I am screaming. I've given up my vow of silence and I'm screaming bloody murder, cause this hurts like hell and all my air is gone and I can't breathe and I didn't even know pain like this existed. In fact, I'm not even sure pain is the right word anymore: this is living death. And it just keeps going on and on and on and it never stops but eventually I have nothing left to scream with and everything fades away into blessed night.
:::
He is screaming - loudly - and it sounds like intense pain. But no, it is not simply pain he is screaming about; I hear terror in his voice as well. I feel as if I am coming out of a dark fog, and as my mind clears I hear my name screamed over and over.
"Wake up, wake up!" He is screaming; and I try, but I can't and the dark fog rolls over me again.
:::
When I am next aware, I hear quiet sobbing next to me. It is hard to move, hard to open my eyes; but I'm dying for a drink of water and maybe whoever is crying can give it to me. I force my eyes open and try to sit up, but there is something stopping my right arm from moving. It makes me angry and for some reason I want to cry. That strange reaction is immediately forgotten as I see who is next to me. It is him - he is the one sobbing. And now I remember.
"Did you talk?" I mumble thickly. He swipes at his face angrily and shakes his head. It is a firm shake, a determination to never give in, no matter the cost. I sigh a little and close my eyes, and he scoots over closer to me and grips my hand with his, sticky with my blood. I squeeze it tightly, but keep my eyes closed. "I'm sorry," he manages to choke out; and I nod, to tell him it's okay.
He sits there and makes no more noises except sniffling and the sound his hand makes when he wipes the tears away. I keep my eyes squeezed shut and try to pretend that if I don't look at where we are I can forget, and it won't hurt so much. But it's not working, and god, it hurts. Everything hurts, even breathing. I can't make myself pass out again, and I'm never gonna sleep when I'm in this much pain, so I just hold on to his hand and keep breathing. Just keep surviving one minute more.
His noises quiet down after some time has passed, and his grip slackens a little and I know he is falling asleep. Good for him to get sleep now, before they come back. And they will be back.
He is my lifeline right now, the only reason I am forcing myself to keep breathing. But at the same time, it hurts way more than I want it to that he could stop this and he isn't. If he would just say what they want to hear, this would all end. Either death or freedom, it doesn't really matter to me anymore - both would take the pain away. Although, death would do it faster...
But he won't talk. Of this I am completely certain. He will die a thousand times over before he will betray his country, and that loyalty is one of the things I admire most about him.
But here, now, I almost wish he would just give up. I wonder what classified information is worth all this. Could anything be worth this? I was sure of my strength back when we started this op, but now I'm not sure that I could hold out if our positions were reversed.
I think I might be past the saving point, so that even if we were rescued now I would still get relief only in death. Could I have let it go this far if it was me watching them kill him slowly? I don't think so. I am loyal to my country, but whatever classified information we are protecting couldn't possibly be worth his life - not to me. I am weaker than him, in that.
But is it really weakness? This proves to me beyond a shadow of a doubt that his loyalty is first to his country, and then to me. I am not his top priority. If I die here, he will be furious and broken and he will grieve for me; but if he caved and gave up secrets here then he would probably kill himself. So my life is not more important than the information we are protecting. What does that say to me? I don't know what he means, but to me he is saying "You're not worth it. Your life is not worth betraying my country for." And I've got to admit, that hurts. I thought I meant more.
Actually, no, I didn't. I hoped I meant more. I think I always knew what is most important to him, and it was never me.
Not that he is my top priority either. I have other people that rank higher than him - but he comes before random government people and their classified secrets. He is definitely way more important than them. Way. So it is a confused hurt, that wonders why he is letting me suffer like this when he could easily make it stop. If I live through this, I'm not even sure we could ever be friends the same way again. It changes something, you know? To know that your partner will go this far.
My dark thoughts are abruptly cut off as his grip on my hand tightens again and I know he is waking up. I keep my eyes shut, but I can hear his breathing change as he becomes fully aware of his surroundings again. He makes a little noise of utter despair, and then squeezes my hand. It hurts, but I barely even notice, and the comfort is well worth the pain anyway. "I'm so sorry," he whispers again, and I can hear the tears clogged in his throat. I want to squeeze back, but I don't have enough energy to do that and still breathe. He must not realize I am awake and aware, because he is crying now, and whispering pleas to me to stay with him.
"Don't you dare die on me! Come on, wake up. Oh god, please, you gotta hold on for me," he begs. I wish I could reassure him, but I can feel the fog finally closing back in.
The last things I hear before I slip away again are the sound of boots coming back and his terrified gasping breaths and the words he screams as the door opens. "No! No! Stop it! You can't take him!" But he doesn't say he will talk, so my arm is roughly freed and I am being dragged and his hand is torn from mine and he is sobbing - the sobs of hopeless rage. And then the darkness takes me.