❝𝐈𝐟 𝐈 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐬𝐨, 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐲 𝐛𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝒐𝒏𝒍𝒚.❞
Selfishly fascinated with her own strength, Valen Ferreira is willing to do nearly anything and everyth...
VALE GRADUALLY CAME TO IN AN EMPTY, FREEZING ROOM.
Where am I? The room's pristine, white walls appeared gray in the dim lighting, and the strong, astringent smell of cleaning and medical supplies punched her in the gut. Her only form of protection was a flimsy cotton blanket that hardly covered her from head to toe. A second wave of confusion struck her, and she blinked slowly.
Who am I?
Valé shifted, freezing when something trickled down her leg. She snaked her hand to the hem of the covers and pulled them aside— the little color remaining on her cheeks drained, and her body stiffened.
Blood; so much blood.
The covers slipped from her fingers and she sluggishly rolled over, spewing everything she'd eaten onto the linoleum flooring. When her blood-soaked thighs locked together, they produced a disgusting squelching sound, making the hairs of her arms and neck curl.
As she coughed up the last of her vomit, a group dressed in white filed in. They whispered among themselves, their indiscernible words scathing in the sharp, pointed way their words darted from their mouths. Valé shyly pulled the covers over her bloodied body.
A woman Valé hadn't noticed earlier caught her gaze. She was tall and slender, and her nurse's uniform was too loose on her swan-like frame. Unlike the rest, her complexion was rich, a deep, deep brown. Valé's sight was blurred, but she could easily distinguish how uncomfortable she was, being in the room.
The nurses (except for the brown woman) coalesced around Valé's bedside, procuring all sorts of strange, unrecognizable medical tools that glinted menacingly in their bony, white hands. One pressed an icy, weighty stethoscope to her chest, which was so cold it burned through the weathered cotton rag that was her gown, searing her skin like an iron brand seared cattle. They poked and prodded her, loosened and tightened their holds on her as they needed, and when they discovered the blood soaking her thighs and hips, they pulled their thin, painted lips into scathing lines and tossed her a damp, odd-smelling rag; it was under their rigid scrutiny Valé wiped her legs clean of blood and muck.
With trembling hands, Valé dropped the rag aside— she supposed they didn't even want to touch it. Shamefully, though, they hadn't given her a clean gown or blanket; she sat up, only covering her barren legs with the unstained of the blanket— oh, but how badly her abdomen cramped. It was akin to thousands of tiny knives embedding themselves in her muscles.
