Unspoken

Chapter 11

The floor Jeremii guides me to is painted dull red. With the flickering lights, it almost looks like everything around me is burning. A multitude of doors litter the walls, revealing small, cramped rooms. The rooms are all painted gold; their lights are strong. Only the hall is on fire.

As Jeremii leads me down the hall, he whistles. The upbeat tune makes me smile. My mother whistled to me when I was young. I had trouble sleeping for months after her death without her happy tunes.

I haven't heard anyone whistle since she passed away.

My smile vanishes.

Jeremii brings us to one of the golden-walled rooms. Inside are trinkets and tables, computers and machines common of the Medical Unit. Everything is set too close together to accommodate the small size of the room. There's hardly any space to move. It seems more like a closet than an office.

I'm guided to a chair next to a machine I've never seen before. It's set with two screens, a dashboard, and with small boxes connected to dangling chords. Jeremii starts pressing buttons on it, then brings wires to my head. I try to cringe away but the headrest of the chair stops me.

"Don't worry, Taeo. I'm just checking to see if you're healthy. No funny business."

I take a deep breath and sit forward. The pads used to attach the wires to my skin are cold like winter. I clench my fists as Jeremii attaches more and more, the coldness spreading. When all the wires have been placed, he lets his hand hover over a button. "This might hurt a little."

Before he even finishes the statement, pain shoots through my body. Where every wire is attached, something has stabbed my skin. The dull throb that I've had since I woke is heightened. I feel like I'm getting beat all over again. I'm not numb to this pain like I am to that of the Transmitters.

And finally, after what feels like minutes though I know it was only seconds, it's over. I breathe like I'd just run a hundred miles. Without waiting for Jeremii's instructions, I start to tear the wires off my skin. I would give anything to have the small prick of Transmitters instead of that.

"Other than your injuries, it looks like you're completely healthy. You're adapting well so far." He clicks around on the monitors. These are like our Holograph Adapters, I realize, but older. They have more pieces and parts to them than our technology does. "You don't have any nutrient deficiencies that won't fix themselves when you're able to digest more food."

I step out of the chair and run my hands through my hair. Pieces of it are clumped together with blood. I pull my hands away in disgust. My fingers are wet with sweat. My whole body is perspiring. Nothing about this seems healthy; I know I'm not adapting well. I give Jeremii a glare, but he doesn't notice. He seems to be choosing to ignore my anger and me.

"I have something for you." Jeremii leans over and opens a drawer. I watch carefully as he pulls out clothing: jeans and a cotton shirt. "I thought you'd want something else to wear. We can get you a shower later." He turns to a computer screen and starts to type. He again doesn't address my emotions. This rush of emotion must be common and irrational, I realize. I calm down immediately.

I take the turn as a sign of my privacy. I begin peeling off my dirty clothes. When I take my undershirt off, I'm momentarily taken aback at the deep bruises and slices painted down my stomach. They're extremely tender to the touch. I quickly pull the cotton shirt on over them. I don't want to have to see the injuries. They only remind me that I'm no longer in safety now that I'm down here.

I grab my bloodstained jacket and put it back over my shoulders. It has the book in it, the one Merda had given me. I have to keep it close. Right now it's my only link to the surface. In this moment, at least I have Merda with me in some way.