3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Avery
My teeth have barely stopped chattering when I'm thrown into a tiny, padded room. The walls are spongy and white—exactly what I'd imagine a mental asylum to look like.
The Lilydale rooms remind me of prison cells, but this? This is actually an asylum—go figure. All I need now is a straitjacket to restrain my limbs. Given how cold I am from the ice bath, it would be almost welcoming, if not for any reason but the extra warmth.
"We'll bring you some food shortly," Dr. Cromwell says softly as she watches me stumble to catch my footing. I swing around, glaring at the two men who disappear out of sight behind her.
"Don't bother," I snap. "I don't think I'll be staying long."
It's the only thing that got me through the torturous freezing water—knowing that the guys will notice I'm missing. Someone will sound the alarm and they will come looking for me. I can feel it in my bones. We haven't come this far for them to give up on me now. I just have to make sure I don't give up too.
I'm not sure what these sadistic creeps are planning but I have no doubt this is just the beginning.
I wish I could say I'm not scared or worried, but that would be a lie. I know the danger I'm in. It doesn't make sense, but I have to stay focused.
This place has to be connected to Lilydale—Whittingham made that clear by showing his smug, disgusting face before I blacked out. Plus, Dr. Cromwell said it was the Emerson lab. That was her name, right?
I knew Lilydale was too good to be true. In what universe would a bunch of strangers have any interest in rehabilitating unhinged youths? They treated us like scum—prisoners. I was right in thinking we were a cash-grab for them, I just didn't realize to what extent.
They don't want to save us.
They want to use us.
We're not even human beings to them. Though, if I'm being honest, they aren't human either because from what I've seen, no normal person with a shred of humanity would do this. Melanie Cromwell can pretend this is for the greater good, but we're victims too.
Traumatized by our pasts, betrayed by the people we trusted, our stories were crafted by others. And now we're here, being tortured all over again for the sake of sick fucks in expensive suits.
Why, though?
And what does this have to do with Lilydale?
"You need to eat," Dr. Cromwell sighs. "You need energy."
My gaze shoots over to her, narrowing on her relaxed frame. "And pray tell, why is that? What else do you have planned for me?"
She has the audacity to shift slightly, eyes looking away as she shakes her head. "We'll be back soon."
I watch as the door swings closed behind her, blocking out all sounds except my breathing. The light is so bright in this room —a stark contrast to the dull rooms I'm used to. It makes me feel like I'm on reality television without a break. Instinctively, I search the roof, spotting the small camera in the corner pointing down at me. The red light blinks slowly and all I can envision is some doctor sitting in a fancy office, making notes as they observe their newest experiment.
Flipping the bird toward it, I turn away, sitting on the ground with my legs folded underneath me.
I just need to wait. They will come. It will be okay.
"Are ya sure?" My father's voice echoes in my head. "Why would anyone come for ya?"
Tears prickle in my eyes and I shake my head. I drown him out, reminding myself that he's dead. His reign of hurt and pain is over—he can't touch me anymore.
But still…
The doubt is there.
No one ever came when I was on the outside, even when I was a walking cry for help. Teachers, friends, doctors, adults… they all overlooked me.
I can't help but wonder what my life would have looked like if just one person had seen me for what I really was—a broken specimen of fading life.
Why did they not check on me after I found my mother's dead body?
Why did no one raise the alarm when I was treated at the hospital for injuries?
How did no one realize that someone had hurt me without my consent, taking away the most womanly part of my body and soul?
Hell, even after Paige died, there was no one.
I'm not that person anymore…
I'm not invisible.
Theo and Grey see me. I mean something to them.
Fuck… even Damon. We fight all the time but he's never hurt me. He even kissed me—surely that means I'm worth something if I'm visible to even the great, ruthless Damon?
Would my life be better if someone had saved me? If I was on the outside, would I have escaped? My father was adamant I was never leaving, but what if I was able to? With more time and money, maybe I could have made a dash for it. I always wanted to go to Florida—I could have lived my life out on the beach in Miami.
But would I have been happy?
There comes a point where we adapt. You become so used to the trauma and pain that it's all you know. When it disappears, you don't know how to cope without it. Your body stays in that survival mode, constantly on edge until you start to go insane.
If I ran away, I'd be free—but at a price. I'd be alone, unsure how to survive by myself. In a foreign place, I'd be invisible, blending into the crowd of people bustling around.
I'd still be nothing.
In a twisted way Lilydale freed me from those chains. I was no longer invisible, no longer a liability to people. I was just Avery. And in that, I found love, acceptance, and beauty. I found self-worth, strength, and a desire to live and take back my life.
I didn't have that before.
Which is why I'm not going to let these fuckers break me. Because if I do, if I give in like they want me to, I won't just be letting myself down. If anything happens to me, it will destroy Grey and Theo.
