T is for Thurmond

My time at Thurmond seemed to exist in its own dimension. It was like one, eternally long day. One that never seemed to end. All of the real days just blended and mushed together, repeating and tangling in my mind no matter how hard I tried to keep them straight.

It was impossible to count them. So instead, I counted seasons. I scratched a 'W' into the paint on my bunk for every winter. An 'S' for every spring. An 'Su' for every summer. And an 'A' for every autumn. In the end, I spent four springs, four summers, five autumns, and five winters at Thurmond.

So little happened in those years, and yet, so much at the same time. It was repetition, a routine designed to break you. And break you it did. Everyday I forced myself out of bed to just get back in it the next night more broken than before. Slowly, so painstakingly slowly, I learned to grow a thicker skin for it all. I learned to stomach it, just enough to survive till the next day. Like all the other girls in my cabin.

Those girls became more than just my roommates. By the end of the first winter, they were my family. We'd stay up as long as our bodies would allow, telling stories about our lives and homes before Psi. Sometimes we'd play games or I'd teach them old songs Krel and I used to sing together. And sometimes we would just sit with each other, too tired to do anything else.

Once, I swiped a pair of sheers from the Garden shed to give everyone a haircut. Just for the fun of it. Mary and Shannon worked meticulously on each other's, while I let Davaros chop away at mine. By the time Mary had helped her even it out, I had something close to a pixie cut. But I loved it anyway.

We clung to those little moments. Those little stories. Thinking back, that's what kept us alive. That's what kept us from losing ourselves behind those barbed wire fences.

But those weren't the only moments that happened.

Oddly enough, those moments, the violent ones, they were good for keeping time too.

The first time I was beaten by a PSF was my third day there. I was bent over in the Garden, my skin blistering with sunburns. Mary had sent me a cross-eyed look to be funny, and I'd chuckled under my breath without thinking.

The nearest PSF was next to me in an instant, grabbing me by my hair and yanking me back. He slammed his baton down on my ribs, another officer holding down my legs so I couldn't curl up to protect myself.

"You wanna laugh?" He's shouted at me. "How 'bout this? This funny? Why aren't you laughing anymore?"

The pain was almost unbearable. The waves and cracks of it, coming down again and again, the horrible feeling of helplessness strangling me.

It was three horrible minutes until he finally stopped, blood smeared across my face. It hurt to breathe. It hurt to be alive. He muttered something about my last name under his breath then spat in my hair. And he left me there. Gasping and bleeding in the dirt.

I could feel the other girl's eyes on me, but I knew none of them could help me. I had to do it myself.

So I did.

I shoved down the flaming pain and I sat up. I pushed myself back onto my knees, and I kept working. That night, I waited until Davaros was asleep to ask Mary and Shannon the question buzzing at the back of my mind.

"They called me famous," I said. "They called my whole family famous. Why?"

Shannon sighed. "It's not like we know . . . but we've heard PSFs say things . . ."

"Like what?"

"Like," Mary winced. "They blame the Tarrons for the draft, I think."

"You think?" I asked. "That's a pretty serious accusation."

"The PSFs say you're traitors," Shannon said. "But it's okay, we don't blame you -"

"No," I shook my head. "My parents aren't traitors. They were the ones that were betrayed."

They looked at me for a moment.

"It's just what PSFs say," Mary said.

I refused to believe it. It just didn't make any sense. My parents weren't traitors. They couldn't be. Not after everything they'd given up for this godforsaken country. But that didn't change the way the officers saw me.

Every little thing I did, I could feel PSF eyes on me. They were waiting for me to mess up. Just looking for excuses to make me bleed. My hands would tremble any time an officer came near, even if they weren't looking at me. But there was no escaping the inevitable. I'd cough at the wrong time. I'd trip. I'd look at a PSF the wrong way. And they'd make me pay for it.

It was late autumn the first time I broke down. I couldn't take it anymore. I couldn't handle this fear, this pain. I prayed that God would let me die that night. But of course, I didn't.

