Free Suffer the Flesh by Monica O'rourke Page A

bearable. Praying for death was easy, but she had chosen to fight for life instead, a new way of life, a way that she had slowly been forced to accept.
    Hours later she returned to her cell, aching, exhausted, semen leaking out of her cunt like a bad infection. The sheet provided little warmth or protection but it felt good against her skin, felt familiar, like home.
     
     
    Chapter 9
     
     
    S unshine on her face, warm, gleaming, and smells of flesh gently baking, of wildflower perfume.
    She tasted the heat on her tongue, felt it on her skin. Opened her eyes to the brilliance of the sun spotlighting the endless meadow, tall grasses bowing, poppies dancing, a rush of movement when the wind picked up. Splashes of color, a backdrop for the trees and underbrush.
    Laying on her cot, eyes pinched tightly shut, Zoey woke but tried to stay lost in the dream. Remembering summers in the country, afternoons at the lake, of dipping her toes in the chilled mountain water in the brook behind their house. Playing tag with her sister and the neighborhood kids.
    If she opened her eyes now, the image would be lost. It had already begun to falter. The afternoon sun faded behind her eyes until it was nothing but a blackened smudge. Zoey stared at her eyelids and tried to retrieve a dream that had died a slow and painful death.
    She opened her eyes, knew they were open because she felt her lashes dust the tops of her cheekbones, but she saw nothing. No windows to sneak in dribbles of sunlight, no overhead or wall lights to create shadows in the corners of the cell. No way to know the time, to know to try to go back to sleep, or stay awake. Perpetual nothingness in a stygian blackness.
    “Anyone else up?” she whispered.
    “Yeah. I am. Janice.”
    “Do you think it’s time to get up?”
    “I have no idea. Try to sleep.”
    Zoey nodded, which answered no one.
    “I’m awake, too,” said another voice. “Heather.”
    “Marie? Are you awake?” Zoey was worried about her, and the other women who had been severely beaten with the cat o’ nine tails. “Marie?”
    “I’m here,” she said, sounding tired, in pain.
    “You okay?” Zoey asked.
    “Not really. Can’t lay on my back. They bandaged me up, but it still burns.”
    “Me too,” Sandra said. “This was a bad one. Bastard. I swear to god I’m going to kill him one of these days.”
    “Hey—you all know what today is?” Janice asked. When no one responded, she said, “I’ve been counting off the days. We’re having company.”
    “Oh, shit no,” Heather gasped. “Are you sure?”
    “Pretty sure. They always do right after their little feel-good orgy.”
    “What are you talking about?” Zoey asked.
    There was silence, as if no one wanted to talk about it.
    Another voice spoke up, and this one Zoey recognized as Kim. “They bring in people from the outside, to watch. And … other stuff.”
    “People? What people?” Zoey felt a ray of hope. Maybe one of these people would help. Maybe—
    “A group of goddamned perverts, that’s what they are,” Sandra said.
    The hope exploded in Zoey’s chest. “What do they do?”
    “Anything they want,” Heather said. “They pay good money for it.”
    “You sure that’s today?” Zoey cried. “Maybe you’re wrong.”
    “Once every other month. The first Saturday. And unless I’ve been counting wrong, today’s Saturday.” Janice sounded almost excited.
    “God, Janice, it sounds horrible,” Zoey said, sinking into her pillow, wishing she’d never asked. Wiggled her fingers in front of her face. Nothing.
    A short while later the bolt was thrown, and the main door opened. Overhead lights blared to life.
    “Rise and shine,” the guard named Matthew said. Moments later the buzzer sounded, unlocking the cells.
    Adjusting to the harsh light was painful, and Zoey squinted, her lids fluttering.
    In a single line they headed toward the bathroom to shower, to wash away the dirt and sweat from the day before, to clean