They might not realize it, but they have come far too—making the best of a shit situation. Together, we're strong, and we'll stay that way until we find our own individual strength too. We're not the product of our upbringings, not defined by what the court system or society think about us or our past actions. We deserve to be happy too.
I deserve my happy ending.
And that isn't going to end here in this shitty, white-padded room.
The door swings open, ripping me from my thoughts. I look back over my shoulder, frowning as one of the men enters with a tray of food. He sets it down on the ground, giving me a brief look of acknowledgment.
I wait for him to leave before turning my focus to the plastic bowl on the tray, filled with red soup—tomato, I'm assuming.
There's no steam emanating from it so I can already assume that it's lukewarm at best.
Looking away, I close my eyes, picturing the reasons for my existence. I hold onto the images, gathering strength.
They're coming.
"Time to move," a voice says, pulling me out of my slumber.
My eyes flutter open, blinded by the bright lights as blurry figures reach for me. I'm too slow to react, hands grabbing my arms as I'm lifted from the ground.
"Yep. Clothes are dry. She's good to go," one of them says, snapping my bra strap.
Swinging my arm back, I hit him in the rib cage. "Don't touch me!"
Hands tighten on me, unfazed by my assault as I'm dragged from the room.
I quickly find my footing, taking back some of my weight as we head down the corridor. Entering another room, I'm not surprised to find Dr. West and Dr. Cromwell waiting, chatting quietly with each other.
"Did she eat?" Dr. Cromwell asks the men.
"Nope."
She frowns at me in disapproval, scribbling on that damn clipboard. "Alright. We'll just have to make do."
The men shove me onto a reclined chair in the center of the room, reminding me of a dentist's office. The brown, leather straps are fastened over my body, but I don't fight them. Glaring at the doctors, I wait for them to speak, knowing more is coming.
"You should be eating," Dr. West scolds.
I force myself to bite my tongue, not giving them the satisfaction of an answer. They appear surprised but continue moving around once the men step back.
Dr. West grabs what looks like a sheet of paper, peeling off stickers in the form of tiny white circles. As he steps closer, I notice little prongs on top, before he shoves a few onto the side of my head. I flinch away, bobbing my head as Dr. Cromwell clicks some leads hooked to a machine to the stickers.
"What the hell are you doing?" I ask, all strength disappearing as panic sets in.
"Just another observation," she replies simply. "I need you to stay still."
I do no such thing, flailing more as Dr. West approaches me with a needle. He sighs, pausing as he looks unimpressed.
"It would be easier if you kept still."
He grabs my wrist, turning my palm to inspect my veins. I gasp, trying to tug my arm away. "Get that away from me."
"Hold her, please," he says to one of the men, a thick hand coming into view as they press down on my forearm.
"Stop!" I plead, watching in horror as Dr. West pulls the cap off the stick, bringing the needle to my skin.
"It will only hurt for a second," he replies, piercing the skin as I let out a small yelp.
My arm erupts with burning pain as the tip slides into my vein with roughness, a cannula inserted. Dr. West grabs a piece of tape from Dr. Cromwell's outstretched hand, slapping it over my skin to hold the cannula in place.
Immediately, the pain eases, but my anxiety doesn't. Reaching into a medical dish, he lifts up a vial and second needle, drawing the fluid into the syringe.
I already know that whatever is coming can't be good, but I'm helpless to stop it. The needle enters the cannula port and the feeling of cold liquid shoots through my veins.
It doesn't take long before my body slumps into the chair, muscles relaxing as my vision blurs a little. I expect to go unconscious, but I don't.
It's a horrible realization as my mind starts to swim through the possibilities of what's happening, struggling to grasp onto a single thought.
Dr. Cromwell leans over to look at me, giving me a small smile. "Feeling okay?" she asks warmly.
"No…" I manage to croak out.
"She's fine," Dr. West replies dryly, turning the machine screen to face him. "We'll start with seventy volts at an interval of one millisecond. Have you hooked up the pulse monitor?"
"Doing that now," Dr. Cromwell answers as I feel something pressed over my fingertip.
Volts…
Through the haze, it pieces together, and in a last effort attempt to fight, I throw everything I have against the straps. They tighten and press into my skin, digging painfully as I struggle.
"Don't do that, Avery…" Dr. Cromwell says concerned. "You'll be fine."
I snap my gaze to her angrily, perplexed that something so fucking inhumane is happening. "Let me go. Right fucking now."
She sighs quietly under her breath, stepping back as she glances over my body to her colleague.
"Alright," Dr. West says loudly, the machine beeping as he presses some buttons. "Let's begin in three, two… one."
It takes a minute to process what's happening, my body and mind blanking as the sound of loud hissing reaches my ears. But then I realize I can hear a scream through it.
It's mine.