Shannon ran a gentle hand up and down my spine while I sobbed on my bunk, shushing my cries.

"I can't do it," I hiccuped, the tears making my split lips sting. "Not again. Not again, please not again."

"Yes, you can," Shannon whispered.

"No, I can't!" I threw my head back. "You have no idea what this is like! No one ever touches you!"

"Aja, listen to me," She said. "You're strong. You're so much stronger than you think."

"No, I'm not," I buried myself in my pillow, sobs racking my body. "I'm not. I'm not."

"Aja -" She reached for my face, but I threw myself back.

"No!" I screamed. "Don't touch me!" I collapsed against the wall, pulling my knees to my chest as I cried. "Please, please don't touch me. I don't want to be touched anymore."

She scooted across the mattress to sit beside me, letting me cry for a while. Mary and Davaros joined her eventually, just making sure I wasn't alone.

"My mama used to say you can do anything for just a day," Davaros finally said. "You can do it just one more day, can't you?"

I stared at her, slowly processing the words.

"Just one more day," Davaros said again. "And at the end of it, you'll be here with us. You can make it till then."

I didn't reply. Instead, I felt myself go limp, so, so horribly tired.

"Aja?" I looked over at Mary. "Davaros is right. Whatever happens out there, no one can hurt you in here. So make it through the day and come back to us. As long as you're with us, you're safe. Understand?"

I met her eyes for as long as I could, before my head finally fell forward and I more plummeted than fell asleep.

The weeks and months following that first break down were long and cold. Literally. That first winter was definitely the hardest. Not a day went by when I didn't sport a few bruises. I ended up in the infirmary several times, usually for broken bones. Twice for a dislocated shoulder. And once for the yellowish-brown splotches on the backs of my arms, shoulders, and sides of my legs.

"They're scars," The nurse had said. "At least they're like scars. When repeated bruising happens over an area, too much iron is deposited into the skin. That causes permanent staining."

"What does that mean?" I asked.

"The splotches are the scars that bruises leave behind," He snapped. "And they're never going away."

But through it all, I never forgot their words to me. Everyday, I told myself I could do it for twelve more hours. Just twelve. Then I would be safe in my cabin. With my family. Just one day at a time.

By the time spring had come, PSFs stopped looking for excuses to hurt me. They just would. I could tell by the sound of their boots, how they pounded heavy and slowly towards me, knowing they could take their time. Knowing I had nowhere to run.

The helpless feeling began haunting my nightmares again, to the point that it was hard to tell the difference between dream and reality. But, ever so slowly, I learned to grow a thicker skin. I learned to numb myself inside. Every time I heard a PSF coming, I learned to will myself unbreakable, even if it was just for the few minutes the beating would last.

Afterwards, when I was safe in my cabin, I could be broken. I could be shattered into a million pieces and sob as long as I wanted while Shannon rubbed my back. But for those few minutes, I could be strong.

The next incident was at the end of the first spring. We were in the big warehouses, in long assembly lines as we laced PSF boots. The Blues behind us had the sewing machine whirring, stitching together the actual uniforms. Davaros was beside me, her little hands pulling at the cords as she tried to lace the boots.

Her basket of finished boots was pathetically small, her fingers just about blistered at how hard she was pulling. I'd seen what they'd done to the girl yesterday after not meeting the "quota". She was still in the infirmary for it.

So just as the PSFs were coming down the line, examining the finished products we'd created, I switched our baskets. Davaros's was right next to mine, it was almost too easy to do it.

She looked up at with wide horrified eyes, shaking her head over and over. For a split second, all I saw was Krel, the night trolls caught us and the look he'd given me in the back of that truck. Begging me not to do what I did.

But I'd done it anyway.

I knew how hard those batons were. Davaros was barely even four feet tall. If they hit her she'd snap in half. It was only another beating, I could take it. Just like I always did.

The officer had his fun screaming at me for my pathetic basket, making my ears ring by the time he'd finished.

"Interesting, isn't it?" He laughed in my ear. "One of the mighty Tarrons, and she can't even lace a damn boot."

