It felt like torture.
Watching Maya convulse under the fluorescent glare of the lab with her body thrashing as the sedative-trance cocktail surged through her veins, tore at every thread of restraint I had. The ragged, guttural, laced with pain sounds that came from her mouth felt like knives scraping against my soul, twisting deeper with each cry.
They shattered whatever strength and composure I had left, but all I could do was stand there with my fists clenched, my nails biting into my palm and my stomach churning.
Dr. Veyra had managed to convince me to go through with it because I wanted answers and doing nothing was so much worse. I’d tried to find out exactly what the procedure and process was but Dr. Veyra had looked me dead in the eye and said, "It’s better if you don’t know."
