![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
libra_travellerAnother old story but I edited it, and there are a lot of changes, it's less graphic, less melodramatic thoughts. And I think it's truer to the characters. Still heartbreaking though.
Title: Anguish
Author: libra_traveller
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con, Suicide attempt.
Summary: Can John and Rodney’s friendship survive?
For one day we’re stuck in this cell by ourselves. We’re thirsty, hungry, and cold. The cement’s hard and freezing to the touch. They stuffed us in a room the size of my closet when I was back on Earth. No leg room to stretch, I could only kneel or hit my head, which I did numerous times.
It felt easy that first day, just chatting and making bets on how long before our team would rescue us. We huddled trying to keep warm. I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder, listening to him snoring.
The second day a guard pulled us out of the cells and hit us as we stumbled. They marched us into an office room where their leader paced behind his desk. The man sparked with his fury. He didn’t say a word as he ripped a page from a book and shoved it in my face. It had hundreds of names on it with the word culled in red ink next to almost every name. As we were thrown back in our cell my head slammed against the wall. I lay on the floor, the ringing in my ears a musical accompaniment to all those names scrolling in front of my eyes.
It was the third day when they made us lie down on our stomachs in a large room that I realized how much trouble we were in. The man pulled one of my guns on me. He fired and I flinched at the sound. Hearing a scream I whipped my head to the left and saw the blood pooling on the floor by Rodney’s leg. Later they carried him to the cell. I sat with his head cushioned by my lap and stroked his hair. A while later after he lay unconscious I ripped up my shirt and wrapped up his leg. The fourth day they gave us bread and water.
Day five we were brought to the same large room but two men I hadn’t seen before were there. I watched as one man dug the gun into Rodney’s temple. The other man put his hands on my shoulders and shoved me to the floor as I looked in my friend’s eyes. When he yanked down my pants and boxers I had to fight not to struggle. He squeezed my penis until I gasped. A shot rang out and I looked in a panic towards Rodney not realizing when I’d stopped looking. The shot had been aimed at the ceiling and I sighed in relief until the man aimed it at Rodney’s foot. I looked at Rodney and wanted to scream that I couldn’t do it, but then the guard gagged me so I didn’t have too.
My boots and pants came off next. He kneeled down on the floor and pulled me down with him. Then he grabbed my legs and pushed them to either side of his knees and shoved his fingers into me. My mind went numb as he forced himself into me. Peripherally I heard Rodney begging them to stop.
The sixth day was the same as the fourth. We were alone and they fed us. Rodney kept trying to get me to talk but I just looked at him helplessly and he’d look away. My tongue was bleeding from when I had bit into it after the gag was removed. Eventually he convinced me to rest my head on his shoulder.
Day seven. This time I watched them hurt Rodney. But they didn’t gag him, letting me hear him scream. When I tried to fight they hit me with the gun and I fell unconscious to the sound of Rodney’s struggle.
The eighth day almost broke me. They stripped us both and told us that if we didn’t do it ourselves they would, again and again till it killed us. Rodney whispered no over and over and I nodded and we tried to take them out, but they overcame us and sliced his hand with a knife. I scrambled over to him and stroked his cheek to get him to focus. Another knife was held to his throat and all I could say was sorry as I took Rodney’s pants off.
Day nine I couldn’t look at him. That was the day we were rescued. Our clothes had been taken the previous day so we were covered in emergency blankets. We returned home to cheers. I threw up on someone's shoes.
The first day in the infirmary felt just as invasive and painful as the days captured. The second day we talked to the shrink separately. While sitting in the bed with a curtain around it I explained everything they had made us do. When she asked how I was feeling, I shook my head, choked up. She left me to talk to Rodney. He had his hand and leg stitched up nice but he wouldn’t speak, not to anyone, not even to me. Maybe especially not me. The third day I could hear him crying, and when I went to him and tried to hold his hand he flinched away from me.
The next day I was allowed to be in a room alone. I tried to sleep but kept waking up with my pulse beating in my throat. I called Rodney on the comm. but he wouldn’t answer. When I went to the infirmary the nurse told me that he didn’t want to see me. I left and barricaded myself in my room.
All day and night one phrase kept circling my thoughts. To live freely is to die. Twenty days ago I never wanted to be that free. Twenty-three pills of Tylenol should have been enough to kill me. One of the doctors gave me them for the pain. The doctor should have known better. My mind was fuzzy with the world escaping me as I thought that I never wrote a note, but then everyone knew why. Vaguely I heard the door open and I blinked hazy eyes and saw it was Rodney. One last look. He stumbled off his crutches and grabbed my hand. He said hold on and I shook my head.
When I woke up with a sore throat and realized I was still alive I wanted to scream against the injustice. But then when I saw Rodney sitting by the bed with my hand squeezed in his I realized that maybe I’d been too hasty. Perhaps freedom was overrated.
