Unravel Me: The Juliette Chronicles Book 2

all, he says, and I’m fairly certain I’m losing my mind.
    I feel the thud thud thud of heavy footsteps climbing a stairwell and realize my body is moving with it. I hear a door whine open, I hear the shuffle of other feet and there are words being spoken that I can’t distinguish anymore. Someone says something to someone and I’m dropped onto a cold, hard floor.
    I hear myself whimper.
    “Be careful not to touch her skin,” is the only sentence I can make out in a single thread. Everything else is “bathe” and “sleep” and “in the morning” and “no, I don’t think so” and “very good,” and I hear another door slam shut. It’s the one right next to my head.
    Someone is trying to take my suit off.
    I snap up so quickly it’s painful; I feel something sear through me, through my head until it hits me square in the eye and I know I’m a mix of so many things right now. I can’t remember the last time I ate anything and I haven’t truly slept in over 24 hours. My body is soaked through, my head is pounding with pain, my body has been twisted and stepped on, and I’m aching in a million different ways. But I will not allow any strange man to take my clothes off. I’d rather be dead.
    But the voice I hear isn’t male at all. It sounds soft and gentle, motherly. She’s speaking to me in a language I don’t understand but maybe it’s just my head that can’t understand anything at all. She makes soothing noises, she rubs her hands in small circles on my back. I hear a rush of water and feel the heat rise up around me and it’s so warm, it feels like steam and I think this must be a bathroom, or a tub, and I can’t help but think that I haven’t taken a hot shower since I was back at the headquarters with Warner.
    I try to open my eyes and fail.
    It’s like two anvils are sitting on my eyelids, like everything is black and messy and confusing and exhausting and I can only make out the general circumstances of my situation. I see through little more than slits; I see only the gleaming porcelain of what I assume is a bathtub and I crawl over despite the protests in my ear and clamber up.
    I topple right into the hot water fully clothed, gloves and boots and suit intact and it’s an unbelievable pleasure I didn’t expect to experience.
    My bones begin to thaw and my teeth are slowing their chatter and my muscles are learning to relax. My hair floats up around my face and I feel it tickle my nose.
    I sink beneath the surface.
    I fall asleep.

SIXTY-EIGHT
    I wake up in a bed made of heaven and I’m wearing clothes that belong to a boy.
    I’m warm and comfortable but I can still feel the creak in my bones, the ache in my head, the confusion clouding my mind. I sit up. I look around.
    I’m in someone’s bedroom.
    I’m tangled in blue-and-orange bedsheets decorated with little baseball mitts. There’s a little desk with a little chair set off to the side and there’s a set of drawers, a collection of plastic trophies in perfectly straight rows on top. I see a simple wooden door with a traditional brass knob that must lead outside; I see a sliding set of mirrors that must be hiding a closet. I look to my right to find a little bedside table with an alarm clock and a glass of water and I grab it.
    It’s almost embarrassing how quickly I inhale the contents.
    I climb out of bed only to find that I’m wearing a pair of navy gym shorts that are hanging so low on my hips I’m afraid they’re going to fall off. I’m wearing a gray T-shirt with some kind of logo on it and I’m swimming in the extra material. I have no socks. No gloves. No underwear.
    I have nothing.
    I wonder if I’m allowed to step outside and I decide it’s worth a shot. I have no idea what I’m doing here. I have no idea why I’m not dead yet.
    I freeze in front of the mirrored doors.
    My hair has been washed well and it falls in thick, soft waves around my face. My skin is bright and, with the exception of a few scratches, relatively unscathed. My eyes are wide; an odd, vibrant mix of green and blue blinking back at me, surprised and surprisingly unafraid.
    But my neck.
    My neck is one mess of purple, one big bruise that discolors my entire appearance. I hadn’t realized just how tightly I was being choked to death yesterday—I think it was yesterday— and I only now realize just how much it hurts to swallow. I take a sharp breath and push past the mirrors. I need to find a way to get out of here.
    The door