PART 3
Laura lay on her side in the pitch black room, her left shoulder throbbing from
her weight against the hard floor. She was relieved to be alone at last but also
apprehensive. Suppose they never came back for her? She felt hungry and parched
and wondered how long she would last here. Whether they might overestimate how
long she would survive and come back to find her lifeless.
The darkness was hard on her. Without any distraction, the events of the day
pushed forward into her consciousness relentlessly and she found herself crying
out and weeping. Her body felt used and evacuated, as if she were an empty husk.
And her mind, attacked and bruised.
But, as the hours passed, she began to regain her former composure. Clearly
Feierlein was behind all this. But what did he expect to gain, other than
perhaps a sadistic pleasure in the knowledge that she was suffering? Why was he
not here? And who was this man? He was capable of real brutality but had
prevented Harris having his way with her more than once. And the things they had
done to her, which she could only think of as procedures, well what was the
point, other than to humiliate her utterly, to reduce her to some gibbering
wreck? Maybe that was exactly the point, she realised. Or maybe something else,
like training, like Pavlov's dogs. She felt deeply insecure.
At least I'm still alive, Laura consoled herself. Maybe I can actually come
through this. She cringed at the thought of the men watching her as she stripped
for them. And how they had stood by callously while she suffocated and retched.
But she was surprised that her nakedness bothered her less now.
Laura's train of thought was however soon replaced by a more fundamental
concern: she was desperately thirsty. She had drunk nothing but salt water for
hours and her mouth felt like paper, her lips cracked, her throat burnt by acid.
She knew that she was already seriously dehydrated. She needed water, fresh
water for Christ's sake. She thought about the toilet but remembered that it was
just a pan with a hole in the bottom: no water there, however unclean. Perhaps
her own sweat? But even if she could reach her skin in this position, the water
had long evaporated and the thought of more salt made her nauseous.
Her mind raced, exploring all possibilities, realistic and fantastic. She turned
onto her other side, opening and closing her eyes without effect. She heard a
faint sound, almost inaudible. Her heart leapt. It was the sound of a droplet of
water occasionally hitting the floor, somewhere in the room. And then she
remembered the overflow pipe with the grate below. There must be a tank,
filling, and leaking into the room. Nervously, in case she was to be
disappointed, she inched towards the wall where she remembered it. Awkwardly,
she got to her knees and shuffled over until she hit her forehead against the
hard surface.
It took several minutes of shuffling left and right until she found the pipe
with the side of her head. Gingerly, she leaned back and, sticking out her
tongue, probed for the end with its tip. Making contact, the drop of moisture
saturated the desiccated flesh and Laura felt waves of pleasure flood her brain.
Thank you, she said, out loud. Bending her head, and holding her mouth just
below, she caught the droplets as they came, about once every ten seconds, she
calculated. It tasted wonderful.
After a few minutes, she became uncomfortable in this position and wondered if
she could lie on her back on the floor with her mouth open and catch the drops
that way. But her attempts were not very successful and she wasted many precious
drops in the process. Hurriedly, she got back onto her knees. Her thirst
banished all thoughts of hygiene -the water was probably contaminated and she
could hardly have cared less. She opened her mouth wide and closed her lips
around the plastic sheath. Yes, it felt good. The water trickled very slowly
down her throat. By sucking at the pipe, breathing through her nostrils, she
thought that she could increase slightly the rate of flow. She knelt at the
lovely, stubby pipe for several hours. Even the soreness of her knees against
the hard floor did not detract from her pleasure.
She jerked her head back as she heard noises at the front door. Hurriedly, she
shuffled back across the room and lay down on her side, bringing her knees up to
her breasts. As she heard footsteps in the corridor, her breathing quickened and
her heart beat strongly in chest. Then, the door was opened and light flooded
the room, blinding her. She was dragged to her feet and led back into the office
where the man who was not Harris forced her to her knees with gentle pressure on
her shoulders.
Harris was sitting as usual on the sofa. Even before Laura caught sight of the
hamburger he was eating, she caught the smell of fat and instinctively she
licked her lips and felt her gastric juices gurgle in her stomach. She was
famished and was wondering if Harris might toss her a morsel of food if she did
something to please him. But then she remembered the bag and the punishment for
acting out of turn.
Hartmann picked up the steel pan from the sink and brought it to Laura's feet.
Taking the tube from between her thighs he turned a small tap near the tip and
drained the girl's bladder. A small quantity of dark yellow liquid trickled into
the pan. Hartmann was satisfied with the colour and quantity. Manipulating the
tube further, he removed it from Laura's urethra. She winced with pain as he did
so and let out a sigh as it was at last withdrawn.
