BORROWED [Watty Awards Finalist/NEWLY EDITED!]

Chapter Nine

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"Please state your name."

The metal examination table presses at the back of my bare thighs, the hair on the back of my neck stands from the frigid air. A nurse wants to interrogate me while I sit wearing limited clothing. If that isn't irritating enough, my hurt ankle dangles freely, swiveling in circles through the air.

"I'm just a number, remember?" I avert my eyes toward the floor, only allowing myself to hear the woman sigh. She taps her finger against a paper thin device, probably recommending that I should be locked up in that tiny room again.

Still looking down at the floor, I hear her mumbling, "Number 242...hostile...is ignoring obvious pain...denial..."

I look up at her quickly. "Why are you saying those things?"

She lowers the device, pressing it against her hefty stomach. "If you don't cooperate, things will be a lot harder for you, Irissa."

"So, you know my name, then?"

Her belly shakes as she laughs. "I know everything about you, so don't think you can fool me, little girl," she says. "This is just an assessment that must be filled out at every checkup." The pin on her scrub top is crooked. I want to reach out and straighten it, but instead, I start chewing on my nails.

"Nasty habit," she says, pulling my hand away from my mouth.

I blow out a forced breath. "Making young girls into surrogates is a nasty habit."

Her face turns slightly pink as she changes the subject. "Raise your leg for me." Laying my ankle on her palm, she presses her fingers into the puffy flesh. Her head tilts from right to left. As she stands back, my leg falls abruptly, smashing my hurt foot against the wall of the table.

"Ouch!" I say, widening my eyes. "What's wrong with you? You must have loved hearing your Assignment was to become a nurse at PURE. So far you're pretty good at causing pain."

A smile tugs at her upper lip. "Can't say you didn't deserve that," she says with a stuck-up tone.

Okay, if I want to get information, I need to be overly nice to these people.

Sucking it up and letting the pain dissipate from my mind, I ask, "Your name is Monica?" My eyes scan over her name tag, again.

She stops recording, looking straight at me. "Yes..." Her shoulders slouch forward, making her appear even shorter.

"It's a pretty name," I say with a forced smile.

You're doing good...keep up the façade.

Monica's face softens as she rolls her shoulders back, standing with more confidence. "It was my mother's name," she says proudly.

"If I had to guess, your mother was probably a wonderful person. She must have been caring, like you, given your occupation."

"She was..."

Uh oh, she looks suspicious.

Monica walks across the room and sets her device down on the countertop. She turns around and looks over at me. No words shared between us. Only quietness plagues the air we breathe. It's really awkward.

She breaks the silence, "I'm not going to tell you anything, number two-four-two." The way her lips perk when she says my number runs chills up my arm. This very moment, I want to leap from this table and show her I can't be easily tamed.