Page 36 of Brox Boar

And through all of that, two anchors kept dragging me back from the abyss.

Rio and Brox.

The men who ruined my life. That part is still true. They pulled me into their world, took me and tore me open. Broke my illusion of safety, smashed my idea of who I thought I was, and then, they freed me.

How stupid of me, trying to cage myself back into normality. That was a wasted effort on my part.

Even after tonight, after they pulled me out of that basement, out of that lab, out of Morales’s hands. Their warmth did more than the antidotes and fluids. Their presence lined itself under my bones.

I try to name what it is they do to me, and my brain skids. Love feels too big in my mouth. I push it away. I don’t trust myself with labels. What I know, what I cannot deny, is simpler.

At my worst, when the drug swarmed every nerve, when everything burned and floated at the same time, I didn’t crave more of the substance. I craved them.

Their voices. Their hands. Their eyes on me. Their presence wrapped around me like the air. More than the hit. More than the bliss. More than the crash that never came.

But they’re the reason I walked straight into hell. A year ago I told them Dr. Morales didn’t care about the pets, but they couldn’t see it until it was too late. And every lesson came out of my skin.

The car turns onto the familiar road leading to the hospital. The building rises at the end of the street. It has never looked so ordinary. And I have never felt so far from ordinary.

When I called Mary earlier, I could hear the relief in her voice when she realized I was actually alive, and able to work. I agreed to the shift, half out of guilt and half because I wanted time out of the Boarpit. For a few hours, I can pretend I’m Georgina again.

The driver pulls up near the staff entrance. I thank him, step out, and pull my coat tighter around me. The night air nips at my skin. My legs feel steady. No tremors, no weakness. The drugs that was forced into me must have flushed enough for my muscles to cooperate. My mind still wanders, but in a focused way now.

I talk to the security guard, tell him I lost my ID and after the necessary checks, the lock clicks. The familiar antiseptic scent hits me, mixing with coffee from the vending area nearby. The hospital hums at this hour: quieter than daytime chaos, but never fully silent. Machines beep in distant rooms. Wheels rattle along distant corridors. Voices murmur beyond closed doors.

I breathe it in and let Georgina’s skin slide over mine.

This role is simple. Efficient. Compassionate. Professional. No one needs to know what I did last night, or what was done to me. No one needs to know that my body was wired up to a nightmare earlier today. Here, I have a name on a badge and a job to do.

I walk down the thin hall toward the nurses’ station. My sneakers squeak slightly against the polished floor.

Mary looks up when I appear, and her shoulders drop in sudden relief.

“Georgie!” she exhales, standing up so fast her chair rolls back. “God, you’re here.”

She comes around the desk and pulls me into a quick hug. I let her. Her embrace feels different from Rio’s and Brox’s–lighter, brisker, but still real. It tugs me further into the present.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I lost my cell. I couldn’t call.”

“I don’t care,” she says. “You’re here, that’s the important part.”

“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” I say, and hope that’s still true.

She pulls back and studies my face. “You sure you’re okay? You look… your eyes are red. Well, actually, you look fine. Tired, but fine.”

“I’m good,” I lie, but it feels steady on my tongue. “Promise.”

She accepts it. She wants to accept it.

“There’s coffee in the back,” she says. “And a few biscuits. You start with bay C, then help me with the paperwork for the transfers. Oh, and Norman Cooper has passed away, his grandson is coming tonight to pick his stuff.”

My heart flickers. Taylor.

“Okay. I’ll take bay C first,” I tell her, but my stomach gives a slow, hollow twist. I haven’t eaten anything today, now that I think about it. I feel the lightness in my head, and a slow drag in my limbs.

I slip toward the back room, to the small kitchenette that feels like a safe corner of the universe, no eyes on me, no questions. Just shelves, the humming fridge and a tin of biscuits on the counter.

I lift the lid, grab two, and eat fast, almost without chewing, like someone trying to hide evidence. Crumbs melt on my tongue before I even register the flavor. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the first bite hits my bloodstream, steadying me, reminding me that my body is more than adrenaline and panic.