Returning to the sink, he took a large, wide syringe and filled it with water,
pulling out the plunger with some effort. As he came over, Laura wondered
passively which of her holes he was going to fill now. Taking her by the hair,
he pressed the end between her lips, at which she bit reflexively into the
plastic. She choked as he emptied the contents of the syringe into her mouth,
her parched throat unable to respond to the sudden quantity of liquid. But she
managed to gulp down several refreshing mouthfuls, the rest spilling out over
her chin and onto the floor. Instantly she began to feel better.
Hartmann placed a small, white plastic bowl in front of the girl. It contained
cold, boiled potatoes. He saw that she was absorbed by the sight of it and heard
the saliva gurgle in her mouth. She was breathing quickly in anticipation.
"Would you like to eat it?" he asked her.
"Yes. Please. Please, sir", she replied, looking at him hopefully.
"Go on, then".
Laura looked down at the bowl of cold potatoes. She was starving and they looked
delicious. Her hands remained chained behind her back, so she bent forward,
cautiously, careful not to overbalance and fall forward. Her abdominal muscles
rippled as she lowered herself until her mouth was at the bowl. She began to
feed, clumsily, getting much of the soft potato up her nose and over her chin,
even on her breasts, but swallowing some of it. She lapped the white plastic
with her tongue to capture the remainder. Finally convinced that there was no
more to be had, she raised herself slowly back to her original kneeling
position.
She looked back at the man. He was holding a large beaker of cloudy water, which
he put down in front of her.
"No" she cried out at the sight of it, before she could catch herself. The man's
expression immediately hardened.
"I see that you have still not learned proper manners here", he said, picking up
an elastic band and tearing off a piece of clear plastic. Laura was in tears
before the bag was over her head, and continued to sob even as her breathing
became strained.
Some time later, Laura knelt over the steel pan, supporting herself with
trembling arms, looking down at the contents of her stomach. She had just
brought up the third beaker of brine and was completely exhausted. Liquid
dripped into the pan from her eyes, nose and mouth. The last one had been a real
effort: she had had to stick her fingers deep into her throat to trigger the
reaction. She seemed to have become less sensitive on each occasion.
"Well done" said Hartmann, removing the pan and emptying it into the sink. "You
may change position. Sit down, on your bottom."
Laura complied with relief, bringing her knees up to her chest and holding them
with her hands. She wondered if it might be over for today, just the enema and
the catheter to go. Unpleasant, but she could cope.
The man was holding a bright red rubber ball about the size of a baseball. He
tossed it to her and it rolled along the floor, coming to rest against her
thigh.
"Put it in your vagina" he ordered. Laura, startled, picked up the ball. She
knew that she had to do what she was told, without hesitation. The alternative
-she wasn't sure if she could survive another punishment that day.
But the ball was much too large to go inside her. She looked up at the man, to
see if she had misunderstood something perhaps. He looked at her, implacably.
She turned to Harris, who was watching her with a sick grin on his stubbly face.
She looked back at the ball.
Laura spread her legs and gingerly touched her soft flesh. Inserting two fingers
a short way into her body, she started to open herself. Her vagina was tight and
dry and even this was painful. She heard an angry voice.
"Listen. You have five minutes to get that thing in or I'll ask Mr Harris there
to do it for you. And then, I'll punish you."
The words rang in Laura's head as she frantically tried to force the ball in.
She had abandoned the idea of opening herself up slowly and was now spreading
her labia as wide as she could with the fingers of her left hand while pressing
the ball hard against her vulva. She screwed up her eyes and gritted her teeth
with the effort. It was no good, she just could not stretch herself open far
enough.
A tube was thrown at her. She recognised it: lubricant. Conscious of the time,
she hastily unscrewed the top and squeezed a large dollop onto her hand, then
plunged her fingers into her vagina smearing it liberally with the clear gel.
She squeezed more out onto the ball and covered it so that it glistened in the
light. Lying on her back, she pressed the ball against her opening using both
hands, then tried using her left to pull herself open while keeping up the
pressure using the right. She felt her muscles yield. She heard a voice. She had
thirty seconds more.
The pain was preventing her from stretching further and she let it out with a
loud scream. She jerked hard and felt herself stretched and torn. Then, without
warning, her muscles contracted and sucked the ball inside, leaving her hand
flailing uselessly. The ball lodged itself in her cavity and the sharp pain was
replaced by a dull sense of distension. She lay back, panting heavily.
