The guards slam the door. There is nowhere to escape the icy spray. It bites against my exposed skin and soaks into the clothes I borrowed from Erik, dragging the sweatpants down my hips.
“Strip!” a guard orders through the door. “You can’t come out until you’re clean.”
I don’t want to get naked in front of these strange men, but what choice do I have? So I let the heavy sweatpants fall to the floor and peel off the borrowed hoodie.
“All of it!” another guard bellows. His voice is deeper, but I can hear the enjoyment in it. “Panties and bra, too.”
I raise my middle finger to the door, my small act of rebellion, and strip entirely nude.
My stomach is still extended from having just given birth, and I can see dark stretch marks on my upper thighs and my side.
I look how I feel: utterly
