waking slow and groggy and still a bit drugged to a dozen hands gripping and groping and grabbing my very naked body.
it takes a moment to realize that i’m restrained, wrists and ankles cuffed, that i’m lying on a cold, metal table, that the hands are gloved with nitrile or latex, and the grabbing is actually prodding and poking and probing, measurements called out, pens scratching to write down numbers and observations. the fingers in my mouth are counting my teeth and checking them for major defects. the hand at my throat is measuring the circumference, and then the length, mapping out my arteries and trachea. the hands in most places are accompanied by instruments, whether tapes or rulers or calipers or blood pressure cuffs or whatever it is they’ve forced dry into my cunt to see what it can take without any preparation.
there’s an iv in my arm that i don’t notice until somebody begins measuring my palm and fingers, twisting me this way and that to make it easier on themself. pens scratch against paper as notes are taken, measurements recorded, observations dictated.
when they’re done, they leave all at once, the blinding lights blinking out into utter darkness, but for the tiny red lights on the cameras in all corners of the room, silence in their wake, but for the drip drip drip of the iv bag.
