“I don’t know! I swear I don’t know!” I sobbed.

Mr. Callahan pressed the tip of the knife deeper into my neck, making me scream in agony. I didn’t even know this level of pain existed.

He was cutting into the bump near my throat—the one he referred to as my

“mating gland”—pushing in deeper and deeper, drawing blood, each jab causing a horrible, burning fire to race down my body.

Getting cut by a knife was supposed to hurt, but there was something about being cut in this specific spot that felt more like he was pressing a hot branding iron into my skin.

After nodding off earlier that...