Read Archetype for Free Online Page B

the way he tilts his head in a mocking gesture.
    They only believe what they want to believe,
She says.
    Get out of my head!
    You have to calm down. You’re making this worse on yourself.
    My fingers grip tight to my hair and I drop to my knees.
Leave me alone!
    I wish I could,
She says, and I almost believe She is as sad as She sounds.
But that would mean giving up. Unfortunately for you, I don’t give up.
    Well, neither do I.
    That’s all I want to hear.
     • • • 
    I wake up under a large white bulb. Several, actually. They form concentric circles under a single aluminum lamp hood. Dust particles float in the air. Dr. Travista’s gray eyes watch me from behind a blank expression.
    “How do you feel?” he asks.
    I hate this question. “Where am I? How did I get here?”
    “I had to sedate you,” he says. “How do you feel?”
    The lights make my eyes water and I squint. I try to use one of my arms for cover but they do not lift. When I look down, I find I am bound to the table by Velcro straps. Instinctively, I jerk and the bindings burn and pinch my wrists.
    “What are you doing?” I ask, panicked.
    “I’ll remove them when I think you’re no longer a danger to yourself.”
    I gape at him. “I am no danger to myself.”
    Dr. Travista lifts a tablet from the table and enters a few commands. When he turns it on me, my reflection blinks back. My skin is pale and my eyes are wide and darting. On either side of my face, long red gouges mar my skin.
    I gasp. “I did that?”
    “Yes,” he says simply.
    “But why?”
    “You tell me.” He leans on the table and narrows his eyes. “It’s time to come clean, Emma; otherwise, I can’t help you.”
    I do not need his help.
    The thought is automatic, and I do not understand it. But I know from experience that it does not matter. I cannot tell him what is wrong. Even if I wanted to, I cannot. I will never forget the suppression of air in my lungs. How my throat locked. I do not want to feel that again.
    Dr. Travista sighs and nods once to someone nearby. I am suddenly surrounded by his nurses. Randall twists my arm and forces a needle into the crook of my elbow.
    I jerk in surprise. “What are you doing?”
    “What I must,” Dr. Travista says evenly.
    Another nurse pastes electrodes to my chest and head. He does not look me in the eyes. None of them do.
    “Put the stirrups up,” Dr. Travista orders someone. He snaps a rubber glove over one hand. “May as well run a few extra tests while I’m at it.”
    No,
I think, but my tongue is too heavy to voice the word aloud. I do not want this to happen.
    Cool hands lift my heavy legs as the
clink
of metal locks into place. I am asleep before the cold metal stirrups fully rest against my bare calves.
     • • • 
    “Just relax,” the strange doctor said.
    I squeezed my eyes shut and tried pretending I lay somewhere else. That I didn’t lay propped open by stirrups, my legs spread for a strange, gangly man. I’d feared turning sixteen for this very reason.
    The gynecologist appointment.
    The regular bimonthly visits that would continue until we turned eighteen. From what I’d heard, they didn’t stop even then.
    The doctor worked and talked as if poking around in my womb was normal. My answers and responses were as simple as I could make them.
    Toni would tell me, don’t give anything away. Keep your answers short so you don’t tell them something you don’t mean to. Keep as close to the truth as you can. They can spot a flat-out lie a mile away. Evade, evade, evade.
    I didn’t need her instructional reminders today, though. My jittery nerves kept me from elaborating anything. But it helped to remember her voice. I’ve tried to remember it every day for the last two years. I can’t forget what she taught me.
     • • • 
    I wake in my room. I notice right away the bruised and achy feeling in my lower belly. My throat is dry and I cough.
    “There you are.”
    Declan rises from a chair