They shoved me into the glass-walled room so hard I hit the cold, tiled floor with a sharp cry. The impact rattled from my knees to the whole of my body, but I barely registered the pain over the suffocating scent of disinfectant that clawed at my nostrils. Gasping for air, I looked up, my chest heaving as my eyes darted around the room. Heavy curtains hung over the transparent walls, concealing us from the gaze of people outside, also casting shadows that only deepened my sense of entrapment in this clinical nightmare.
The doctor stood in the corner, his white coat smeared with stains that told stories I didn’t want to imagine. He was cleaning his instruments methodically, humming a haunting, detached melody. His gloved hands moved with precision, wiping blades, forceps, and syringes wit
