“Please,” Jack choked out. “Please give it to him.” He held the letter out, his hand shaking.
The woman from the embassy slowly reached out, but Jack couldn’t make out her expression through the tear-blurred vision. “Please. You’ll see him, right? This week?”
She nodded as she took the envelope. “Jack–“ she started.
“Is he o–“ Jack could feel his chest tightening, each word harder to choke out. “Is he okay? The last time you saw him, was he okay?”
Her expression, which he focused very closely on now, told him more than he wanted to know, and the panic that was threatening to pull him under seeped back in. “Please make sure he gets it,” he whispered.
“You need to go home, Jack. This isn’t helping him.” She folded the envelope and tucked it into her pocket, and Jack closed his eyes. “It’s time to go home,” she said softly, and squeezed his shoulder as she walked past him, leaving him alone in the embassy lobby.
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Derek, how long will it take before you can have sex again without fear or pain? Did the doctor say you have any STIs?
from this ask game
"I don't know if I'll ever be completely fixed," Derek says. "It took a few months for me to even try, several tries before I could... get through it, without freaking out. I guess, maybe, the better part of a year before I could confidently say I enjoyed it. It was fairly painless by the time Jack and I started experimenting with getting physical again, though.
"As far as STIs, they tested me for everything; tests came back positive for a handful, but not HIV, which was everyone's big concern. The first several weeks back in the U.S. I was in and out of doctor's offices and hospitals endlessly, it felt like every week there was something new they caught, or wanted to screen for, or needed to treat."
What were their first impressions of each other? How does that compare to their impressions of each other now?
Is one of them keeping secrets from the other? Why? How would they react if the secret was revealed?
from this ask game
What were you first impressions of him? How does that compare to your impressions of him now?
"I was obsessed with him," Jack said, a weak smile ghosting across his features. "We met senior year of high school– Derek and his brother had moved to town over the summer to live with his dad and step-mom, and it was a huge deal because he was he this moody, reserved, but super hot and super talented athlete who was going to save our basketball team in the fall. I met him at a party a few weeks before school started, and when I tell you it was love at first sight..." Jack trailed off, his smile growing both in size and enthusiasm. "For me, at least, I knew I had to have him. It took a little while for him to warm up to me, but it took him a while to warm up to anyone. I loved him, though. Instantly. I don't think anything has changed in that regard. Seeing him in Turkey that day... the feelings I had for him had never left me, but it was this moment of–" Jack shook his head. "I don't know, just... relief. That no matter what happened from that point forward, he was real. And he was there. And I was still obsessed with him."
Are one of you keeping secrets from the other? Why? How would you react if the secret was revealed?
"There are so many things that we don't know about each other now. We lost seven years. I wouldn't say I'm keeping things a secret, um... Well, there are things I haven't told him yet, so I guess... He doesn't know about the alcohol, or the men, or... I guess he doesn't know a lot of the darker stuff. And I don't think I've even scratched the surface of what he's been through. But I hope, one day, he feels comfortable enough to tell me. And that I can keep it cool, and be supportive, and not freak him out by... having a nervous breakdown on the floor when I'm supposed to be supporting him."
Derek hadn’t showered in days. When they finally came for him, it had been nine, he thought. He had tried, initially. Every day when it was his unit’s turn, when the guards banged on the cell door and shouted words that were incomprehensible to him, but understood by the others, he had followed suit.
He had wrapped his arms around his stomach and kept his eyes on the wall and, even then, even when he made himself as small and invisible as he could, people noticed him. He learned quickly that the showers were not a place he wanted to be.
After those first couple weeks, he stopped going all together. At first, no one seemed to care. They could find other ways to torment him, and they did, so his suffering wasn’t worth the fight of dragging him through the prison and depositing him into the cement box full of rusty shower heads and blood-stained drains.
Today, though, after everyone left the cell, a guard hovered in the doorway. Derek shrunk back into the corner of the room, his corner, now, where he had carved out a place to sleep, to eat, to sometimes read or draw. It was partitioned off by the bottoms of two adjacent beds, and although that made his corner small, it gave him the illusion of safety.
Sometimes.
The guard narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Derek’s sliver of the cell, and barked a drawn out command in Turkish. They all knew he didn’t understand, and at this point, they usually didn’t bother speaking to him at all. He looked down at his hands, waiting for whatever came next.
When two additional guards closed in on him, he didn’t look up. He watched his fingers work together, watched as his own limbs started to shake, while heavy footfalls, hushed conversation, scoffs and laughter, came nearer and nearer and eventually, as calloused hands gripped into his shoulders, hauling him up.
