RIP APUSH

Winston gazed into the moody depths of O’Brien’s eyes. This was the man who had broken him. The man who had torn down his humanity, sucked all individuality out of him, and in its place put love for Big Brother. The theft of his identity would usually be something Winston resented a person for, yet in this case, he did not. For he loved Big Brother. He loved this new person he had become. O’Brien could never — would never — love him, were it not for the passionate love for Big Brother that now filled him. Indeed, O’Brien was the closest thing he would have to Big Brother, and he loved Big Brother, so in a way he did not love O’Brien, but rather the greater cause he represented.

The Party had outlawed passion, except that for Big Brother. But the Party was Big Brother, and Big Brother was the Party, and they were all the Party, so really, Winston did not love O’Brien, but rather Big Brother in O’Brien’s shell.

That was what he told himself, anyway.

As Winston looked into O’Brien’s eyes, he thought about how he had come to this place, how he had come to love O’Brien and Big Brother so completely.

It had started when he was being tortured in Room 101. As he renounced Julia, wishing the rats upon her in his stead, he no longer loved her. He had betrayed her, well and fully. Doing such a thing stopped up what had been the torrent of love. Everything that made him Winston had gone. He had been reborn. And the first face Winston saw in this new life was O’Brien’s. O’Brien’s cruel yet kind face.

How could he not fall in love with a face such as that? The man who had given him this new identity, who had transformed him into a true member of the Party. Yes, a member of the beloved Party! This new Winston loved the Party, loved Big Brother, loved his new identity, thus loved O’Brien. It was then he realized his love for O’Brien.

At the time, he could not reveal it, of course. Even though his love for O’Brien stemmed from a love for all good in Oceania, the Party would not accept such an excuse. After all, it was certain that O’Brien didn’t have the same love for Winston as Winston did for him. O’Brien- he was a good person. He had only broken Winston because that was his job. That is what O’Brien did to all Thought criminals. He reformed all of them. Winston was not special in that sense. Although he was glad he had been reformed (how else could he have learned the true meaning of love?), he wished that O’Brien didn’t reform others. He wished O’Brien only had reformed him, for then Winston would be special. Then his redemption would show that O’Brien loved him.

But then, Winston supposed, O’Brien would not be O’Brien. He loved O’Brien for his kindness nested inside of his cruelty, for his determination to make the world right.

Once Winston realized his love for O’Brien, he knew he had to find a way to be with O’Brien for as much time as possible. O’Brien would call on him, and instead of lying to disguise his thoughtcrime he began lying to disguise his conformity.

“How many fingers am I holding up?” O’Brien asked.

“Four,” Winston replied.

“False, I am holding up five,” O’Brien corrected.

Indeed, Winston began to see five fingers. He was wrong the last time. But if he answered correctly, O’Brien would give him less attention. Winston wanted to occupy as much of O’Brien’s time as possible. He wanted as much attention from O’Brien as possible, even if it was negative. Because at least O’Brien would be watching him. He had to reform his expression, twist it so O’Brien would see hatred and anger instead of reverence and love. It pained him to do so, but it was not so painful as being ignored.

Of course, O’Brien was quite observant. He saw right through Winston’s ruse.

Roughly a week after the incident in Room 101 (time was hard to measure in the Ministry of Love, but that was his estimation), O’Brien was torturing Winston, as usual. What had been torture to Winston before had actually become rather enjoyable, for when O’Brien was slapping him, shoving him, kicking him, all of O’Brien’s attention was focused on Winston. Winston could see in O’Brien’s eyes that O’Brien’s mind was thinking of nothing but him.

As O’Brien’s Party-issued steel-tipped boot made contact with Winston’s chest, Winston’s carefully orchestrated mask of hatred slipped, and he instead smiled. O’Brien, ever attentive to Winston in their torture sessions, noticed this.

“Is that a smile I see?” O’Brien asked.

Winston realized his grave error, and affixed the furious expression back on his face, shaking his head fiercely.

O’Brien arched a dark eyebrow. “Are you lying to me?”

Once again, Winston shook his head. “No, I would never lie to you. I could never lie, I promise I’m not lying-” “Then are you saying I am wrong in my observation? Are you implying that I am incorrect?”

