"Hazel." 

A rough, gravelly male voice broke through the faint trails of my dream, the one where I was running freely through a meadow until wires and tubes pulled me back to the metal table. My brain tried to make sense of who was talking to me, but I was still caught up in the terror and frustration of the tubes sticking to my skin. I felt my mind start to drift back into the haziness of the nightmare, until the voice called me back again. 

"Hazel, open your eyes." 

It wasn't the gentle, soft voice that I often imagined belonged to the father I'd made up in my head. The tone wasn't the kind of tone that I wanted to hear, the one that would tell me to open my eyes and look at them. The one that would pull me into their arms and hug me and tell me that it was going to be okay. 

This one was the dry, angry voice I heard almost every morning. This was the voice that always yanked my brain away from the fantasies of my imaginary family holding me tight in their arms. This was the voice I obeyed, the voice I never questioned, the voice that was always there. 

"Now, girl." 

I knew that if I rebelled any longer, punishment would surely come. This man was quick to anger, short-tempered and rude. Somehow, I'd learned to obey him no matter what he told me.  So I peeled open my heavy eyelids, immediately squinting against the blaring light that wasn't actually that bright. 

A tall, broad shouldered man was hovering over me, his usual frown etching lines between his eyebrows. His gray hair was close-cropped, like that of a man in the military, and his dark eyes were locked on my face. The familiar scars that ran along his nose and the side of his forehead were dully colored in the dim light of the room. 

"Sit up," Silas said sharply, clasping his hands behind his back and leaning away from me. He didn't give me any further instruction, nor would he repeat himself. He would wait until I had done as I was asked, for he hardly gave me any second chances. 

Forcing myself to rise above the aching in my body, I shoved my elbows back against the cold plating of the metal table. My upper body lifted with my arms, and, holding back a grimace, I slid my lower body back so my spine was straight. 

Silas said nothing to me as I resisted the urge to hunch forward miserably. My whole body hurt, but the pain was doubled at the base of my right shoulder. I didn't know what had happened to me while I was asleep, but I knew Silas would never tell me; therefore, I kept my mouth shut and my back straight. 

As I sat stiffly on the metal that held me, Silas examined me with his eyes for a long, silent period. Eventually, his eyes landed on my right shoulder, where the pain was easing into a dull throb. 

Silas extended one of his arms toward me, beckoning with his fingers. "Your arm," he demanded, jerking his chin at my right arm impatiently. 

Instantly, I moved to obey - but when I tried to lift my arm, it felt like dead weight. Even moving my fingers was a struggle that I wasn't used to. It wasn't painful, but it certainly took a lot of my effort. 

Confused, I tried to lift it again using my shoulder to hoist it upward. I realized soon after that I had made a mistake - pain flared through my shoulder, traveling down my shoulder blades and into my spine. The strangest part was that the pain never sailed down to my right arm.

Huffing, I tried again.

Finally, after four minutes of failing, I managed to lift my arm and stretch it toward Silas. The movement sent jolts of pain through the base of my shoulder, and I held back a grimace as Silas moved toward me. He took my forearm in his rough hands without much gentleness, poking and probing at my fingers, my palm, my wrist, my forearm, my elbow, and finally up to my shoulder. 

When his rough touch gripped the very edge of my collarbone, my pain receptors flew into action again. White-hot pain seared through my shoulder, instantly darting down through my shoulder blade and shooting to the base of my back. 

I gritted my teeth against the fiery pain, fully aware that Silas would be angry at my weakness if I showed any. My vision began to blur at the edges as he moved toward the back of my shoulder, where my bone became my shoulder blade. The pain wasn't fading away as he grabbed and poked, and I was beginning to wonder if he was trying to hurt me. 

Silas's hand squeezed the center of my shoulder again, and this time the pain was enough to force a cry out of my throat. "Stop," I urged, not with a tone of command; but with the pleading tone of a teenager in pain. 

The movement of Silas's hands stopped, but his fingers didn't leave my shoulder. He was deadly silent behind me, and I fought back the urge to duck my head against a blow that I figured was coming. 

"Where does it hurt?" Silas suddenly asked instead of striking the back of my head. I couldn't tell if he was asking because he was concerned, of he was asking because he simply wanted to know. His voice wasn't dry and humorless like it had been a moment before; but it wasn't exactly caring and gentle either.

"M-My shoulder," I said quietly, clenching my hands and mentally cursing myself for stammering. "It hurts when you touch it... and to move it." My tongue felt strange in my mouth, like it knew that I usually wasn't supposed to talk back to Silas. 

But he'd asked, so I had answered. So why did I feel so wrong to speak to him? 

"Anywhere else?" Silas asked gruffly, removing his hands and coming back around to stand beside the metal table and peer at me with those stone-cold, grey eyes. "Nowhere in your arm?" 

Slowly and shyly, I shook my head. 

Silas's frown became deeper, forcing thin lines into his forehead. He crossed his arms over his chest, his stern grey eyes traveling up and down my right arm. Then he uncrossed his arms and stepped forward again, snatching the bend of my arm in between his rough hands. He pressed and poked at my elbow again; and although I could feel the callouses on his palms, the touch was faint and distant, like my arm wasn't sure if something was touching me or not. 

Dread and fear inched into my heart as Silas frowned harshly at my arm as though he wasn't sure if it was really an arm or not. Was there something wrong with me? Why did my arm feel so heavy, so distant, so... fake? 

I began counting the seconds as Silas probed at my arm relentlessly. Every few seconds, his hands would dart up my arm and grip at my shoulder, sending pinpricks of pain through my shoulder blade.

Three minutes and thirty-two seconds had passed by the time Silas recrossed his arms and leaned away from me, his mouth pressed into a thin line. His cold eyes stuck to my arm again, then traveled to my stomach.

With a suppressed jolt, I realized that there were tubes running out from under my nightgown, spilling onto the floor and snaking around the table until they reached medical equipment by the head of the table. 

What had Silas done to me? 

What had been done to my arm? 

What was Silas thinking? 

What was wrong with me? 

~

You guys.

I'm actually doing this one. 

One of the first books I wanted to work on. 

I remember starting this several times, but it always ended terribly. 

But this time, I think I'm going to work it. 

This book is probably going to be REALLY REALLY slow, but hopefully it won't be. 

I am going to try to update this whenever my brain feels like it, because the story plot in my head seems interesting. 

Hopefully this works out!! 

P3ac3!!~~