"Good" said Hartmann.
"Told you her cunt was slack" Harris interjected, getting a withering look from
Hartmann in return.
"Turn yourself towards Mr Harris" continued Hartmann to the girl "and spread
your legs. I think he wants a good view." Laura responded mechanically.
"Masturbate." Harris looked at him in alarm. "Not you, idiot. Her."
Laura lifted her head and looked at both men in turn. They looked back at her,
expectantly.
God, thought Laura as her hand moved between her legs. They really have reduced
me to their sex toy. I don't even make a show of defiance. They just tell me
what to do and I do it. I don't even feel embarrassed or humiliated. Just numb
now.
Laura began fingering herself. Loud liquid noises could be heard from the gel
and, possibly, her own juices. Probing into her vagina with a fingertip, she
felt the hardness of the ball and recoiled. With her other hand she started to
cup her breast, playing with the nipple, because she knew men liked to see that.
She closed her eyes.
Suddenly she felt her hand grabbed, pulled from her breast, and forced between
her legs. She looked up in surprise.
"I said masturbate, woman. Not grope yourself. Now do it properly."
Laura's cheeks filled with hot blood as she began to play with herself using
both hands. She parted her labia with her left and rubbed her clitoris with the
other in small circular motions. She felt a familiar tingling in her groin and a
swelling in her nipples. Her abdominal muscles tightened. But even now she knew
that she would not be able to bring herself off. How could they expect her to,
like this?
Looking down at the writhing girl on the floor at his feet, Harris felt his cock
harden uncomfortably. Every so often, he caught sight of the red ball as she
pulled herself open. He was mesmerized by the sight of it.
You're enjoying this, aren't you, you dirty whore. Pretending to be nice and
proper but a slut underneath like all the others. You need to be taught a
lesson. Yes, my fists and cock will learn you all right. Break you, turn you
black, blue, red. Fuck you til you bleed out of your arse. Yes, beg me, beg me
to fuck you again. Don't hurt me. Please I'll do anything. Spit out that tooth,
suck my filthy cock with those bleeding lips. And when I'm done I'll carve you,
slit you from your tits to your cunt, gut you like a fish. Yes, yes...
Laura rubbed her clitoris hard and fast, trying to stimulate herself. It was not
working. She looked at Harris: a line of drool hung from the corner of his
mouth. She looked at the other man, who was writing something at his desk. Laura
felt ridiculous.
Hartmann turned around. "OK, that's enough." Laura immediately withdrew her
hands and closed her legs, jerking Harris out of his daydream with a grunt.
"Remove the ball and return it to me" he said, tossing a plastic shoe-horn at
Laura. She picked it up, and looked at it stupidly. In her obsession to get the
object in, she had not even considered how it would be removed. Vaguely she had
thought that it would be taken care of somehow, by them.
Sitting up and spreading her legs again, she inserted her first and second
fingers into her vagina. The ball met her fingertips at about an inch inside.
She concentrated hard and became oblivious to those around her. Squeezing four
fingers inside the mouth, she cupped her hand and managed to get it underneath
the ball, pressing against the thin membrane to her rectum with her knuckles.
She tried to get her thumb in too, to allow her to close her hand on the ball,
but she could only get it in to the first joint. She strained in this position
for a while, trying to get a purchase on the round, slippery object.
After some further struggling, which elicited cruel laughter from Harris, she
gave up and picked up the shoe horn. Inserting it beneath the ball, she forced
it in as far as she could and felt the end dig sharply into her flesh. Holding
it in place, she tried to get her other hand in over the top of the ball, at
least two or three fingers. Perhaps she could pull it out that way, deliver it
using her hand and the shoe horn as makeshift forceps. But again the ball was
too big, too slippery, and despite her strenuous efforts it would not budge.
Laura, purple in the face, veins standing out on her neck and forehead, began to
cry again.
"All right" said Hartmann, who had been observing her struggles. "It's not
coming out, is it?". Laura shook her head. She hoped he could see that she had
tried her best.
"I'm going to need to give you an anaesthetic to relax the muscles." He removed
a small syringe complete with needle from a sterile packet. Piercing the top of
a small vial, he withdrew its contents. Laura watched him closely.
Coming over to her, he told her to offer up her left arm. Pinching the soft
flesh at her bicep, he pricked the skin, found the vein easily and emptied the
contents of the syringe into her. The liquid was cold and chilled her arm as it
penetrated her.
