Still Beating

The days go by slow and torturous, but they go by.

We are still alive. I’m holding on to that.

Dean and I play ‘Twenty Questions’ to pass the time. He is winning by two games, which grates me. I’m a teacher, and I’m competitive… especially with Dean. I blame it on the lack of nutrition and traumatic circumstances.

I am raped daily.

I expect it now, so the raw, blinding terror of it has subdued as much as it possibly can. I’m getting better and better at zoning out and turning it off. It’s almost like an out-of-body experience. Dean talks me through it every time, and his voice is a solace in the back of my mind as I slip away.

We get our bathroom breaks around five P.M. each day after Earl gets home from work. We are allowed to brush our teeth, then we have turkey sandwiches with Miracle Whip on white bread and one full glass of water. And then we are sent back down to our prison, shackled to our respective posts, and forced to survive another night in the dark.

Dean sings me to sleep every night, and it’s the only thing I look forward to.

Take a sad song and make it better.