Reparative Pal Program Two

The next time that I woke up, I was laying on my back on a bed. Or what could somewhat pass itself as a bed. It was a small, hard, piece of foam that someone laid on the floor. There didn’t seem to be a bed frame under it. One that was really, really hurting my back to lay on. Slowly I start to sit up and take stock of my surroundings. The walls were a bright white color that initially hurt my eyes to look at because of the lighting. My eyes take a second to adjust as I notice the number of cameras in the room. From what I counted there were at least four of them in each corner of the room. Sort of like what you would see in a movie.

Never knew they’d do this in real life, too.

Maybe it’s because of the crime that I committed or something. Either way it was strange to see in a room. There wasn’t a lot in the room with me. Just a bare room with white walls and clean hardwood floors. In fact, the only furniture in this room is the damn ‘bed’ that I’m laying on. And it barely counts as furniture in my opinion. Why this is, I’m only guessing they don’t think prisoners deserve much stuff. I spend a few seconds wondering if this is silly to think it’s torture or not. A part of me wants to consider it as such. To make me feel less human or something to that effect. Like an empty room is all I’m worth or something to that effect. Hell, they might even expect me to want to work for furniture. Earn a real bed to lay on that won’t harm my spine.

While I sat there thinking, I had this odd feeling in…or rather on my chest. It’s painful with some significant amount of weight. Lifting my hands to touch my chest as I glanced down, I froze. Formerly I had a flat chest. Thanks to the thousands of dollars that I spent on getting top surgery before. Before the autarch’s rise to power. It had taken me a good long while to properly recover from that surgery. Now the things that I had desperately tried to get rid of were back. And that wasn’t the only thing different about me. My stomach was…it was a lot smaller than when I was out. Like I was a doll that had their stuffing somewhat removed and replaced. Looking under the hospital gown, I winced at the sight of bandages. Some tubes that I didn’t know the entire function of. Nor did I touch them as I put my hospital gown back in place. Looking down at my left arm, I spotted the I.V that I’d felt but been ignoring. Whatever was in it, I didn’t want to know. Probably some kind of pain killers? If that’s what they normally put in an I.V that’s probably what was in this thing. But whatever it is I don’t want to know. All of this was difficult to take in and I reached up to touch the thing on my shoulders.

My hair was a lot longer as well.

What the Hell had they done to me? How long had I been out for? Those thoughts swirled in my head like a whirlpool. But I tried to ignore them as I sat there. Other thoughts start to overwhelm me as I think of my ‘future’. What did those in charge have in store for me? Just what will I have to do and for how long? All my thoughts continued to swirl more and more as I sat there. Unable to pull my legs to my chest. Since my stomach hurt too much to properly move at this time. Part of me wonders how my skin wasn’t sagging so much. Quietly, I checked for that as I stared down at my own body. Nothing was wrong with it aside from the bruising and stitches. These were starting to itch. I ignored them as I felt my focus shift back to wondering what things were going to be from now on. Expectations that I wasn’t entirely certain of everything that would happen. Going to happen to me in this place. And I’m terrified to find out what it is going to be. Or when the powers that be were going to implement it.

Then the thoughts of how long I’d been out had me worried. As I had been taken from my home in mid-fall if I remember right. What I look like right now should have taken some odd months to achieve by normal means. Well, weight loss at the very least. But I’m not entirely sure how long it would normally take to get breast implants. Since I never wanted any of them as I stare at them for a second. Hating the feelings they were giving me right now. It’s hard to describe what they are while I sat on the foam mattress. Everything was so damn overwhelming for me. The fact someone I wanted to be friends with called the authorities. After snooping through my home for stuff that I should have hidden better. Some part of me was angry in two ways over that. It was towards the person who snooped through my things. Yet mostly at myself for being unable to properly hide contraband in a better spot. How stupid I had been for thinking that this person wasn’t going to snoop through my things. As he wasn’t exactly a trustworthy person. Since he had ratted on others at work for various reasons.

Really dumb ones now that I think back on it.

Then there was that feeling of ice-cold fear that prickled inside my stomach. It hurt as much as the bruising and stitches did. I suppose what was on the I.V wasn’t painkillers in the slightest bit. At the very least it might just be nutrition or something else. Maybe something to keep what little nausea that I’d feel at bay. Couldn’t keep the fear or anxiety that I was feeling out of me. Something that I wished it would. The fear wasn’t just because of what was going to happen. Oddly enough I was concerned about how much time had passed. At first, I couldn’t understand why. Then I started to think about the weather outside. If it were the dead of Winter, then I wouldn’t be exactly in the best place to leave. No shoes were on my feet. If I tried to escape this terrible place without them then I would be in trouble. Frostbite on toes and the soles of my feet didn’t seem really all that ideal. It seems paranoid but I don’t know how far from town we are. The processing centers are always far away from town. That way the public would never have to see us being handled. Wouldn’t want to incite unnecessary fear in the ‘Right Ones’ now, would they? ‘Good’ for them but never ‘good’ for me and any hopes of escape. Not that I have much of that. There’s never been any record of people escaping these places. None that they allowed the public to know about at the very least. Either way I want to know if it is Winter or not.