The guards turned their commands toward him, over and over, louder and louder, and with each word, Derek retreated further inside of himself until his eyes closed, his mind singularly focused on surviving this– whatever this would become. The crack of knuckles across his cheekbone brought him back momentarily, long enough to get his footing and then lose it, long enough to see men, rows and rows of men inside of their cages, watching as his body was dragged through the long corridor.
He didn’t fight as his clothes were ripped off of him, or as he was shoved under one of the showers. He felt the burn of tears behind closed eyelids, and he crumpled to the floor, but he didn’t fight.
One of the guards, one who had taken a particular interest in him, spoke quickly to another; their fingers dug into his wrists as they lifted him, and still, he didn’t fight. When they turned the water on, the frigid stream instantly laying its own assault on him, he cowed, and something close to a whimper escaped him.
All three guards laughed, and the two released their hold on his wrists, shoving him once more into the wall.
“You stink,” one of them said, pushing a bar of soap into his hands. Derek shook as he accepted the silent cue, and as quickly as he could, ran the bar over himself. He was painfully aware of their eyes tracking every movement, but the freezing water, the days of too little food and too little sleep, the beatings and the laughter and the tears and cold, made it hard for him to care. He finished quickly, too quickly, and the guard closed the distance between them, took the soap from his hand, and vigorously scrubbed every inch of Derek’s trembling form.
Derek wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but the heat of the tears that slid down his cheeks drew his attention to the fact, and he closed his eyes, and he slid to the floor as the water was finally turned off.
He was left like that, that day, on the cement floor, shivering, with no towel, and no clothes, and not a single soul in that prison who had any intention of helping him.
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“Put him in the cage,” the guard said one day, in perfect English, following a terse conversation with the man who, Derek was learning, carried authority among the other prisoners. Derek didn’t have time to process what it meant.
He didn’t have time to put on shoes. He didn’t have time to ask the question that he desperately sought the answer to: why?
Instead, he was dragged, his feet barely finding the ground under them in time for him to be yanked forward, through the bowels of the prison. A cacophony of howls and whistles greeted them at every turn.
The ‘cage’, Derek knew well enough by now, was formed of wire and excess materials from the prison itself, partly covered by corrugated steel and partly by barbed wire twined tightly together. It offered little protection against the elements, but that wasn’t the worst part.
The worst part wasn’t the cage itself, either, he thought, as his shirt was ripped from his back.
He wrapped his fingers around the bars, steeling himself against the pain he knew was coming.
The first time the splintered cord sliced through the skin of his back, he kept quiet. The second, too, and maybe the third. By the fourth, the pain was blinding, and by the fifth, by the sixth, by the seventh, tears started breaking free, whimpers and pleas started clawing their way to the surface, broken only by the guards' laughter.
The worst part, though, was that the other prisoners would have free access to him after this. The worst part was that the other prisoners would be encouraged to ensure he suffered, for however long it took for someone to decide he had had enough.
And he knew, as blow after blow after blow landed across his back, his arms, his legs, that as long as long as he was alive, it would never be over.
What is their first assumption if they were to wake up in a totally unfamiliar location? (Derek)
What triggers a strong disgust reaction in them? (River)
List five of their recent Google searches. (Lincoln)
from this ask game:
What does you room look like?
Felix looks around the second-story guest bedroom that he's been sleeping in for the past few months. "It's big," he says. "Bigger than I need, way bigger than I think I should have. It's very neutral, but you can tell Lincoln's ex put a lot of work into making it feel homey. There are a lot of browns and beiges. A thick shaggy rug, a couple closets. I don't think it's all that unique or special, but it feels warm and inviting."
What is your first assumption if you were to wake up in a totally unfamiliar location?
"I don't know," Derek says. "Probably that I lost time somehow, maybe I would think it was PTSD or related to past head injuries. I guess, realistically, I would assume that I was losing chunks of memory."
What triggers a strong disgust reaction in you?
"Seeing owners mistreating their pets," he says flatly.
List five of their recent Google searches.
specialists in providing mental health treatment to contracted workers near me
contracted worker reunification database
can you reprogram a remote control after its been wiped
Derek’s Back [18+ content, prison whump]: Eight years ago, a group of college friends spent the summer backpacking in Turkey. Seven years ago, all but one returned. Derek had been left behind, in one of the most brutal prison systems in the modern world. It was 3:17 AM on one arbitrary Tuesday night when Jack got the call. Derek was being released.
