The room had fallen still, except for the shallow rhythm of Lina's breaths. She sat curled in a corner of her office, the floor cold beneath her, her body trembling beneath the soaked remains of her bra. Her underlayers clung to her skin, translucent and humiliating. Her arms crossed over her chest, desperate to preserve some shred of dignity.
The office.....once quiet, professional, and hers.....now echoed with whispers and judgment.
Two male staff members stood by the hallway entrance, not saying a word, but watching. Their stares weren't curious....they were cold, condemning, like they had seen enough to choose a side. A female colleague whom Lina barely knew muttered under her breath, "So this is what she really is... all that soft-spoken kindness was just a mask."
Lina tried to hide her face, her pride shattered by the weight of eyes.
Then the officer returned.
A tall woman in a dark uniform stepped forward and crouched. She tilted Lina's chin up, her fingers cold and unfeeling. "Just say it," she whispered. "Admit you're a drug abuser. Make this easy. We already have the footage. The packet. The behavior. Just confess."
Lina shook her head violently. "I didn't…... I didn't do anything….. I was framed. Please, just find Noemie. She'll tell you. She.....she....."
Another officer behind her laughed. "Still talking about imaginary friends, huh?"
One leaned close, holding Lina's shoulder. "Come on now. Tell us the truth, or we might have to inform your mother. Imagine how she'd feel hearing all this…..."
The mention of her mother was a lightning strike. Lina's posture snapped up.
"If you go near my mom," she hissed, voice trembling with fury, "I will…... I will...."
"What?" the first officer grinned. "You'll do what? Fight us with your pretty eyes? Threats from someone like you are just noise."
Suddenly, a splash.
Lina gasped as cold water hit her face, soaked through her bra, matted her hair to her cheeks. She coughed, choking on the surprise. Her legs kicked out instinctively, but the officers had already taken position—one pinning her knees, another holding her wrists behind her back.
Her body twisted in helpless panic. Her skin stung against the floor, soaked and cold. Her bare shoulders scraped against the tile as she was restrained. Her breath came in fast, sharp waves.
A sharp slap landed against her back....not in violence, but in mockery.
Lina cried out....not just from the pain, but from the helplessness. Not a single colleague helped. No one even whispered in her defense. It was like she had become invisible and monstrous at once.
The handprint bloomed across her back, stark against wet skin. Not just once. Twice. Three times. They weren't beating her.....they were toying with her, reducing her to an object of punishment and pity.
Every laugh chipped away at her identity.
Every silence screamed betrayal.
Somewhere in the hall, a younger intern looked away, guilt painting her face. Another whispered to a colleague, "She seemed so smart. So….... normal."
The officers pulled her to her feet, her legs buckling. A coat was thrown around her shoulders.....not out of mercy, but to cover her enough for transport.
"Where are you taking me?" she asked, voice cracking. "Where is Noemie? Please—tell me what's going on....someone.....please....."
"You're going to hell," one officer said with a smirk, leading her through the hallway.
Lina's knees knocked together as she stumbled past the line of desks. Some co-workers stared. Others averted their eyes.
A few...… smirked.
This place she had given months to....days filled with overtime, coffee-fueled mornings, late nights reading psychiatric case notes, comforting stressed-out clients.....it had become a tribunal. A circus.
And she was its bleeding spectacle.
Outside, the harsh wind slapped her soaked skin. An unmarked helicopter waited on the rooftop helipad.
She was shoved toward it.
As she climbed inside, trembling and silent, she looked back.....toward the office window where she used to eat lunch. Where she used to laugh.
Where Noemie had once sat with her.
And now.....
Gone.
All gone.
The rot of betrayal clung to her like the wet cloth on her back.
She sat in the chopper, arms still wrapped tight around herself, the roar of the blades drowning out her thoughts. But one remained, louder than all the rest:
"I didn't do this."
But there was no one left to believe her.