Do What It Takes to Survive

I sat down gloomily on the other side of our prison, as far away from Gerard as possible. Not that it mattered much. There were still only a few feet between us.

I stretched my arms. They were still sore from being tied behind my back for so long. Then I examined the cut on the back of my hand. It had stopped bleeding, but it looked dirty.

“You should’ve washed that while you were in the bathroom,” Gerard said, leaning closer to look at it.

“Hmph,” I replied. I took in his appearance. He had washed his face so that it was clean of blood, but the front of his shirt still had damp red spots. “You could’ve cleaned up a little better yourself,” I mumbled.

He laughed grimly. “I would’ve washed my shirt, but I realized how cold it is. Didn’t you?” When I didn’t answer, he continued, “Obviously not. It must be less than fifty degrees.”

I shivered, and I couldn’t disagree. I said nothing. He reached over and brushed the goose bumps on my arms. I started to pull my arm away, but he grabbed my injured hand before I could.

“Let go,” I commanded.

He ignored me and examined the cut. I gritted my teeth and gave up. It wasn’t worth the energy; he would win in the end anyway.

“You’d better hope it doesn’t get infected,” he said, releasing my hand.

“Since when were you a doctor?” I retorted, squishing myself even harder into the wall in order to be a few inches farther away from him.

He didn’t answer, and neither of us spoke for a long time. I tried to think of other things, but I was only aware of him. Every nerve in my body itched with annoyance and hate.

After maybe an hour, he started, “You know-”

“Shut up!” I exclaimed, cutting him off. “I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t even want to hear your voice!”

He looked away, frowning. I was surprised that he hadn’t shot back an angry reply. It bothered me, actually. I even felt a little guilty. Not for what I had said; that was all true. It was how I had said it. He hadn’t even done anything wrong, and I had let all the resentment that I had built up inside me coat my words.

We sat in silence for another few hours. Then the door opened. Randy stood there, smiling at us. Gerard stood up, and I followed his lead.

“Go to the bathroom,” Randy said. Looking at Gerard suspiciously, he pulled out a gun. “And don’t try anything.”

I went into the bathroom I had been in earlier. I didn’t actually have to use it, but I decided I should probably wash my cut. I let the water wash away the coated blood and open the cut again. Then I scrubbed it with soap, trying to ignore the stinging. I had to remind myself that the pain meant it was being cleaned.

When I returned to the cell, Gerard was shoving a piece of bread into his mouth, sitting in the same place he had been before. There was an empty water bottle sitting next to him.

In the spot where I had been sitting, there was another water bottle and four pieces of bread. I practically ate all four pieces in one bite and gulped the water down in record time. Then I sprawled out on my stomach, using my arm as a pillow. The room was so small that I had to bend my knees and push my shins against the wall, but I was lying down. I closed my eyes.

Gerard grabbed my hand. Luckily it wasn’t the one connected to the arm I was using as a pillow. I sighed wearily and let him look at it.

After he let go, I heard him pull the chain of our solitary light bulb, and it was dark enough to sleep. I’m not sure how long I slept peacefully before I woke up. I was shivering, so I curled up into a ball and tried to stay warm. I don’t think I ever fell back asleep, though. It was too cold.

And so a routine started. We would be allowed to go to the bathroom by Randy. Every time I got back, Gerard was already there, having eaten his bread. There were always four slices of bread and water waiting, stacked neatly in my spot.

I would eat and drink eagerly. Then I would either sit and try to pass the time by daydreaming or curl into a ball and sleep. I guessed that we were let out every twelve hours, but I wasn’t sure. There was no way to tell time.

Gerard hadn’t said a word to me since I had snapped at him and demanded he shut up. Either he didn’t want to talk to me either, or he had decided to shut up like I wanted him to. I would’ve put all my money on the first possibility.

It got colder each time I tried to sleep. I always ended up shivering and half awake. I huddled onto the corner in order to trap as much body heat as possible, but it didn’t help much.

The eighth time we were allowed to got to the bathroom, (I had started counting in order to have some way to tell time) I returned before Gerard. There were two water bottles and six pieces of bread strewn carelessly on the floor of our cell.

I frowned and counted the bread again. There were only six pieces. I had thought that they always gave us eight. I shrugged, guessing that they hadn’t counted right or they just didn’t care.

I neatly stacked three of the slices of bread on the part of the floor where Gerard sat, setting a bottle of water next to it. When Gerard returned, I had finished my bread and water. He didn’t say anything about the less amount of bread, and I was thankful. I had been worried that he would accuse me of eating one of his.

Instead, he looked at me carefully while he ate his bread and drank his water. Tired of his curious look, I turned off our light and tried to sleep. That night (or day, I wasn’t sure) I was not only cold, but hungrier as well.