Chapter 37

• I opened my eyes and winced. I felt pain all over my body. I tried to sit up, but even that simple action was too much of a chore. I remained on the cold, hard floor. Its coarseness was another punishment on my back. I haven’t checked the extent of the whip marks, but I was very aware of the pain they exuded. I tried to roll on my stomach to reduce the impact of the tiny stones and rough sands scratching against my back. This Alpha was brutal—more brutal than Alpha Arthur. I had thrown up twice on Alpha Arthur, but I'd never experienced such a savage act. Couldn’t he see I was sick? Did he think I'd ordinarily have vomited on him? I grunted, pain shooting from every corner of my body. The uncomfortable position I’d found myself in in that box had resulted in a very painful hip. The rough ride in that wagon and the unsteady bumps had hurt my arm, and it still hurt. My head was hurting, my eyes felt raw, and my lips were cracked and dry. I tried to move my legs; another pain throbbed, but this was dull. Wondering where particularly the discomfort was, I struggled and pulled myself up only to see my knee bleeding. I touched the scraped surface, and I winced. I looked around me, and for the first time, I noticed the dusty surroundings. There was an old chair; its legs looked rickety. The bed was disorganized and resembled the abode of bugs. I noticed a window; there were some missing louvers; two iron bars were also missing; and the drapes were dirty and torn in several places. I searched to my left; there was a mirror, dusty and broken. I pushed myself off the ground; another distressed sound escaped from my lips. I was a walking bag of bones and suffering.
• My gait was lopsided and tormented. I reached the mirror and painfully unzipped my gown. Turning to see my bare back, I saw many reflections on the broken mirror. But it allowed me to get a quite clear picture of my body. My heart was broken, and tears filled my eyes when I saw how much damage had been done to my skinny back. Fat lines of whip spread across like angry, torn lines. They were dark purple and showed signs of blood clotting. I pulled my gown further down to check the extent to which the lines ran; they were long. I started until I could no longer stare. It was almost morning; it had to be. The outside world was dark except for the overhead light beaming across every corner of the room. I turned back to the mirror to study my face. Lines of worry, pain, and sadness ran across my forehead; my face was sunken, giving my usually pretty big round eyes the look that told of hunger and misery.
• My nose had some dirt on the bridge, so I cleaned it off with my thumb. My index finger reflexively trailed my lower lip; it was really dry, and I could feel the slight peel of flesh. I couldn’t even look at my hair; the state of it scared me. I looked like an old hag with bulging, mysterious eyes. A sharp pain in my lower abdomen reminded me that my bladder had yet to be relieved. I quickly went into the other small opening I had noticed in the room. It was smelly and dirty, but I had no choice. I gingerly sat on the almost brown seat and eased my full bladder.