Almost immediately Laura's legs began to grow weak and numb. As she was lifted
to her feet, she felt disorientated, her head swam, she found she could not
focus. The room drifted in front of her eyes at a strange angle and the lights
were surrounded by pulsating halos. She was being dragged out of the office and
along the corridor, then into another room. As the scene zigzagged and floated
she tried to follow the shape of a mattress on the wall, no, on the floor it
must be. Black straps at the corners. Lying down now, giddy, on my back. Soft,
so soft. Could sink deep in this.
Laura watched the bare lightbulb above execute complicated patterns, leaving a
trail of light behind it like neon. She felt her arms being raised above her and
restrained, although she did not attempt to test the bonds. Then her legs were
strapped apart. The room was spinning and she was glad to be secured.
A blur in front of her. A face. A dark shape. "Open", a voice boomed from
somewhere. How could she open herself with her hands tied? She felt her mouth
prised apart and a big, thick object forced to the back of her throat. She
choked and gagged. "Concentrate", boomed the voice again. "Control it." She
coughed and spluttered as hands fastened the object around the back of her head.
Finally, her throat ceased its spasms and she lay back breathing hard through
her nostrils.
Hands, many hands, on her body. Groping her breasts, tugging at her pubic hair.
Then, something between her legs, pressing within. Huge, splitting her open,
easily. God, it was inside her, swelling against her tiny body. She was dwarfed
by it, insignificant. It reached into her, deep, deeper than she could believe.
She was a hole, an empty, evacuated hole, nothing more, and it filled her
completely. She felt it in her chest, her throat and still it was expanding. The
room span faster and she drifted in space. She heard loud, hard, animal noises.
Were they coming from her?
Hartmann held the girl's breast in his left hand and with his right probed her
vagina. His arm was in her up to the wrist and still he pushed further. He
looked over his shoulder at the man behind, then back at the girl's face. She
was moaning into the gag, nostrils flaring as she breathed, and her eyes were
wide and vacant. He had his hand around the ball and pumped her with his fist as
hard as he could, her body jerking and yielding with each punch.
Laura started to scream and thrash against her bonds. Hartmann felt her vagina
tighten against his wrist: once, twice. Her abdominal muscles were contracting
and stood out hard underneath her pale skin. Then she shook, relaxed for a
moment and, feeling the pressure released from his wrist, Hartmann withdrew his
hand from her body in a single, smooth movement. The girl continued to come,
muscles contracting and relaxing, chest quivering, moaning and choking into the
gag. His hand was covered with her juices and he shook it a couple of times.
Then he picked up a towel and wiped his hand and the red ball. "OK" he said,
over his shoulder.
Laura was drifting, a tiny cork on a huge wild stormy ocean. Gradually, the
waves subsided. A shape drifted across her eyes. A face. A man. A familiar man.
Who?
"Laura" said Feierlein. "I'm sorry they have to do this to you. But it is
necessary, you understand." He stroked her wet hair as he spoke. Yes, I
understand, she seemed to say through the gag.
"This will continue. But I promise to come back for you. Do you understand?"
Yes, she nodded. She understood. Then she lost focus and her eyes drifted around
the room.
Feierlein stood up, faintly disturbed by this whole business. To Hartmann, he
said that he hoped that this would be worth the effort. Then he pulled his
overcoat over his tuxedo and left the building, his chauffeur leaping out of the
car to open the door.
Hartmann called out to Harris, who had been told to wait in the other room.
"Bring the cuffs and a catheter."
"A what?" came the reply. "One of those thin packets on the desk, Einstein."
Laura remained passive, stunned, as Hartmann wiped down her body and then
inserted another catheter between her still-trembling thighs. She coughed a
little as the gag was extracted. Hartmann dabbed her mouth and eyes with the
towel. Untying her arms and legs, they turned her onto her side and cuffed her
wrists behind her back, noticing that the mattress was soaked. Then, she was
lifted and deposited in her cell. The men left, turning off the light using the
switch outside and locking the door.
A chill from the floor rose through her hot body as she lay on her side.
Gradually the effects of the drugs dissipated, both the ones administered and
the ones she herself had generated. She felt empty, her vagina sore and abused.
Liquid trickled out of her body down her thigh and formed a pool on the floor.
She felt used and dirty and elated. She tried to understand what had happened to
her. She remembered the words, that he would come back for her. She prayed that
it was true.