Winston’s thoughts raced. What could he say? He obviously could not say O’Brien’s observation was wrong, not when O’Brien knew it was right. But he didn’t want to admit the odd satisfaction O’Brien’s abuse gave him. Although perhaps if Winston said O’Brien was wrong, he’d be kicked even more… No, it was time to come clean.

“I’m sorry. I did lie to you, I’m so sorry, I did smile.” Winston was sobbing, his face in a real expression of anguish. O’Brien would now know that the torture wasn’t torture at all, he would realize that Winston wanted his attention, he would realize that Winston loved him, he would realize that the best way to hurt Winston would be to ignore him.

“I see.” O’Brien’s expression grew calculating. “Do you enjoy it when I torture you?”

Winston nodded, unable to form words because of the thick lump in his throat.

O’Brien drew his hand to his face in a thoughtful gesture, nodding to himself. “Yes, that seems right. I thought something had been a bit off this past week. I couldn’t pinpoint it, but yeah… That sounds about right. I’m going to ask you several questions, and I want you to answer honestly. If you lie, I will know.”

Winston’s head bobbed up and down. He had been stripped of all dignity that was left.

O’Brien held up three fingers. “I am holding up two fingers.” Suddenly, the third finger faded, being replaced by two. “How many fingers am I holding up?”

Winston coughed, trying to clear his throat. He managed to croak out a “Two.”

“How many was I holding up originally?”

“Two.”

“Were you lying this past week to seem like a thoughtcriminal?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love the Party?”

“Yes.”

“Do you love Big Brother?” “Yes.”

“Do you love me?” “Yes.” Winston’s voice broke.

“I see. So you are not a thoughtcriminal at all, except in that you love me… This presents an interesting dilemma, for love toward any individual that is not Big Brother is forbidden. Might I ask why you love me?”

Winston was willing to explain his love, but how could he do so? He took a minute to gather his thoughts, for this was a topic he had long thought about in his hours alone. “Well, when you had emptied me of myself, when I had betrayed Julia, I transformed into a new person. I was reborn, and it was you who had formed me. How could I not revere you? How could I not love you? I loved Big Brother and the Party, and not only had you given me my love for them, but you also were them. How could I not love you?”

“Ah. Well, this leaves us with two options. You would either receive another torturer and they would reform you instead, or I could set you free.” “You would set me free?” There was hope- but then, freedom would only be freedom if O’Brien was there with him. Freedom was slavery to O’Brien. O’Brien’s war made for Winston’s peace. The world’s ignorance of his love made for strength.

“You do love Big Brother and the Party,” O’Brien said, “You are obviously loyal to the Party. I see no reason for why you would rebel, particularly if your love for me stems from your love for them.”

“But would I be separated from you, then?”

“Probably.”

“Then let me stay here. Let me have some other torturer, but let me stay here and possibly see you in the hallways. I would rather face abuse at another’s hands than let you fade from my life. I’ll take any contact. Anything. Just let me be in your life. Let you be in my life. Please, I beg of you. I’ll do anything.”

O’Brien gave Winston a wry smile, looking quite amused. “Well I suppose I should reward such devotion… Perhaps… hm, one of my assistants recently was arrested for thoughtcrime. It was quite a shame, but perhaps…”

Winston’s eyes brightened, his entire face hopeful.

“Yes, I’m in need of a new assistant. I wish there was someone I could hire… Someone who was dedicated to me and willing to indulge my whims. I’ve held off from hiring a new one due to my busy schedule, after all the Inner Party is quite a bit of work…”

“Could I be your assistant?”

O’Brien quirked his eyebrows in mock shock. Winston really did love those eyebrows. He loved all of O’Brien, of course, but those eyebrows in particular. “Wow, Winston. What a brilliant idea. Then, I will also be able to keep an eye on you in case you develop any… unorthodox thoughts or behaviors. Not that the Thought Police wouldn’t catch you anyway, but an extra pair of eyes could never hurt. Also, I’ll easily be able to punish you if necessary.”

“Thank you, oh thank you!” Winston gasped. He grasped at O’Brien's ankles.