No, not want but rather must. I must know if it’s Winter or not. My mind won’t cease wondering until I can find out. That might not be until a good long while later. If I’m ever going to look out a window and who knows how long that’ll be? If it’ll even happen anytime soon or not. While the thoughts nearly overwhelm me, I touch my stomach. Feeling the bandages under my fingertips as I sat there uneasily. Under my breath, I question,”What in the Hell happened to me?”

Soon as those words left my mouth, I heard approaching footsteps. My throat tightens as I stare at the door leading to the room. My mouth has gone dry as my eyes go wide in fear. A second later, Mr. Sad-Eyes was walking into the room. Pulling a cart behind him as he walked in, had the smell of food coming from it. Hot food that should have normally made my mouth water. Yet I couldn’t begin to feel hungry as I sat on the foam mattress. Mr. Sad-Eyes clearly still doesn’t want to deal with ‘gender-freaks’ like me. As his expression is still that of thinly contained vitriol for people such as me. Barely stopping himself from sneering as he stopped by my right side. That cart of food and whatever else he brought in with him. I’m not too sure what else he could have brought in with him. Nor do I think about that as he glares deep into my eyes. For a moment I wanted to tear my gaze away from him. But I couldn’t make myself do so as I stared up into those sad dark brown eyes of his. They would have been beautiful if he weren’t such an angry, hateful human being. Tilting his head to the side, he stated,”Good. You’re finally with the world of the living. Here I thought we would have to process your body.”

“Oh, well.”,he continued. Tone indicating that he wasn’t happy that I was alive. That I was awake to see him. Or rather that I was fully conscious and acting like a human being. What had I acted like before this? Had I been ‘awake’ without truly being awake? There was no way that I would ask this man that. Since he seems to barely tolerate folks such as myself. It doesn’t take much to realize that it wouldn’t be wise. Instead, I stayed silent as I studied him. No longer drugged up to the gills, I can finally get a good view of him. He was a tall man with dark brown hair, tanned skin, and was muscular. No doubt he worked out in his free time. Attractive. Would have been aesthetically attractive to me if he weren’t so…I ignore that thought spiral as I didn’t want to be overthinking everything. Not with this nurse that already hated me so much for who I was. Probably would kill me if he had the chance. Looking at him, I didn’t let me think as I watched him get a tray off the cart he brought in. Keeping his face neutral as he bent down to set it in front of me. Giving a little huff as he stood up straight once more. The food was just a small piece of plain and unseasoned chicken. Along with a little amount of green beans that looked terrible. Probably came from a can or something. A white bread roll that had nothing on it either. Not even the smallest amount of butter on it. There’s a small cup of milk, what level of fat or anything like that. I wasn’t entirely certain of what it was. I’d find out soon.

There was also a tiny number of pills in a small cup.

When the man had leaned in closer, I had gotten to properly read his nametag. It only had his first name on it. 'John'. Not a name that I thought would be appropriate for a man like him. I would have sworn it would have been ‘Richard’. As he kind of feels like one to me. Also, it would have given me an excuse to nickname him ‘Dick’.

“Now, you have to take these pills after you eat the meal.”,John instructs. That tone of his was less hateful of me as I sat there. There’s this odd feeling when he reaches over and ‘gently’ pats me on the head. Or sort of gentle. It doesn’t hurt at the very least. So, there’s that. John sort of can pretend to be gentle when he wants to. I tilted my head to the side as I wondered why he was acting like this. It slowly dawns on me that it’s for the cameras. As he doesn’t want to be seen as entirely unprofessional or unnecessarily cruel. That would either make him go through some form of retraining at worst. Or being chewed out by his bosses at best. Either way I can’t bring myself to care about him. Then the question that’s been running through my mind for a bit now was really trying to leap out. Standing at the tip of my tongue as I continued to stare into his eyes. In a quiet voice, almost too hard for me to hear, I questioned,”Just how long was I unconscious for, sir?”

