Against the clock

9.

Tw: rape

Days passed, and it seemed the original guy left. Another man had stepped in, comparatively more humane. He provided us with better meals, more water, and allowed more toilet breaks without shocks. Yet, the chains remained on both of us. Every time, he placed the food within our reach, forcing us to bow down to the ground to eat. I felt like a dog.

Three days had dragged on, each one accompanied by an unbearable temperature. Our conversations had dwindled to nothing. Derek sat in front of me, fixated on the ground. We had run out of things to talk about. At this point, I felt so weak, talking was so energy consuming. In an attempt to shatter the oppressive silence, I ventured, 'Why did you become a professor?'

I had always pondered the motives behind the choice of seasoned professionals, like Derek, to transition from successful careers, such as surgery, to the realm of teaching. His reaction suggested my question might have crossed a line as he looked up at me, his expression conveying a sense of intrusion. 'Did you not like surgery? Was it too time-consuming? I had looked you up, and you were very successful,' I added, genuinely curious.

Derek sighed, his expression turning somber. 'It's not that easy. I've only been a professor for 2 years. My marriage, my family, my career—it was all too hard to keep track.' I could sense the weight of his words, the complexities of a life pulled in different directions. 'Balancing everything must have been tough.' He nodded, a rueful smile appearing. 'You have no idea. The demands of surgery, the constant pressure—it takes a toll.'

Derek's voice carried a poignant note as he added, 'I wanted children so bad, and to give them all the attention in the world, and look where I am now. Childless and stuck in a hellhole.' His words hung heavy in the cold air, and I could see the regret etched on his face. 'Life takes unexpected turns,' I offered, acknowledging the profound disappointment in his voice. 'Yeah, well, this turn feels like a free fall,' he replied, weariness evident in his eyes.

Our shared confinement, both physical and metaphorical, seemed to bridge the gap between us. 'You never know what the future holds. Who knows you'll have a child soon. Maybe she's pregnant right now' I said, trying to inject a note of optimism.

Derek's admission hung in the air, a heavy revelation that cast a shadow over our dim surroundings. 'I wouldn't even be surprised if it was someone else's baby,' he said, his gaze fixed on the cold ground. I attempted to shift the conversation. 'That's why I have a dog. It doesn't cry, it's always sweet, and I can still perform my dream job,' I smiled. His expression lightened a bit, and a hint of curiosity sparked in his eyes. 'What's its name?'

'Doc,' I greeted with a smile. My attempt at a smile wavered as the realisation hit. He might be dead. 'It was the only comfort I had since my mom died. If that dog is dead, I swear I will kill that man with my bare hands,' I said, my voice trembling with a mix of grief and fury. I clenched my fists, the chains rattling as my emotions surged. 'Uncertainty is the worst thing in this world,' he said, looking at me. I nodded in agreement. Then, he asked, 'Do you want kids in your future?'

Inhaling deeply, the burden of uncertainty bore down upon us. 'Honestly, I'm not sure. If my partner wants it, then maybe, but it's not something I necessarily need to have.' His response came swiftly: 'You have a partner?'

'Oh, no, I meant future partner. That is, if we ever manage to get out of here,' I explained, wearing a somber expression.

The door opened again. Harder than the last couple of days. I knew instantly that the original guy was back. Derek's gaze met mine, and we exchanged a knowing look. The atmosphere grew tense as the familiar figure entered, his presence casting a shadow on the relatively peaceful routine we had momentarily enjoyed. The chains rattled as he approached, and I braced myself for the potential return of the harsh treatment. 'Hello pretty girl' he said only looking at me.