O’Brien promptly shook him off. “I must send you back to your cell, I’m afraid. I’ll go through the process to release you, but in a few days or weeks, you will hopefully be serving me.”

“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Guards were called in, and they dragged Winston back to his cell. Usually that caused him a good deal of pain as his bruises were deepened by the bumping along the hard tile, but he was far too happy with the outcome of the last session. Of course, he fastened his face into a numb expression again, so the guards didn’t suspect anything, but inside he was soaring, flying.

His time in the small prison used to make him miserable. Now, though, he had hope. He could be with O’Brien. He would be with O’Brien at all hours- or well, not all hours, but enough. It would be enough. And hopefully O’Brien would give him even more attention now. Maybe. Then again, O’Brien was a busy man… But now his life would be devoted to the three things he loved more than anything: Big Brother, the Party, and O’Brien.

A few days later, O’Brien was good on his word. Winston was released from the Ministry of Love. The Party member who released him explained that his apartment had been taken away and given to someone else, so he would have to go to O’Brien to find housing. This filled Winston with hope, for it probably meant he would be able to live near O’Brien.

The ride to O’Brien’s was filled with excitement. Neutralizing his expression had become second nature by then, but it was getting harder to do as his dream slowly was becoming reality. He had taken to clenching the cold metal of the subway’s pole tightly, siphoning all energy into his fist. When the subway finally halted at O’Brien’s stop, Winston just barely refrained from running to O’Brien’s apartment. Still, he managed to arrive at the apartment in only ten minutes.

He knocked on the door rapidly. O’Brien opened the door, welcoming him inside. It had been a long time since he went to O’Brien’s apartment, so he was surprised by how spacious it was.

“Hello again, Winston,” O’Brien said.

“Hi,” Winston replied.

“Alright, so as my assistant, you will have many responsibilities. You’ll need to clean, serve me, cook, and generally take care of any tasks I see fit to assign to you.”

“Okay!” Winston said eagerly, “I’ll do anything you want me to.”

“Anything? Alright, I look forward to seeing how this goes,” O’Brien replied,  “Oh and please refer to me as ‘Sir.’”

“Yes sir,” Winston said, “What would you like me to do first?”

“My house needs a good cleaning. But first, let me show you your quarters before I go to the Ministry of Truth. I do have a job, you know.” O’Brien guided him to a room at the far back of the apartment.

The room was quite small, just barely enough space for a bed and dresser. But Winston had never loved another room more than this one. It was mere steps away from O’Brien’s.

“I need to go now, so I expect the entire apartment to be perfectly clean. The broom is in that closet over there, as are the rags.”

“Yes sir. When will you be back?” Winston asked.

“About seven hours from now.”

“Okay. Goodbye, sir, have a nice day at the Ministry.”

O’Brien smirked and walked out the door without a response.

Winston looked around the room. O’Brien was a very clean person, as Winston didn’t see a lot to clean. Still, O’Brien wanted the house perfect, and Winston was willing to oblige. Big Brother, the Party, and O’Brien deserve no less. He took the broom out of the closet, and started his sweeping in O’Brien’s room.

Cleaning was a tedious task. Winston had never been a fan of cleaning. His apartment- or rather, his previous apartment- was always quite dusty. However, if sweeping was the price Winston had to be with O’Brien, then so be it. Cleaning the apartment took a few hours, due to Winston’s intense determination for everything to be perfect. He cleaned it once, twice, three times, until at last O’Brien came back.

As O’Brien opened the door with a click, he raised his eyebrows in pleasant surprise for an instant. It was only half a second before his face went back into the blankly austere look of the Inner Party, but Winston saw. O’Brien was pleased with his work. He had impressed O’Brien, even if just for a second.

It allowed Winston, just for a second, to imagine that O’Brien might love him back. Or at least, come to love him in time. Someday, perhaps, O’Brien would love Winston just as Winston loved him. Someday.

And just as this hopeful thought came into Winston’s mind, he saw O’Brien pull out a gun. O’Brien shot Winston at point-blank range. The bullet lodged in Winston’s heart. Winston fell, bleeding on the floor. O’Brien walked over to his desk, ignoring the dying body in his apartment. As Winston’s life bled out from him, his lips formed one final sentence.

“O’Brien, please, look at me.”