The O Men

9

I was flung there on the floor, every day the torture continued, and every day I felt less and less sure that I would ever escape. Every day I came closer and closer to giving in, and every day I thought of rose, and how maybe, just maybe she wouldn't believe the lies Jude and Ashier must have told her about my disappearance. It was a small hope, to which I could easily argue against, but nonetheless, a hope. I had been switched into a cellar of sorts, the conditions were all the more unbearable, and the torture would get worse every time. I've remained in this dark cellar so long that I've lost count of the days, I'm not even sure if he waits entire days to inflict this torture anymore. I could have been here for weeks for all I know, months maybe. And all the same, It could be that my presence here couldn't have been more than two weeks, it was quite uncertain in my perspective. There were no windows, sometimes he tortured me in the dark, sometimes he makes it bright as day, sometimes he leaves only the one stray lightbulb on in the cellar. The lightbulb looks like it came before the revolution,which means that could burst any day now. Occasionally I could hear sounds from outside the walls, which gave me hope for escape, although my chance of making it through these rusted steel walls was slim. There had been times where I mustered the courage to attempt escape only to be caught and receive torture on the spot. At this rate I stopped trying to escape, and Jude, probably sensing that I may crack at any moment, hasn't eased up a bit. He's made it worse it seems. And yet, all I can seem to care about in these moments is my filth, both sexually and physically. I haven't showered in at least a few days, and my hair, from what I could gather, is unreasonably messy and matted, my clothes hardly work as clothes anymore, they're thoroughly ripped. My meals were tasteless and bland and I feel as though I've lost some body fat due to this immense stress and limited food. I don't think Jude or Ashier noticed my deteriorating health, and if they did, they certainly couldn't care less. The door opened up at the far end of the cellar, revealing the silhouette of a tall teenage boy with a belt in his hands.

         "I suppose we've to try again? Surely you'll break this time. Don't tell me otherwise Charlotte I can see it in your eyes and in your demeanor. You want to give in and it's taking you all your will power not to." He said through a sneer. He was right though, I never wanted any part of this, but here I am.

          "When are you gonna get bored?" I asked, attempting to sound confident, but obviously failing. "Just let me go already, I won't tell the others if you do! Please just-"

         I felt a lash on my thigh, first I felt nothing but a tap, then I felt the heat that came with the friction of such a strike, and then it stung, and then it burned and ached.

         "You don't get a compromise Charlotte! It's either join us or suffer. It's a much simpler system I'd say." He snapped. "You're surprisingly resilient for someone who's never been under such circumstance before. A great quality to have in war, if only you would comply."

         I thought he'd start his usual torture, hit me a few times with the belt, and leave me alone again, but startlingly, he simply put the belt down and left. He later returned with a fresh set of clothes. Bewildered, yet afraid I dared not ask any questions, I simply stared until he spoke.

         "Get up. Ashier will lead you to a shower, freshen up. It's become disgusting to torture you while you're filthy like that, it's been around a week and a half since you've seen running water I bet. I'm doing you a small favor, I know you're dying to be clean yourself, so go all out, scrub yourself into a new clean."

         This could be a trap, but it's a trap I was willing to fall into. I was desperate to be clean. I couldn't wait to smell nice again, to feel clean water run on my body, and I couldn't wait to scrub away the seemingly inches of dirt and dander collecting in little clumps on my skin. I went into one of the bathrooms, and I finally got a good look in the mirror. I look like a homeless commoner, to be frank. My hair was a completely different texture from what it used to be, it seems to be matted beyond hope. I highly doubt I could untangle that. My skin was covered in dirt and I could see the smallest black dots, wriggling around on my skin. I needed to bathe and I needed it now. Turning on the water, I saw an assortment of soaps that would have been much too expensive for me to afford back in my old block, I used generous amounts of them on my body and face. As I was washing, I felt sick, the gravity of my violation had begun to hit me once again, but this time, harder. Beginning to break down, I took the pumice scrub and started scrubbing at my skin, desperately trying to remove his touch, trying to remove the rape, trying to remove every single skin cell he's ever touched. Parts of my skin near my neck and lower arms tore and began to bleed, I couldn't care less at that point. Everything hurt, the removal of his touch was a desire I could never achieve, for he was going to do it again, and again, and again. I stepped out of the shower in a fresh towel, the blood was taking a while to clot where the skin had torn, indicating my vitamin C deficiency. Wiping myself dry I took a look at my body in the mirror. My ribs were prominent, my eyes and cheekbones were sunken into my face, my hip bones jutted out, my wrist was small enough to wrap my first finger and thumb around it, my whole body was quite literally wasting away. "I get what he was doing now" I muttered, not caring about the presence of microphones of any kind. The sexual abuse topped with malnutrition meant that he wasn't actually being that much harder, my body is just slowly dying. My indirect torture is utter starvation. No wonder he didn't care that the torture was taking so long, he knows that I'll die if I don't comply on time, and he's waiting for me to realize it. Then my focus shifted to my hair. Precariously, as I wondered what to do with it, I noticed an electric razor and a pair of scissors. "They knew I'd want these" I thought. Quickly and efficiently I cut off as much hair as was safe with scissors and shaved off the rest with the razor. I was bald, my scalp was many different shades of red, from irritation, dandruff, lice, etc. I grabbed a soap and washed my scalp over the sink, it was a rather strange feeling, like there is supposed to be hair that I'm combing my fingers through but there isn't. There is nothing. I am bald. Finishing up and looking at head in the mirror, it was less red, with patches of white where my skin was visible. "This should do" I mumbled.

         Walking out of the bathroom I see Jude and Ashier waiting not too far from the cellar. Both gave me a surprised look at my lack of hair on my scalp, Ashier seemed to be more concerned about my current physique.

         "Jude!" She whisper shouted. "We weren't supposed to starve her! It was just sexual torture!" Ashier looked at me with concern, but it felt that this concern was not more-so for me as it seemed to be for herself. "You're going to get us Removed for almost starving the state's genius to death! You idiot buffoon! The O Men themselves are going to come see her sometime this week! Slowly killing her was NOT an option! What are you going to do now!? They can't see her like this and she certainly can't gain weight within a week!" I could see the look of fear growing on Jude's face as he realized his mistake.

         Jude thought for a second before coming to me with his ultimatum. "Then I guess you'll have to choose right here, right now Charlotte. Are you going to side with the party, become the most famous strategic general to ever have led the Trio Advancement of the O Men? Or remain a pathetic commoner, forever fighting a war that you'll never win, assuming you escape this facility alive?"

         Thinking about the odds I wasn't sure if either was a good idea. On one hand, I hate war, and being a strategic general meant I had to plan the deaths of millions of people and the imprisonments of many more. If I stayed with the Opposition, assuming that I somehow escaped the curious building I'm in, I'd never see liberation of the people, fighting a war I won't live to see being won. In either case death seems like a feasible and easier option, but that choice omitted the feeling that it was a choice made too easy, and I don't trust anything that's too easy. Peculiar was the situation that I was stuck in that I'd describe it to be, but the answer, simpler than it appears to be, assuming everything goes in the direction it's headed.

         "Well?" Asked Jude. "What's it gonna be?" He looked on at me in expectance.

         I looked into his eyes once again, still seeing hints of lust, but mainly complacency, in Ashier's there seemed to be almost a seed of fear that had been planted. A seed of uncertainty. Perfect. I held my hand out.

         Jude looked at me, his eyes flooded with skepticism for one second, then flushing back to complacency. "You've made the right choice." He finally spoke, grinning unnaturally wide.