Specimen

Grasping the legs of the nearby rolling chair, I slam it against the mirror again and again as I scream. I hear a cracking sound as pain ripples up my arm, but I don’t stop.

“Let me out of here! Who are you? What do you want from me?”

The chair seat breaks away from the legs, bounces off the mirror and lands a few feet away from me. I keep slamming the remnants of the chair against the glass until a sharp hissing sound catches my attention. I glance at the ceiling above the door. Tendrils of yellowish gas flow from a thin air duct. Pressing my back to the far corner, up against the mirror, I take a deep breath and hold it as long as I can. The gas quickly fills the small room. There’s nowhere to go. I have to breathe.

Darkness overcomes me as I slump to the floor.

I’m on my knees. The ground below me is dry and cracked. There’s a trowel in my hand, and I use it to turn the dirt, but there’s no moisture to be found. Even the weeds have given up.

I wake with a start. I’m back on the bed, strapped down. The room has been put back in order, and there is no evidence of my tirade. I lift my head slightly and grunt as I push up with my shoulder against the restraints.

“Relax.”

There is a brief, light touch on the inside of my left arm. I tilt my head backward toward the sound of a soft, feminine voice, and our gazes connect.

Her eyes are a soft, indistinct color between brown and green. The lashes are long and free of mascara. Her skin is pale and smooth, and her hair is light brown, straight, and pulled up into a bun at the back of her head. She wears a long white coat with an unfamiliar insignia embroidered on the breast pocket.

As soon as I see her, I sink back against the bed. I can’t look away from her even as she drops her gaze from mine and focuses on a small tablet computer in her hand. My fingers flex automatically. I can feel a bandage around my fingers. There’s a deep ache on two of the knuckles of my right hand, but the pain barely registers.

I need to touch her.

“What do you remember?” Her voice relaxes me further. The soft tone, the inflection—everything about it—fills me with the need to just listen.

It takes me a moment to realize she’s asked me a question.

“Nothing,” I finally respond.

“That’s all right,” she assures me. “That’s normal.”

Normal. The word floats around in my head trying to find some kind of meaning.

“How can that be normal?” I ask.

“It’s normal, given what you’ve been through.”

She places two fingers against my wrist and looks at one of the monitors on the cart beside the bed. Her fingers feel cool against my skin, and I try to turn my wrist to grab her hand, but the restraints are in the way. I close my eyes, and my mind focuses solely on her touch.

She retracts her hand, and I open my eyes to watch her tap the tablet’s screen.

What have I been through?

“Was I in an accident?”

“No.” She smiles gently as she focuses on my eyes. The look sends warmth through my limbs as my pulse increases. I feel my cock throb and begin to fill with blood. I swallow hard, still unable to stop myself from staring at her.

It’s not that she is overwhelmingly beautiful. She’s attractive, without a doubt. She has pleasant features, beautiful eyes, and a slender body from what I can see beneath the lab coat. There are wisps of hair touching her neck and cheek, and I want to smooth them back into her carefully placed bun. She’s tall—at least five-seven—with long legs I automatically imagine wrapped around my shoulders. But there is nothing exceptional that sets her apart from any other woman.

“What happened to me?”

“You’re a volunteer.” She removes her gaze from me and goes back to the tablet.

“Volunteer for what?” The answer to the question itself strikes me as unimportant. I just want her to look at me again, to speak to me again.

“A special program,” she says. She briefly strokes her fingertip up my forearm as she adjusts the sheet that covers me. “Relax for now. I need to check a few things, and then I can explain more.”

I don’t argue. I don’t question her further. Instead, I nod and wait patiently as she goes about her work, checking my vitals and entering the results into the tablet. When she finishes with me, she goes over to the main computer terminal on the table by the door and lays the tablet beside it. She taps at the keyboard for a moment and then wheels the chair—an exact replica of the one I broke—over to the side of my bed.

She sits on the chair and places her hands on her thighs. For a moment, she says nothing. I watch her lick at her lips and take a long breath before she sits up straight.