Chapter 10 - Needles

I sit stiff in my chair as I listen to people talking outside the door to my room. According to the clock on the wall, it has been three hours since I bit that woman.

"Was she given the memory serum?" A male voice asks. "What about her purity?"

"All of that is getting done once we relocate her to the second floor." A female voice replays.

"What about her known family?"

"Did you not read the file like you said you did? We know the parents are deceased, and there hasn't been any more mentioning on alive family such as siblings or grandparents, not that grandparents were common in this time in day, but still, it's held accountable."

A man and woman walk into the room and the man puts on a clearly fake smile while the woman doesn't even try.

"How are you doing, honey?" He asks, the fake smile making me sick to my stomach.

"Can you take this thing out of my arm, please." I motion to the IV in my arm.

I put emphasis on the word 'please' because I remember doing that when I was younger because my dad was always telling me to use my ''pleases and thank you's'.

"Why?" The man asks skeptically.

"It's annoying and it hurts"

"I'll take it out when I leave."

I put on a smile as fake as his is.

"Does anything else hurt like your head or arms or legs or chest?" The woman asks sounding like she just wants to get to the point.

I shake my head no.

"Do you feel like the room is spinning or does any part of you feel tingly?" She asks.

I shake my head no again.

"Do you feel really hot, or really cold?"

I shake my head again.

"Well, that's good. We have to do some blood work on you though."

"No. Please no more needles! I don't like them." A tear unintentionally falls down my cheek.

"It's the last one, I promise." He tries to persuade me.

I choke on a sob, nerves going through me and eating me alive from the inside.

I never liked needles, not before this, and definitely not after this.

Dad told me that he knew why I didn't like them, but that he would tell me once I was older.

That time never came, so I never found out for sure.

The man begins to mess with tubes,
little plastic containers and the needle.

I try to ignore all of the things, but I just saw can't help but cry in fear.

Don't stop. At least crying will make you look even more little.

"Did you have any friends back home?"
The man asks.

"No." I reply simply and quietly.

"Did they die?"

"I never had any."

The man lightly grabs my right wrist and I quickly jerk it away.

"It will be quick, I promise." He pleads.

"No." I cry.

He starts trying to talk to me, but I don't hear him between my sobs and me just not caring enough to listen.

"It's okay. We just want to make sure you're healthy, and then we can help you if you aren't." The woman says kindly, finally speaking up.

"I'm scared." I admit quietly.

"We need the blood work." The woman says factually.

The man grabs my arm and holds down tightly. I try to yank it away, but his grip is too strong.

The woman ties a plastic band around my arm tightly and then feels around my arm.

"Stop!" I cry helplessly.

I feel the sharp jab of the needle in my arm and I scream in fear, not able to control the sound coming from my mouth.

I move around as much as I can to make it difficult for them to hold me, but soon enough the needle is out of my arm and the man and woman leave with the blood they took from my body.

And they never took the IV out of my arm.
  

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Hours later no one has been in my room.

I haven't even heard anyone outside in the hallway by my door.

Normally, I would be bored, but all that I currently am is terrified.

I also am extremely tired.

But yet again, because of my terror, my brain refuses to relax.

Suddenly, the door opens to reveal a short woman with brown straight hair.

"Would you like something to eat?" She asks, smiling.

"Yes please!" I say, my voice very small.

This whole 'acting younger' thing is a lot easier than I had planned it would be.

After a few minutes, the short, brown haired woman comes back with a kind of soup. I don't really know what was in it, but I devour it in what seems like seconds.

"Can you take this thingy out of my arm?" I ask her, motioning to the
IV.

I have decided against calling it an IV in front of anyone because I assume that a nine year old would most likely not know what an IV is.

The woman eventually leaves, smiling at me.

Full and IV-less, I ease my way into the rock hard chair and try to relax.

Yet sleep never comes.

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