#eastermelia

Amelia wondered if it was intentional to keep her conscious. If they purposefully gave her just enough medication to paralyze her body but not her mind. Everyone treated her like she wasn’t there except for Easterman. Easterman said that he had hoped she could hear him. It was always the biggest bastards that got the luckiest, wasn’t it?

If she counted her time correctly, he came at least once a week to sit at her side and give her some pathetic ramble about how she forced him to hurt his children. Because he never called it what it was: his lab rats, his victims.

Right now, his hand ran across her cheek in a manner that was nearly gentle, as he breathed cigarette smoke into her face. “The newest prime asset proves capable. The way she likes to be worshipped… It should teach the reagents not to succumb to false idols.”

She felt his touch slip down her body, lingering over her breast, feeling her flesh through the fabric, before giving her nipple a hard pinch.

The first time he groped her breast, she felt rage so strong she thought her body might combust. But the first time he spread her legs and humped her like a horny dog? She felt completely numb. Some things you just learn to deal with when your daddy is a pimp.

“She has this power to her, to force others to mutilate their own bodies. I thought of making you an appointment once you are up.” His hands ran across her sides and to her hips, where he took hold of the hem of her hospital gown. “You clearly were immune to my treatment, so maybe you need a firmer hand. Some children are just like that, are they not? Not keen on taking father’s advice until their peers start the bullying.”

He kept threatening her with letting the prime assets have free rein with her. The first time he did so, it made her feel a genuine dread. “It’s a shame that Perry killed your colored boyfriend. I’m sure Coyle would’ve loved to teach you two a thing or two about the dangers of racial integration. Then again, I don’t think he would mind a private lesson with you, if I let him in on your situation.” Back then, she believed that he might actually sit back and watch her get raped by the Klan swine. But not anymore. She had realized by now that Easterman was a coward who loved his own voice too much.

“I was thinking about your radio performance. I must admit it was quite substantial – so persuasive to my children. You could’ve been such a good asset for your country.” He pulled up her gown, revealing her most intimate parts to the cold air. A nurse had trimmed her pubic hair last week, likely on Easterman’s request. “Of course, radio is a dying medium. Nowadays it’s all about the television.”

He ran his fingers between her folds, playing around before he pushed inside. She wondered if it even felt good for him to fuck her with the catheter inside her body. It definitely didn’t give her any pleasure. “If only you were a good girl, we might’ve had you sitting on Otto Kress’ lap while you recorded some propaganda, and who knows, you could’ve been America’s own Eva Perón. Minus the filthy socialism, of course.”

She could feel him spreading his fingers inside of her, stroking them in and out, before they abruptly retreated.

“Eva Perón, really?” A woman’s voice entered the room.

“Avellanos. Why are you here?” Amelia could feel Easterman’s body twitch. She imagined he was red in the face, trembling with humiliation as he wiped his hands onto her bedsheets.

“To see for myself how effectively you spend your allowances.” There were bitterness and disgust in Avellanos’ voice, and as much as she detested the woman, Amelia silently cheered at the idea of Easterman getting into trouble with his superiors.

“What are you implying? I was merely checking on her health-”

The laugh Avellanos let out was filled with mockery. “Shut up, Easterman, I’m not fucking blind. We aren’t wasting any more resources for you to get your cock wet. Dispose of her. Put her back in the sleep rooms or have her killed and burnt. I don’t care, but I want her gone by tomorrow.”

Avellanos’ words were followed by the sound of doors slamming shut, loudly.

“Fuck,” Easterman cursed.

Fuck, Amelia thought, as he pulled the bedsheet back over her body. There was no way she would be rehabilitated as a reagent.

She could hear him pacing around the room, mumbling to himself and at times hitting or kicking the furniture. Throwing tantrum like a little boy. In the end, he pulled the covers off her yet again and spilled himself inside her body before leaving, not bothering to cover her once more.

Amelia was left with nothing to do but think about the worst ways he might have her killed. As far as she knew, the only trial that involved killing women was the Courthouse. She wondered if Easterman would let her go as easily. Would he still fuck her with her limbs and head gone?

…

It took long hours before someone visited her again. It was not the heavy breath and cigarette stench of Easterman but the light steps of a woman. A nurse sent to unplug her from life support?

“Amelia.” The woman sounded like she had been smoking since leaving the womb… or screaming for a very long time. Yet, the way she said her name sounded almost gentle. Her hospital gown was pulled down to her hips, giving her back at least some of her dignity. “The martyr worshipped in this place.”

Just as Amelia thought, the woman had removed the IV from her arm and the oxygen mask from her face. As she leaned over her, Amelia could make out her appearance: she could be in her forties, her face was covered in scars, and her black hair was cut short. She wore a black top that didn’t resemble the uniforms of the medical staff nor the guards. A cross hung from her neck and brushed Amelia’s body as the woman bent down to place a kiss on her lips.

One thing was clear, this was no nurse.

“Very soon, everyone in this facility will be punished. But not you. You are a saint, and by a miracle, you shall survive the carnage.”

This woman was clearly mad, and it didn’t take long for Amelia to connect the pieces. Easterman had told her about the new prime asset; a God-obsessed communist they shipped from the USSR. It was a rather strange combination. Amelia had met communists before, and they weren’t very keen on religion. What they were keen on was selling her Pervitin.

Her hands were moved one by one from her sides to her chest, where the woman had arranged them into a prayer. “He took your tongue, he took your pride, but he cannot take your will.”

Something was placed between her clasped palms, cold and long. A knife?

“I was like you once. I know what you want: revenge.” The word sounded so delightful from the woman’s lips. “You kill the man who hurt you and run away to spread His message.”

The woman stepped back from the bed. “God loves you, Amelia Collier.”