43  

IMOGEN

I felt lighter, somehow, telling that story. I’d never said it out loud before, not the whole thing. Not like that. Not even to Jack or Caesar.

And I can’t explain it, but I felt closer to Finn—to the unconscious kid on the table—just for having said it to him. Like he actually cared or something, which was utterly stupid, because he hadn’t even heard me.

I did a hundred more push-ups to shove away all the emotions that the talking had brought up. The screaming from my hands really helped—I could hardly think about anything else while I used them to help hold up my body weight. Bending the skin at the wrist in that way—it felt like it cracked the skin further, deeper.

And now, I was hungry again. It had to be evening already, and no one had come in here since late morning.

I needed to use the loo.

I needed to talk to Dr. Cunningham.

So I pulled out the toilet paper dispenser parts from underneath the sink where I’d stashed them and started working on a lock pick and a weapon.