Time loses all meaning when you've no watch in your pocket, or even so much as a window to tell you whether the sun has set or risen.
I think it's only been a few days since Courfeyrac and I were arrested. Since all of our plans came unravelled with the betrayal of one young girl. Even now, I can hardly believe what she has done. It was only a few days ago that Marius brought her into the Musain and she told us she knew of an unguarded ammunitions shed. I thought we would have been foolish to turn down such an unprecedented opportunity, and in our defence, Courfeyrac and I did investigate and discover it was all true. That night, though...
I couldn't understand it at first, how the police could have possibly been there, as though they had been waiting for us. Then in obscene wee hours of the morning, Adrienne confessed that she had deliberately led us into a trap- that the entire thing was a set up to have us arrested. I've never been so angry with anyone. I still am, for that matter, and I seriously doubt that anger will fade. And somehow, I've allowed myself to be talked into not telling the rest of Les Amis what she's done. I will not give her the opportunity to double-cross us a second time, mind. I am not so irresponsible as to put my friends' lives at risk over her. Even if she has expressed a desire to help us now. It's too late for all that.
I know I'm continuing to dwell on the fact that it feels much longer than merely a few days. Mostly because there's nothing to do except sit in the dirt and dank and stare at the walls and watch the rats scurry about. Rats that won't even touch the mouldy bread or filthy water they expect me to consume. And I have, against my own sensibilities, forced both down my throat though I wonder if it doesn't do more harm than good.
I suppose this entire situation would be more tolerable were it not for my injuries. I've been interrogated twice now, by my count, and it hasn't gone well at all. Simply breathing too deeply makes my chest hurt and, from what I can tell, my face and back are both badly bruised from being hit with a nightstick. Something's the matter with my head, too. I know I've been unconscious, but I don't know for how long, and I've called Courfeyrac Combeferre more than once. It's not even that I thought he was Combeferre, so much as a confusion with names. I think. It feels surreal and dreamish in that, the more time passes, the more fuzzy and disjointed what I can easily recall becomes.
Courfeyrac, Adrienne and another young man by the name of Justin are all safe now, at least. Combeferre, the damned fool, broke them out. I knew Les Amis would have done something, but it seems so unlike him. I would have expected him to... I don't know... bribe our way out, perhaps. Something with less possibility for violence, anyway.
There's yet another downside to all of this. I had to contact my father for assistance, and now he's aware of... well, everything I think. That two of my friends and I were arrested for breaking into a government building with the intention to steal weapons. That I'm still a Republican. Not only that, I believe he intends to hold me responsible for the others' interests in the Republic too. Years of hard work making him believe I had 'seen the error of my ways' all washed away in one careless misstep.
Thank God for my mother. Were it not for her and her unconditional love, I believe I would have found myself without a family long before I even left for Paris. She won't allow my father to disown me. Likewise she wouldn't allow him not to help me now. He's planning on just throwing money at the guards, from my understanding, or the man at the main desk, in an attempt to make the files with my name, and my friends' names quietly and effectively disappear. Promises of 'talking about this later', however, makes me think he will have me wishing he had left me where I am before he returns home.
I just hope whatever he has in mind works, and swiftly...
I think it's only been a few days since Courfeyrac and I were arrested. Since all of our plans came unravelled with the betrayal of one young girl. Even now, I can hardly believe what she has done. It was only a few days ago that Marius brought her into the Musain and she told us she knew of an unguarded ammunitions shed. I thought we would have been foolish to turn down such an unprecedented opportunity, and in our defence, Courfeyrac and I did investigate and discover it was all true. That night, though...
I couldn't understand it at first, how the police could have possibly been there, as though they had been waiting for us. Then in obscene wee hours of the morning, Adrienne confessed that she had deliberately led us into a trap- that the entire thing was a set up to have us arrested. I've never been so angry with anyone. I still am, for that matter, and I seriously doubt that anger will fade. And somehow, I've allowed myself to be talked into not telling the rest of Les Amis what she's done. I will not give her the opportunity to double-cross us a second time, mind. I am not so irresponsible as to put my friends' lives at risk over her. Even if she has expressed a desire to help us now. It's too late for all that.
I know I'm continuing to dwell on the fact that it feels much longer than merely a few days. Mostly because there's nothing to do except sit in the dirt and dank and stare at the walls and watch the rats scurry about. Rats that won't even touch the mouldy bread or filthy water they expect me to consume. And I have, against my own sensibilities, forced both down my throat though I wonder if it doesn't do more harm than good.
I suppose this entire situation would be more tolerable were it not for my injuries. I've been interrogated twice now, by my count, and it hasn't gone well at all. Simply breathing too deeply makes my chest hurt and, from what I can tell, my face and back are both badly bruised from being hit with a nightstick. Something's the matter with my head, too. I know I've been unconscious, but I don't know for how long, and I've called Courfeyrac Combeferre more than once. It's not even that I thought he was Combeferre, so much as a confusion with names. I think. It feels surreal and dreamish in that, the more time passes, the more fuzzy and disjointed what I can easily recall becomes.
Courfeyrac, Adrienne and another young man by the name of Justin are all safe now, at least. Combeferre, the damned fool, broke them out. I knew Les Amis would have done something, but it seems so unlike him. I would have expected him to... I don't know... bribe our way out, perhaps. Something with less possibility for violence, anyway.
There's yet another downside to all of this. I had to contact my father for assistance, and now he's aware of... well, everything I think. That two of my friends and I were arrested for breaking into a government building with the intention to steal weapons. That I'm still a Republican. Not only that, I believe he intends to hold me responsible for the others' interests in the Republic too. Years of hard work making him believe I had 'seen the error of my ways' all washed away in one careless misstep.
Thank God for my mother. Were it not for her and her unconditional love, I believe I would have found myself without a family long before I even left for Paris. She won't allow my father to disown me. Likewise she wouldn't allow him not to help me now. He's planning on just throwing money at the guards, from my understanding, or the man at the main desk, in an attempt to make the files with my name, and my friends' names quietly and effectively disappear. Promises of 'talking about this later', however, makes me think he will have me wishing he had left me where I am before he returns home.
I just hope whatever he has in mind works, and swiftly...