I lunged for the door, fingers brushing Derek's sleeve. He shook me off, cold as ice. "You made your bed. Pay the price."
I dropped to my knees, banging my head on the floor, blood and tears mixing. "Derek, I was wrong! Let me out! I can't stay with them—I'll die!"
My screams were raw, desperate, but he just sneered. "A dirty body doesn't get to be picky." He walked away, like I was trash.
The beggars pounced, dragging me to the bed, their heavy breaths and wild laughs crushing me. Derek's words looped in my head: A dirty body doesn't get to be picky. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart, pain choking my breath.
Just as despair swallowed me, nurses and security burst in, driving the wolves off. I was spared, barely. Grief had killed my tears. I curled up in the blankets, batter
