A Touch of Courage (Troyler AU)

Chapter 3: Darkling I Listen

Darkling I listen; and, for many a time I have been half in love with easeful Death, call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme, to take into the air my quiet breath; now more than ever seems it rich to die.

        -----John Keats, Ode To a Nightingale

****** POSSIBLE TRIGGER WARNING*********

There is no rape, cutting or self harm in this chapter, but there are depictions of physical and psychological abuse.  If you think you will be triggered by this, please just skip this chapter altogether.

Troye's POV

Troye's eyes were closed but he could hear the loud creak of the door as it was opened, the measured steps as the man walked across the room, the scrape of the chair as he dragged it closer to Troye and sat.  And then silence.  The silence was as deafening as the nerve-wracking, relentless tangle of rock music he'd been subjected to every time he thought he was alone.  When he huddled into himself with his hands pressed to his ears, Troye thought that all he wanted was for the music to stop.  But now that it had, Troye thought that the silence was even worse.  He had nothing to distract him from his own uneven, quick breathing, from the subtle noises the man was making, from the inevitable questions that would come.  During other sessions, when the man was leaving and the music had yet to start, Troye could hear his own heartbeat pounding through his veins, could feel his chaotic thoughts pressing against the inside of his skull, trying desperately to escape their dark environment.

Troye hadn't been able to sleep for days.  At least he thought it was days.  He felt disoriented from the lack of sleep and the blaring music.  He had completely lost all concept of time and had no idea how long he had been in this place.  The fear, the uncertainty of the situation, mixed with his soul-deep exhaustion, leaving him feeling weak and hollow.

He had no control over anything.  Everything had been taken from him: his freedom, his privacy, even his ability to choose when and what he would eat.  He had thought he could control at least that much by refusing to eat whatever they gave him.  However, soon after his refusal, faceless people came into the room and held him against the wall, attempting to force-feed him a vile-tasting liquid.  When he'd struggled and refused to open his mouth, they had simply held his nose until he gasped for breathe, forcing him to swallow the liquid that made him gag and want to throw up.  They had told him it was necessary, that it was some sort of liquid diet that held all the essential nutrients and minerals his body needed.  All he knew was that he would rather starve than be subjected to that kind of treatment. 

It all made Troye feel like an abandoned animal chained to a fence to be kicked at random.  Still, as horrible as all that was, he would have taken it over this.  Over what he knew was going to happen.  Over the man with the kind smile and gentle voice and endless questions.  Troye didn't look at him, but the man's image had already been burned into his consciousness.  Even with his eyes closed, Troye could see him: a distinguished looking man in his mid-forties with wire rimmed glasses and streaks of silver in his dark hair.  The man appeared fit and was always impeccably dressed, managing to remain pristine and untouched despite the things he did throughout the day. 

The man began to speak.  He asked Troye about his relationship with his father and whether the death of his mother had made it difficult for him to form relationships with women; he asked Troye detailed questions about the first time he had masturbated; whether he had ever been abused by anyone of the same-sex; about the first time he had felt desire for another boy; about when he had chosen to embrace these desires instead of fighting against them.