Heal These Battle Scars | MxM

Chapter Seventeen - The Hours Were Awfully Long

Xiao Fang was not a crazy man, yet he felt crazy — like a deranged madman. Nothing around him made sense as whenever his hooded eyes wandered around the room, he caught glimpses of Wang Yi everywhere, staring at him as though worried that Xiao Fang might die. Might deteriorate from where he stood, naked, shivering from the chilled nighttime air; his wrists hanging over his head, burned, branded from the shackles that hung from the ceiling, keeping him from moving, only standing on weak feet that trembled one too many times.

Before, he remembered telling Yi he would live through the week; that might've been a lie.

The hours were long. It felt awfully a lot. It might have well been days and the days might have well been weeks. It surely felt that way.

In the beginning, he kept his thoughts busy; reminiscing about home; about the time — around eight or nine when he found a golden stray cat wandering around his family's home door in June; he kept her and named her Lulu. Back then, his life was more simple. He had a loving mother who spoiled him rotten with kisses and hugs and stuffed him full of mooncakes, red bean buns, and tanghulu. He had a father who brought him toys, a ping-pong, a bamboo dragonfly, and a paper kite to fly on windy days.

In the beginning, he thought about all things.

Now, he could not think about much. All of his thoughts were gone, crumpled up, disappearing. Plus, he longer took glances at the scant barred window from behind him because the sun came in too bright; it burned his eyes shut, but he could not keep them close for too long because the soldier watching over him would splash his face with cold water he kept in a wooden bucket, just for Xiao Fang.

At least he could still hear birds flapping their little wings, singing songs of freedom from outside.

Freedom.

Often, he wondered about his comrades. What might've become of them? Although Xiao Fang taught them the trails and pointed them in the right direction whilst they fled into the forest, leaving him behind to face the wrath of the Red Army alone — it was the only way — he still wondered if they might have gotten lost in the forest. Were they hungry? — dead? Ill? Or had they found their way to Lu Ba and filled their stomachs with jiaozi and rice wine and baozi? Are they re-captured? Or are they as free as the little songbirds flying outside?

Xiao Fang had many questions, yet no answers.

Still, although he wanted to despise the communist soldiers — all of them, for what they had done to him, he only held hatred in his heart for the men who mistreated him, like the soldier who splashed his face with water whenever his eyes closed from tiredness. Or the other three soldiers that came around once a day to poke fun at his nakedness, the way his legs trembled, and the way his teeth chattered. Or Zichen, who came into the cell one too many times to laugh at him and spat on his face and slapped him until his cheek burned bright red.

None of the other soldiers bothered him; Xiao Fang could not hate them.

Neither could he hate Yi.

Xiao Fang did not think he could ever hate Yi — his heart would not allow it.

However, his heart allowed other things.

He continued to dream about Yi's slender fingers snaking through his overgrown hair, twisting and tugging. Dreamt of Yi's lips melting against his — Yi's hips grinding against the swell of his backside.

Damn his heart, offering nothing but betrayal.

Still, Yi kept his promise — he was true to his words.

Yi came by every night. Sometimes during the day, sometimes at noon.

Whenever he came, he brought a canteen of water. Sometimes he would stash a baozi in his coat jacket or trouser pocket. Sometimes it would be a piece of baked fish, and sometimes he brought steaming hot potatoes and sometimes beans, and sometimes medicine to help ease the ache in Xiao Fang's body.