Title: Anguish
Author: libra_traveller
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-con, Suicide attempt.
Summary: Can John and Rodney’s friendship survive?
For one day we’re stuck in this cell by ourselves. We’re thirsty, hungry, and cold. The cement’s hard and freezing to the touch. They stuffed us in a room the size of my closet when I was back on Earth. No leg room to stretch, I could only kneel or hit my head, which I did numerous times.
It felt easy that first day, just chatting and making bets on how long before our team would rescue us. We huddled trying to keep warm. I fell asleep with my head on his shoulder, listening to him snoring.
The second day a guard pulled us out of the cells and hit us as we stumbled. They marched us into an office room where their leader paced behind his desk. The man sparked with his fury. He didn’t say a word as he ripped a page from a book and shoved it in my face. It had hundreds of names on it with the word culled in red ink next to almost every name. As we were thrown back in our cell my head slammed against the wall. I lay on the floor, the ringing in my ears a musical accompaniment to all those names scrolling in front of my eyes.
It was the third day when they made us lie down on our stomachs in a large room that I realized how much trouble we were in. The man pulled one of my guns on me. He fired and I flinched at the sound. Hearing a scream I whipped my head to the left and saw the blood pooling on the floor by Rodney’s leg. Later they carried him to the cell. I sat with his head cushioned by my lap and stroked his hair. A while later after he lay unconscious I ripped up my shirt and wrapped up his leg. The fourth day they gave us bread and water.
Day five we were brought to the same large room but two men I hadn’t seen before were there. I watched as one man dug the gun into Rodney’s temple. The other man put his hands on my shoulders and shoved me to the floor as I looked in my friend’s eyes. When he yanked down my pants and boxers I had to fight not to struggle. He squeezed my penis until I gasped. A shot rang out and I looked in a panic towards Rodney not realizing when I’d stopped looking. The shot had been aimed at the ceiling and I sighed in relief until the man aimed it at Rodney’s foot. I looked at Rodney and wanted to scream that I couldn’t do it, but then the guard gagged me so I didn’t have too.
My boots and pants came off next. He kneeled down on the floor and pulled me down with him. Then he grabbed my legs and pushed them to either side of his knees and shoved his fingers into me. My mind went numb as he forced himself into me. Peripherally I heard Rodney begging them to stop.
The sixth day was the same as the fourth. We were alone and they fed us. Rodney kept trying to get me to talk but I just looked at him helplessly and he’d look away. My tongue was bleeding from when I had bit into it after the gag was removed. Eventually he convinced me to rest my head on his shoulder.
Day seven. This time I watched them hurt Rodney. But they didn’t gag him, letting me hear him scream. When I tried to fight they hit me with the gun and I fell unconscious to the sound of Rodney’s struggle.
The eighth day almost broke me. They stripped us both and told us that if we didn’t do it ourselves they would, again and again till it killed us. Rodney whispered no over and over and I nodded and we tried to take them out, but they overcame us and sliced his hand with a knife. I scrambled over to him and stroked his cheek to get him to focus. Another knife was held to his throat and all I could say was sorry as I took Rodney’s pants off.
Day nine I couldn’t look at him. That was the day we were rescued. Our clothes had been taken the previous day so we were covered in emergency blankets. We returned home to cheers. I threw up on someone's shoes.
The first day in the infirmary felt just as invasive and painful as the days captured. The second day we talked to the shrink separately. While sitting in the bed with a curtain around it I explained everything they had made us do. When she asked how I was feeling, I shook my head, choked up. She left me to talk to Rodney. He had his hand and leg stitched up nice but he wouldn’t speak, not to anyone, not even to me. Maybe especially not me. The third day I could hear him crying, and when I went to him and tried to hold his hand he flinched away from me.
The next day I was allowed to be in a room alone. I tried to sleep but kept waking up with my pulse beating in my throat. I called Rodney on the comm. but he wouldn’t answer. When I went to the infirmary the nurse told me that he didn’t want to see me. I left and barricaded myself in my room.
All day and night one phrase kept circling my thoughts. To live freely is to die. Twenty days ago I never wanted to be that free. Twenty-three pills of Tylenol should have been enough to kill me. One of the doctors gave me them for the pain. The doctor should have known better. My mind was fuzzy with the world escaping me as I thought that I never wrote a note, but then everyone knew why. Vaguely I heard the door open and I blinked hazy eyes and saw it was Rodney. One last look. He stumbled off his crutches and grabbed my hand. He said hold on and I shook my head.
When I woke up with a sore throat and realized I was still alive I wanted to scream against the injustice. But then when I saw Rodney sitting by the bed with my hand squeezed in his I realized that maybe I’d been too hasty. Perhaps freedom was overrated.
no subject
on 2008-07-27 07:17 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2008-07-27 07:50 pm (UTC)