I just stared at the ground, waiting for the pain. Bracing for it.

"Oh, but don't worry," He leaned in close, whispering against my neck. "We've got something special for you, Miss Tarron."

Then he grabbed me by my hair and pulled me away. I heard Davaros's whimpering cries as they dragged me out into the night air. I almost heard Mary's too. But I was gone before I could know for sure.

They dragged me down to a shed across the camp, several other PSFs joining in by the time we got there. It wasn't small, like the size of a storage unit. When they pushed me inside, the overwhelming scent of dog food hit me first. Then the sight of the empty kennels.

They never told me, but I always assumed there were supposed to be guard dogs stationed at Thurmond. But the funding got cut off or whatever, and they just left the supplies for it to rot in that shed.

Until then.

He pulled open the door to one of the kennels, pointing his baton towards it. "Get in."

All the color drained from my face, my heels backing up against the hands holding me. "No," I shook my head. "No - no, that's -"

"Get in!" He shouted, smacking his baton against the metal bars to make me flinch. "It's where you Tarrons belong."

Anger rose in my chest, giving me the strength to struggle. "No!" I screamed. "Get away from me! I'm not going in there!"

The officer grabbed at my hair again, throwing me back against the wall. "You wanna act like a bitch? You get to sleep like a bitch."

They picked me up after that, trying to shove me into the dog kennel. I screamed and thrashed, my feet holding against the rim of the box. I wasn't going in that cage. I wasn't an animal. And I wouldn't stop screaming it.

Finally, they dropped me back to the ground, through with the struggling. I saw a flash of the baton being raised and I closed my eyes, willing myself to go numb. They beat me till I stopped fighting. Till my blood splattered on the wall behind me. And when they were finally done, they stuffed me into the cage, slamming the door with a cackle.

"Have fun sleeping in there now, mutt!" He laughed. Then he was gone. And I was alone.

Those hours were the longest in my life. I prayed for death, half convinced I was already dead and this was what hell was like. I could barely breathe as I sat there, cramped and pinched and bleeding. I made me think of when Krel and I had to cram ourselves in the back of Varvatos's car.

It made me miss those days more than anything.

So I closed my eyes and I pretended I was there again. I imagined the way the carpets felt. How terrible it smelled. How sweaty Krel and I had gotten in the heat of California. I drowned myself in memories, living the last hours in my mind.

When I opened my eyes again, I was in the infirmary, an oxygen tube across my nose.

"Do you know where you are?" A soft voice asked.

I squinted, finding the face of an old man hovering above me. I almost thought he was Varvatos. The disappointment was crushing when I realized it wasn't.

"You're in the infirmary," The man said. "You're gonna be good as new soon, I only need you to relax. Just focus on your breathing."

The gentleness in his voice was almost alien to me. I couldn't remember the last time an adult had spoken to me like that. I couldn't remember that last time I'd been handled with care.

I stayed in the infirmary for three days, in and out of consciousness for the most of it. I had dozens of fractures, bruises, and breaks. I got three stitches across my elbow. And I had an oxygen tube under my nose the whole time.

The old doctor, whoever he was, gave me the treatment of a lifetime. He never spoke above a whisper. Never set a bone, never gave an IV, without telling me first. And he always gave me small reminders to rest and breathe.

I could tell he'd been around long enough to know the reputation my name had been given. He knew I was the one all the PSFs loved to pick on. There was a pecking order to this place and I was at the bottom. I guess that's why he tried to keep me for as long as possible.

The day I left the infirmary, I was awake for most of it. I sat cross legged on the bed while the doctor told me the story of how he'd met his wife. Every once in a while he would check my vitals, adjust my IV a little. But nothing more than that.

At lunch, he brought back a turkey sandwich for me. "Someone made an extra one," He shrugged. "You might as well eat it."

I just about cried when I bit into it. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten anything besides boiled potatoes and bread. I couldn't remember the last time I'd eaten anything that tasted so good.

