Free Destined to Feel by Indigo Bloome Page B

have been supplied — and splashing my face with cold water, I go and sit on the edge of the chaise longue, the bed being a bit too high to be comfortable. The longer I attempt to sit, the more anxious I become. I start to notice the suppleness of the dress’s silky material against my skin and I don’t want a bar of it. I decide to lie on the carpeted floor, even though I’m in heels and a full-length dress, and attempt to meditate. Savasana, there’s nothing like a good corpse pose!
    Breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, close your mind, relax your body… Doing this, I realise how tense my body actually is and I make an effort to relax my shoulders, which are high and bunched towards my neck. I deliberately tighten each muscle group so I can release it while I continue my breathing. All this concentration is helping to distract me from my reality for a few seconds at least. It feels good to be lying flat on the floor, stretching out what has been cramped for so long. I allow my breath to flow in and out of my body carefully, ensuring each one is relevant and worthwhile until I eventually calm into a deeper state of being.
    The shout at the door disrupts my mental solitude.
    ‘She’s down, we need attention immediately!’ the urgent, accented voice calls.
    Someone is suddenly by my side checking my pulse. My mouth is open with no words coming out. I stare upwards focusing on the scene before me. An intense-looking man wearing a white coat comes racing towards me as I am raised into an upright position. He waves something under my noise that makes me shudder away from it. God, smelling salts! Do they think I’ve fainted? They’re talking amongst themselves in a foreign accent I don’t immediately recognise. I shake my head in dismay. My chin is held firm as a bright light shines in my eyes.
    What is it with doctors and their damn probing and blinding flashlights? I blink and try to squirm away. My pulse is checked again before I am escorted to my feet, though a combination of my attempted meditation and high heels makes me a little wobbly to say the least. Who are these people? A young lady in a maid’s outfit, the doctor type and another male who looks like a butler. I stand in shock before them.
    ‘Dr Blake, what happened? How do you feel?’ They speak to me in English.
    ‘Can you talk, Dr Blake? Please answer us, are you okay?’
    Well, they certainly appear to be concerned about my wellbeing, which has to be a positive sign. I can only hope. I stare at each of them intently, one by one, wanting to soak into my memory the faces involved in my captivity. Under different circumstances I may have noticed that the doctor, hiding beneath his white coat and furrowed brow, is actually a very attractive man, a pair of funky glasses covering his chocolate-brown eyes, dark blondish hair and a smile that could light up a room. The butler is an average-sized man but looks more brawn than brain, a bit of a miniature muscle mary, and the maid looks like a sweet innocent girl in a ridiculous uniform with a long dark plait down her back and wide hazel eyes. How dare they ask how I am when they have done this to me, put me in this situation? I could scream as anger and panic simultaneously well up from deep within me. Just as suddenly, I realise they are eagerly anticipating my answer, awaiting my response. Well, they can shove it! I vow then and there to remain mute, silent, until I know exactly what is going on. They may have shipped me from London to wherever we are, against my will, but these people are not, will not be hearing my voice or response, to anything!
    The doctor removes the stethoscope from around his neck and places the cold metal on my chest; its temperature alone makes me automatically inhale. He moves silently around my shoulders and above my breasts, his fingers alternating between barely touching the fabric of my dress and my sensitive skin as he makes his way around my body. I’m not sure