“Oh, at least five months or so.”,John answers. The tone to his voice was so very casual as if we were talking about the weather. Not how long I had been here. How long I’d been recovering from what had happened to me either. Or that I’d been in some form of…form of…is it sleep? Coma? My brain wasn’t entirely certain as I watched him move the cart. And I wondered if what happened to me was liposuction or something else. Maybe it was that stomach staple thing that I remembered about when I was much younger. Liposuction wouldn’t be able to remove too much fat. One or six liters and I…God, I don’t want to know. I must know but I don’t want to. But before I can get my mouth open to ask, John is already out the door. Quietly closing it behind himself and unnecessarily locking it behind me. Leaving me with my toxic thoughts as my only company. Along with the plain food that won’t be enjoyable for me. Eating this boring food as I must. Either to regain my strength or for nutrition.

Either explanation, I don’t care.

Soon as I was done eating the food, I took the pills that I was given. Not paying them much attention to what they looked like before popping them in my mouth. Chugging the milk afterwards. Drain the cup in less than a few seconds. That irritation in my stomach slowly fades away as I set the cup down next to the tiny one. Putting the traying as far from me as I could manage in the state that I was in. When that was done, I chewed on my bottom lip. Mind wondering when John would come back into the room. Not that I have any feelings out of distain for the rude asshole. Or that I miss his presence either. He’s probably only been out of the room for around ten minutes or so. If that. I just want this tray to be taken out. Also, I wanted to know what month it was. See if he could tell me about that. Along with telling me what had happened to me during the five months that I can’t remember. Won’t remember? I’m not entirely certain of what to make of the time that’s just gone from me. Whether or not I’d be able to leave the room soon. No, not to leave the facility or anything of that sort. Though I have the feeling that John would believe that it would be. I would have to carefully explain that I just want to know what I would be doing. What form of ‘activities’, or whatever this place calls them, I would be doing. Since I felt that I should know about those kinds of things. And for how long I would be doing these types of things. It was the other few thoughts that were bouncing around my skull. Looking at the door as it felt like seconds were dragging by at a snail’s pace. Minutes began to feel more like hours. Suddenly, I wish that this room had some form of clock or anything here. Anything to show me how much time has really passed. At least help me not feel so…so…I don’t know…but after what felt like something short of forever, John finally came back into the room. Not saying a word or even really looking at me as he walks up to my foam mattress. Picking up the tray as he continues to be silent as he did so. When he turns to leave, I couldn’t stop myself from talking to him. In a quiet voice, I called,”Hey, d-don’t go. I need, I need to ask you something!”

This didn’t even slow his pace. It was as if he didn’t hear me at all and I called after him. Shouting at him to stop. To listen to me. That I needed to ask him something. Even throwing curses along with insults at his back as he walked. Maybe get him angry enough to stop and look over at me. At least acknowledge that I was there at all. Instead, John just walked out of the room while acting like I hadn’t made a sound. Sneering, I screamed,”HEY! COME BACK, PLEASE!! I NEED TO TALK TO YOU!! COME BACK!!”

All I got in response was him shutting the door behind himself. Footsteps along with the cart’s wheels slowly becoming softer and softer. To the point that I couldn’t hear either of them anymore. My chest was somewhat sore, and my stomach felt kind of painful. Probably from the yelling? I wasn’t entirely certain, but I did my best to calm myself down. Grateful that I wasn’t crying as I took a few deep breaths. I wouldn’t ask John when he would come back into the room. If he was going to come back to the room. Though I didn’t understand why he wasn’t going to come back. While I sat there, I couldn’t stop myself from overthinking. This whole situation as well as what could possibly happen to me. Such as the fact that John might not come back anytime soon and that I was going to be here for who knew how long. Maybe another five months of complete solitude that possibly won’t be committed to memory.

Another five months of sitting in this room with nothing but these white walls to stare at. Along with that stupid door. Nothing to keep my mind properly occupied either. Aside from the toxic thought storm that was slowly overwhelming me in the moment. But I suppose this is much better than having to look at yellow wallpaper. A thought that almost made me laugh while I sat on the stupid foam mattress. Nearly giggling as I held my stomach and averted my gaze from the damned door I had been staring at for a while. While I tried to keep myself from just laughing at my own thoughts, I heard wheels again. Freezing as I slowly turned my gaze back to that door that John had left through not long ago. Footsteps as well. Which only briefly paused when they were outside the door to the room. A second later, it was opened, and I saw John pushing a wheelchair into the room. A tight smile on his lips as he walked over to the foam mattress. With some form of care, he helped me with getting me in it. And I hadn’t realized how light I was when he put me into that wheelchair. In a soft voice, John tells me,”Alright, Amelia.”

“It’s time for your first reparative treatment.”