"Lively," I muttered under my breath.

The old doctor chuckled, watching me savor every bite. He continued his story about his wife, and I continued listening. Not twenty minutes later, he came to check my vitals, pressing the stethoscope against my chest.

"I'm well enough to go back to my cabin," I said. "Aren't I?"

He paused, like I'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

"Is there something else wrong with me?"

He sighed, drawing back his stethoscope. "No. There's not."

"Then," I asked. "Why am I still here?"

He didn't answer for a while, just tapping his stethoscope against two of his fingers. "I became a pediatrics doctor to heal children," He finally said. "Not hurt them."

We sat in silence for the next few minutes, him finishing my vitals and even adjusting my IV. He was the one to break the silence again.

"You know," He said. "I had a granddaughter, not too many years ago."

"Had?"

A sad smile covered his face. "She did not survive the disease."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," He turned to do something on the touchscreen. "I . . . I think it's better she is dead."

I thought back to all the times I'd prayed for death. "Maybe you're right."

He turned back around, shining a light in each of my eyes. "You remind me of her."

"Funny," I replied. "You remind me of someone too."

"Really? Who?"

A dull ache went through my chest. "An old geezer I used to know. He wasn't my grandpa, but he might as well have been."

"Used to?"

"He took care of me . . . until he didn't," The back of my throat began to ache. "He lied to me. He betrayed me."

It was quiet for a moment.

"Do you blame him?" The doctor asked. "For ending up here?"

"Sometimes," I whispered. "Sometimes I'm not so sure."

"What makes you doubt?"

"I miss him," I croaked. "I miss him like he's my grandpa."

He put a gloved hand on my shoulder. "I understand," He said. "I do."

I believed him.

"I can only keep you for a few more hours," He said. "Tonight, you'll have to go back to your cabin."

My entire body froze at those words, my joints locking up with numbness and terror. I swallowed, clenching my hands to keep them from shaking. "Okay," I said, forcing the word to be true. "That's okay."

That night I walked back into my cabin, a brace around my right arm and left leg. Medical tape holding a cut on my forehead together. My right ankle wrapped. And completely black and blue. When the girls saw me, they looked at me like I was a ghost.

"Hey guys," I said, giving them a small wave. "How've you been?"

"We . . ." Shannon had to clear her throat. "We didn't know if you were coming back."

I blinked, the shock setting in like a slap in the face. Then I saw Davaros, and the slap became a punch. She was looking at me with sheer agony across her face. Pure guilt. A sob burst from her throat before she bolted towards me, throwing her arms around my waist before I could stop her.

I jolted at the sudden contact, but then I relaxed. Using my braces to keep from touching her skin, I lowered to my knees and hugged her back.

"Why did you do that?" She sobbed. "They hate you! They'll always hurt you worse than me! Why didn't you just let me get in trouble?"

I squeezed her harder, petting her hair as I shushed her cries. The way Shannon had done for me so many times.

"What did they do to you?" She hiccuped against my stomach.

I bit my lip to keep it from trembling. "It doesn't matter."

"Yes, it does!"

"No, Davaros," I pulled her back by her shoulders. "It doesn't. But you know what does matter? We're cabin mates. And you know what that means?"

She shook her head.

"It means you and I - and Mary and Shannon - we're all sisters now. And we've got to take care of each other. You know what that means?"

She sniffled.

"It means I'm gonna take care of you, whenever I can. Trust me," I winked. "It's what big sisters do."

"But they'll hurt you," Her face crumpled, tears falling. "They'll always hurt you worse. They would've just hit me a few times, it wouldn't have been so bad."

I pulled her back into a hug, thinking back to the Blue girl they'd beaten the day before. "Yes, it would've." I whispered.

Mary and Shannon came forward to flank me, their hands on each of my shoulders. "We're just happy your home," They said.

They leaned their heads on mine, letting us have the first real group hug. I let out a broken sigh I didn't know I'd been holding, my eyes wandering along the empty walls of the cabin.

No, this place wasn't home. But for now, these girls were.