My hands started shaking. The sensor controlling the release of hormones flickered. The nurse looked up, checked the little screen by the bedside, and said coldly:
— Calm down. It’s not like you’re being taken for the first time.
In any other situation I would have snapped back and tried to put the clinic staff member in her place. But not now. Right now I was undressed and helpless. All that was left was to pray that my DNA wouldn’t be a match for making more “kids” with the haters.
Cold sweat drops ran down my back. Earlier, when I read about sweat drops running down the spine in books, I thought it was a metaphor. Now, sitting on the cursed exam table, I understood it wasn’t a metaphor at all.