The second hand of the clock was slicing up the hour like a pro chef slicing up an onion, the knife moving so quickly that you cringed in anticipation of bloodshed.
I twitched uncomfortably. I could not stop the way my legs stretched cautiously against their enclosures but they found no leeway, just a warm and inescapable embrace.
“Are you sure doing it all at once was the best option?” I asked the women in white.
She didn’t even look up from her nails. “Of course. Nice and quick for you.”
I went back to staring at the ceiling. It looked like the place had a damp problem – tendrils of pewter grey and green mould had filigreed themselves over the pale peach paint.
My teeth itched.
There was a rustle of fabric and the woman appeared front of me. From my semi prone position I stared up at her brilliant white teeth, the brightness of them clashing against the darkness that lay behind.
She reached down to my left leg and took hold of the first wax coated strip.
“Now,” she said sweetly, “this may sting a little.”
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