Memories of You

Chapter Thirty- Nine - The Devil's Lap Dog

Thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story so far. Everyone is inspiring me to take chances I never thought I would as a writer. So thank you to everyone who is reading, voting, following and commenting. It means the world.

Thank you so, so much to Depecher and BarbaraK2U for all your help. I can't thank you guys enough.

Tri's POV

It's been over a week, I think, since I woke up. I've been trying to keep track of the days by the sounds of the different footsteps outside my cell. The slower, heavier footsteps come during what I believe is the night, while the quicker, lighter footfalls happen during the day. I'm only speculating, since the light under the door never changes. I am always in partial darkness and uncertainty.

My rations are almost laughable. I'm given a small cup of water, a chunk of sawdust that they call bread, and a small piece of meat once a day. When the plate was thrust into my hand by the unknown soldier on the first day, I didn't touch it. I was terrified to eat any of it, especially knowing that Eric could have poisoned it. However, after the third day, my hunger won out, and I nibbled on the food throughout the day, waiting for something to happen, but nothing ever did.

I'm dragged to a small bathroom two times a day, where I am watched by a male guard. I haven't been given a shower or a change of clothes yet, but I'm honestly grateful. I tried to keep myself covered as much as possible, but I gave that up after the second day. Instead, I look at the wall while using the bathroom, trying to ignore him, keeping my face neutral as I tune him out. I'm not going to give anyone the satisfaction of knowing how much this is starting to tear down my carefully placed walls.

He says things which I can only assume are vulgar insults, his face twisting into expressions of rage and disgust. Lucien never had the time to start teaching me German, and I only remember the few things that I was taught all those months ago.

The thought that keeps me up most nights, though, is how can Eric still be alive? The sounds of torture swirl and echo around my cell, only adding to the chaos in my mind. I can't comprehend how he managed to correspond with the enemy and fake his own death without his fellow soldiers noticing his supposedly dead body walking across enemy lines. If I get out of here, I will have to ask Amar and Tobias how they confirmed his death. Surely, they didn't just pick up his dog tags on the beach and say 'good enough'.

During my first day here, I tried counting the stones in the dim room, trying to give my mind something mundane to focus on instead of thinking about Eric or the screams of people in pain. However, I stopped when I noticed that the marks in the brick weren't just imperfections: they were scrapes made by fingernails, left in the stone by the previous occupants. My mind began conjuring images of how the people in this room suffered, which caused me to become nauseous with unease; I had to stop my counting.

After that, I tried working on some of the moves Tobias taught me all those months ago, but it sapped what little energy I had. I resorted to slowly stretching in my cell instead, reciting the moves in my head to disarm an attacker. I'm doing just enough to keep my muscles from getting weak and stiff, but not enough to exhaust my precious energy reserves.

I haven't seen Eric this week, and I can only speculate it's because he's trying to see how crazy I'm going to go, or see what information I'm going to give him to get out of my cell. What he doesn't know is that I have been able to keep myself sane because of the one wall that I have spent the most time building around my mind.

All the letters that Tobias wrote, that I spent the last few months memorizing, have been locked in my brain. His words are wrapped tightly around my mind, giving me some comfort in this hell I have found myself trapped in. It has been what connects me to reality, what lets me know that Tobias and his love for me are real, and that he is the good in my world. It has been what has kept me from joining the chorus of moans and screams throughout my waking hours.