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Broken - Val - 04-30-2015
Time was something that he had never really thought about. It simply was. It existed. It came. It passed. Sooner or later, he would run out of it. He was intelligent enough to know that much. He could only really tell time based on the position of the sun in the sky, as he'd been taught to during his time in the Shroud. Sometimes, the canopy was too thick to allow clear sight of the sun. That's when he had to look to the shadows or the trees themselves. Time, to him, existed on a day-by-day basis. If he and his tribe lived through one, then it meant success. What else could ever matter?
Now, he wasn't quite so sure how to tell time. At first they had made sure to show him nightmares that only those closest to him could have guessed to be his weakness. Then, they brightened the lights until they threatened to scorch out his eyes for what felt like days, only to immediately plunge him into the deepest depths of darkness. Some transitions came quicker than others, or at least he thought they did. He could never tell. It managed to successfully disorient him more than any blow to the head had ever done. His internal clock was all but ruined, much like his mind had been when they subjected him to that. Part of him wondered if he would ever recover from it.Â
He could no longer feel his arms. He wasn't sure if it was because he'd been hanging from them for so long that they finally gave out or that they'd taken them, too. The pain had devolved into numbness long ago, back when the cold steel of the shackles finally managed to rub the flesh of his wrists raw and bite through the skin. He couldn't feel his tail or his ears or his feet. Everything felt empty. He felt empty, drained by the constant poking and prodding of needles and devices like a rat in a lab. He hadn't showered since he'd arrived and his sensitive nose could smell himself among the mixture of his own blood and that of others.Â
He'd considered trying to sleep, but he was afraid of what would come. It was never the darkness itself that bothered him, but the haunting images of what he'd seen and done. Often times, he fought himself to stay awake. In the end it never mattered how hard he fought. He would always eventually succumb to his weakness, just like he had done with her.Â
Would Faye ever forgive him for what he had done? Would she even come for him? Did it matter? As much as he wanted to be in her arms or hold her in his, he knew it was best if she stayed away. That's why he did what he did, wasn't it? To allow her to surround herself with those that she needed? The lot of them could surely do more than he could alone. At least, that's what he told himself. He had to know that he'd made the right decision; that he wasn't suffering for nothing.Â
The only solace in his cell was his connection to her. He could still feel her. He could tell she was there. She was thankfully aware enough to keep their bond open so that he knew he wasn't all alone in the world. So that he could know that she was still searching for him, mourning the loss of his presence by her side. He wondered how much it hurt her, knowing what pain he was dealing with and the torment that they'd put him through. And yet, she was the only thing that kept him from giving up. She was the only thing that kept him from allowing the last breath to leave his lungs, not that they would readily let him die anyway. It was but a sample of the strength that he knew she possessed; what always made her stand out among the others, and what ultimately made him so enamored with her. She was the only thing in this world that he would ever need, and gods. He'd never needed her so bad.