Clara Bennett
“Eat your damn food,” the new female guard snapped, shoving the metal tray across the floor toward me. Her name was Lena, and she had a permanent scowl etched on her face. She was tall, muscular, with short-cropped blonde hair and cold eyes that looked like they enjoyed this kind of work.
I sat chained to the bed, wrists raw from the metal cuffs, and stared at the tray. A stale piece of bread and some lukewarm porridge that looked like it had been sitting out for hours. My stomach growled painfully, but I turned my head away.
“I’m not hungry,” I muttered, even though I was starving. Two days of this. Two days of being slapped for talking back, starved when I refused to cooperate, and treated like an animal.
Lena laughed coldly and stepped closer. “You think you’re too goo
