I stood there on the side of the road, my hair plastered to my face, my hands clutched to my chest. The rain soaked through my coat in seconds. I could feel the cold all the way to my bones.
I closed my eyes and whispered to the darkness, “Just one more week. One more week… and I’ll be free.”
I remembered riding the taxi that night, the cold seat sticking to my soaked clothes. I didn’t even have the energy to cry anymore. I just wanted to get to the hospital, check my stomach, and try to feel like a human being again.
But halfway through the ride, the driver glanced back at me with a strange smile, and before I could ask anything, I heard a hiss.
A sharp, chemical smell flooded my nose.
I coughed. “What are you—”
And then everything went dark.
When I woke up, my head was spinning and my body felt like it was made of lead. My wrists were bruised and tied behind me. My legs ached. My back was cold against concrete.
Where am I? The room was dim and smelled like rust and old oil — a warehouse. Somewhere abandoned. Somewhere no one would find me.
Footsteps echoed.
“W-What’s happening?” I croaked, my throat dry, voice barely audible.