Laura listened to the regular drip of the water from the overflow pipe. Her
mouth tasted metallic and she was terribly thirsty. Within a few moments she was
at the pipe, closing her lips around it, letting the cold, sharp liquid saturate
her tongue and trickle down the back of her throat. After all the abuse, it was
pure, innocent pleasure. A long time later, she withdrew and curled up on the
floor, falling sound asleep.
She awoke with a start. A key was being turned in the lock. Then, the door was
thrown open, blinding her with the harsh light from the corridor. A man stood
there. From his shape and smell, she knew immediately that it was Harris.
Stepping in, he grabbed Laura by the hair and hauled her onto her knees. She
gritted her teeth, trying not to cry out. Yanking her head back, he squeezed her
left breast hard, digging his nails into her flesh. Laura yelped in shock and
pain.
"So, bitch, it's just you and me now", he snarled. Laura, expecting that the
other man would be close behind him, jumped in alarm. Harris slapped her hard
across the face, first with his palm, then with the back of his hand. Laura fell
back but he caught her, steadying her body. Her face smarted and she felt blood
under her nose. Harris unbuckled his belt and pulled down his zip. Fumbling, he
produced his penis. It was hard, ugly, and curved upwards.
"Suck it" he commanded. Laura recoiled but he grabbed her by the back of the
head and forced her onto it, thrusting it as far as he could down her throat.
She choked and stuggled but he held her fast while she gained control of
herself.
"Go on, bitch, suck it good. Yes, that's it. Harder. Come on."
Laura worked his cock with her lips pursed as hard as she could. It was
difficult to move because he held her head so tightly with both hands, but she
gave him her best. If only I can make him come quickly, she thought, maybe he
won't want to rape me. Or if he does, maybe he'll be softer. She concentrated,
tightening her mouth, taking him deep, flicking the end with her tongue. He
responded well and she felt him stiffen as his cock swelled in her mouth.
Suddenly, Laura's ears were shattered by an enormous bang which echoed round the
room. Harris jerked and Laura felt his penis pulse as he shot a wad of semen
into the back of her throat. She swallowed it, coughing and spluttering in
surprise.
Acrid fumes filled her nostrils as Harris staggered backwards. He fell rigidly
and lay on the floor, his feet twitching. His erect, grey penis stood out
obscenely against his dark suit. Laura looked up. The other man stood in the
doorway, a gun in his hand, still smoking. She looked down again at Harris. A
black hole had appeared on his cheek, and blood was leaking from it.
"I warned him not to touch you without permission" said Hartmann, irritated.
Laura, ears ringing, looked at him nervously, worried that she was somehow
implicated in this transgression, and that she might also be due to be punished.
"I never liked him" Hartmann said to her, affably, looking down at the corpse.
"Did you?". No, Laura shook her head, uncertainly. Hartmann observed that the
girl was in shock.
"Come on, get on your feet" he told her. Laura rose. Hartmann saw that she had
lost weight since she had first stripped for him two days earlier. Mainly
dehydration, he reckoned. But, aside from her bloody nose and bruised cheek, she
looked well enough.
"Step over here" he continued. "Avoid the blood."
Laura stepped carefully over the body, unable to keep from looking at the face
while avoiding the pool of blood oozing from behind the head. Harris' eyes were
wide open and he still wore an expression of surprise. She was glad he was dead.
He deserved it. She just wished he could have suffered more.
Following her morning ritual with the salt water, she sat back in the same room,
letting her bowels flush into the toilet pan. Strange, she thought, that I
outlived him. I was sure he would destroy me. As she was being hosed down in the
semi-darkness of the neighbouring room, she felt relaxed, despite the frigidity
of the water, knowing that this other man would control his passions.
Later, drugged and strapped to the mattress, she came even harder as the ball
was removed. She was grateful for the gag. She would otherwise have begged him
to fuck her at that moment, an offence which would probably have earned her
further punishment.
Although he fitted her as usual with the catheter, he did not bother to chain
her hands before leaving her in the darkness of her cell for the night. When she
heard the outer door being closed, it did not occur to her to try to remove it.
Her sole impulse was to get to the pipe, where she remained for much of the
night, palms against the wall supporting her weight, lips pursed around the
tube.
The following day, she came while masturbating. She looked in surprise at
Hartmann, who told her to take out the ball. Plunging her hand into her pulsing
vagina, she pushed hard and delivered the ball, allowing it to slip through her
hands and roll across the floor leaving a trail of liquid behind it. Laura felt
that she had done well and relaxed back, breathing heavily, with a slight smile.
