walls surround my bed refusing to reveal the time of day. The room contains a nightstand, a portable table and two chairs. No dead animals on the walls nor life of any kind. 

They wouldn’t have taken me out of The Center. No. They would find somewhere else to detain me. Somewhere dark and punishing. I finger the bed sheets and pull a chunk of them into a fist. The Bunker. They have buried me deep beneath the earth. I remember the prick in my thigh before I collapsed into Jackson’s arms. How stupid was I? Only an idiot would take on prison guards in a fight.

I let my head sink deep into the pillow. I am an idiot. I spent my life doing millions of idiotic things trying to get my own way. I thought Fisher would be the only one confined to The Bunker. But in the end, maybe I’m worse than Fisher. At least he knows who he is. He owns it. Not like me. I’ve spent my life pretending.

I close my eyes and listen.

No footsteps.

No whispered conversations.

 Only a cricket’s song from a distant place. A sound not present in my city life, but something I’ve grown used to hearing in the trees outside my dorm room at night. I open my eyes wide. A cricket? I wouldn’t hear that sound buried five stories beneath the earth.

“How’re you feeling?”

I jump and the constraints pull at my limbs.

A blue-clad nurse carries a tray to the portable table.

Where did she come from?

I stare at the door I never noticed before. The entrance was painted solid white, no frame. This was creepy. I squint at her, afraid of what she’ll do next. But, she only rolls the table over to me. Her face looks familiar. In fact, I think she’s the same skinny lady who told me I was pregnant. She wheels the meal toward me. “I saw on the monitor that you’d awakened. I thought you might be hungry.” She places a napkin on my chest.

No, I don’t want soup, I want my freaking heart to stop pounding in my chest. I want the restraints removed and I want to be free.

“That’s not going to happen, dear.”

I squeeze my lips together. One day, I’m going to find a way to stop my tongue from betraying my brain. I clear my throat. “What time is it?”

She wipes a warm rag across my eyes and face. As much as I hate how infantile I feel, it’s nice to have my eyes cleaned. “It’s about ten.”

“At night?”

“Yes.” She smells like banana cream pie. I don’t like the homesickness she inspires. Nanny Bella makes the best pork tamales in the world, but right now I miss her fried bananas.

“Where am I?”

“In the clinic.”

“Above ground?”

“Of course,” she nods.

Wonderful. I’m not locked in The Bunker. Not yet anyway. I need to do what I can to make sure that doesn’t happen. The fight was wrong. I shouldn’t have done it. From now on, I’m ready to be a model prisoner. Ready to finish my sentence and go back home.  

“Want to eat?”

“No.”

The nurse freezes. The motherly tone evaporates. In the dim light, her face appears skeletal. A skull on top of a white uniform. Her eyes narrow with anger. My heart clenches. I’m being stupid again. I’m tied up. This woman can do anything she wants to me. I try a smile and say, “Soup would be great.”

With one hand on her narrow hip, she pushes the button to raise the bed. My body slowly slogs upright. Each inch stirs my head and stomach. Before I’m a full foot elevated, the world begins to whirl. I close my eyes.

“Dizzy?” The bed stops moving.

I can’t answer. The spinning stirs my stomach. I clench the sheets and tuck my chin to my chest. Spinning equals love. I tighten my jaw and fight back the urge to vomit.

I hear the crackle of plastic. “Eat this.” The nurse stuffs a saltine in my mouth. I bite it in half. Crumbs rain between my neck and the napkin. “Eat it all.” The nurse forces the rest of the cracker into my mouth. “They shouldn’t have given you so much anesthesia.”

The fight. The needle. I open my jaw and try not to choke on cracker dust. I beg Nanny Bella’s baby Jesus to make the merry-go-round stop. The nurse grips my arm. I open my eyes, glad to see the world stay in one place. Not glad to have this angry woman in my face. She snarls, “You can do anything you want to ruin your life. But I won’t let you hurt the child inside of you.” She pulls away and I bite my lip. She sits in the chair on my right. Her posture erect as she reaches for the soup.

The spoon clinks against the bowl. She shoves a scoop of chicken noodle soup at me and I open my mouth.

The hot broth warms my throat without scalding it. I avoid eye contact as the second spoonful comes close but misses my mouth.

She puffs out a breath of frustration, then grabs a napkin and roughly wipes soup off my chin. “Let’s try that again.”

I open my mouth and obey.

The fluid wrestles past the lump in my throat.

I examine the thick strap tied to my left wrist. It’s made of white cotton. I can’t see my feet, but I’m sure the same constraints hold my ankles. The only thing I can do for myself is reach my teeth to the bendy straw in the tall container of water the nurse places on the table in front of me and try not to cry.

Between servings of broth, the door swings open and Jackson walks in. I hate knowing how happy I must look to see him.  

“How’s the patient?” Red gashes cross his face from the branch I’d swung at him. I feel bad.

“She got a little dizzy, but that’s normal.” The nurse speaks as if I’m not in the room. “After a good meal, she’ll be right as rain.” Her tone is kind and maternal again.

“Great.” He smiles at me. “Do you mind if I finish feeding you? We need to talk.”

“Make sure you eat it all.” The nurse glares at me and hands the spoon to Jackson. She gives me a hard look. I want to rub down the goose bumps on my arm, but I can’t. I need to reestablish some ground. A lot easier to do with Jackson in the room. I look her straight in the eye and say, “I don’t want more.”

“Feed her.” The woman frowns.

Jackson examines the plastic bowl. “She’s had most of it.”

“It’s not all about her.”

 He smiles and hands her the spoon. “How about if I call you back when I’m done.”

“No,” I say, a little too fast. “I’ll eat it now.”

“Fine.” The nurse smiles and practically dances out of the room.

Jackson sits in the chair and quickly devours the rest of the soup before saying. “Making friends, are we?”

I shrug. It’s none of his business. He can’t impress me with his heroics. So what if he ate the soup I didn’t want? That doesn’t make us buddies or anything.  

“You should be nice to the help.” He lifts one eyebrow.

I glare at him then lift my middle finger. He doesn’t notice so I make eye contact and then glanced down at my right hand. My intent is for him to follow my eyes, but I discover something else in the process.

Between the starched white sheet and the bedrail, a thick black band circles my wrist. For a moment I forget about Jackson and the nurse. The memory of orientation jolts into my brain. The Bracelet. The videos. The electricity. A freaking Bracelet. But, violent offenders wear the taser. Why do I have one?