Later, Hartmann taught her how to insert the catheter herself.
The following night, Laura was again at the pipe when she heard the outer door
open. She dragged herself away, reluctantly since she was still thirsty, but
without hesitation lest anyone discover her secret. When the door opened it was
not the man she expected: it was Feierlein.
"I've come to take you home" he said. Laura looked at him, failing to
comprehend. As he walked up to her, Laura instinctively put her arms around his
waist and as she knelt there she buried her face in his coarse wool coat, just
as she had done once with her father when he had found her after she had lost
her way.
Still naked, she was led by the hand down the corridor and out of the building.
A car was waiting and, as the driver opened the door, Feierlein helped her into
the back seat. She lay on her back as the car pulled away, watching the setting
sun on the horizon between her knees. The motion of the car sent her to sleep.
She awoke again at the sound of the opening door. It was dark. Feierlein helped
her out and up the steps to the door of her apartment. No-one was around. Then
she was inside. A plastic bag was dropped at her feet and the door closed behind
her. She heard the sound of a car pulling away. She was alone.
Laura stood for some time in the hallway, unable to decide what to do.
Eventually, her feet carried her forward and she wandered for a while around her
apartment. She found the kitchen and went immediately to the sink. Putting her
mouth to the cold tap, she turned it and filled her mouth with the glorious
fresh water. She managed to swallow a little and wiped her mouth with her arm.
Then she sat down at the kitchen table.
She had been there for an hour, motionless, when her bladder began to cause her
discomfort. She looked down between her legs but saw that the catheter was not
there. In the bathroom, she sat trying to pee but couldn't. Eventually, she
realised that it would not happen, that her muscles had atrophied even in this
short time.
In the hallway, she found the plastic bag. She emptied the contents onto the
floor. In addition to a red ball, which rolled into a corner, it contained to
her relief four thin packets. There were also four enema bottles. Returning to
the bathroom, she bit the end off one of the packets and withdrew a catheter.
This she inserted skilfully into her urethra, checking the depth as she
introduced its length. Then, she straddled the toilet and opened the small tap.
Light yellow liquid spurted out and she felt the pressure in her bladder ease.
She heard a noise somewhere in the apartment. Ringing. A phone. A phone ringing.
She followed the sounds and picked up the receiver, holding it to her ear,
listening.
"Laura, are you there?" came an unfamiliar voice. "Laura, it's Mark", it
continued, uncertainly.
"Hello Mark" answered Laura, mechanically.
"Good," said Mark, relieved, "good to hear your voice. I was a little worried.
Anyway, how was it? Did you have a good time?"
"Um..." said Laura, thinking.
"Yes, when Larry said you'd gone off on vacation because of the stress and all
that... well anyway I'm glad you're back. Larry said you'd be preparing for the
hearing so I guess we're ready, is that right?"
"Hearing. When?" asked Laura, distantly, picking up on his words.
"10:30 -I thought you knew. Tomorrow, yes?" he paused, listening for her
reaction. Laura did not respond. She was confused.
"Let's meet at Starbucks at 10 -OK?" he suggested.
"OK" said Laura, to get rid of him, and put down the receiver.
She looked over at her dining table, which was covered with files and papers.
There was a laptop too. Looking at the papers, she recognised her handwritten
notes. Gradually, she began to remember. She looked at the clock: it showed
9:30. But it was dark so it must be night, she thought. 9:30 in the evening.
As she sat at the table, her life came back to her. Though she was utterly
famished, she did not think of eating. She sat reading her notes, drinking from
a jug of water, into the night. It had become cold and she had found a dressing
gown, which she now wore.
It dawned on her that they had nearly broken her. In just a few days they had
almost wiped away her life, left her a shell, an idiot. But somehow she had
survived. They had underestimated her resilience, had assumed in their arrogance
that she was finished. But even now she could feel her strength and her
faculties returning to her. On impulse, she went over to the refrigerator and
found a hunk of cheese, which she nibbled at greedily.
She did not sleep, and as the sun rose she resolved that she would go through
with it. She would attend the hearing: it had all come back to her. It was, in
fact, her only chance of getting over this. She had to hit back right away, show
him and herself that she was strong, that she had not been crushed after all.
Draining herself one more time, she removed the catheter. She would not need it
for a few hours and knew she would be more confident in public without it. She
showered briskly, then pulled on fresh underwear, a blouse and suit. The
material felt rough and scratchy and she felt uncomfortable. But, filling her
briefcase with paperwork, she began to feel better, in control again.
