Schatzi

23

Everyday was just a repeat of the last, and every week was just a repeat of last week. Peter had tried to keep track of how long he'd been there, but once he passed 106 days, he mixed up the numbers somewhere and lost track.

Everyday, they'd call them outside, and call out a list of numbers- the numbers tattooed on their arms. Anyone who's name wasn't called was gone by that evening. There was a new man dead every morning, not from anything gruesome most of the time. Their bodies just gave up eventually. One morning, Peter had woken up as usual in the bed he shared with both another man and Jens when he wasn't getting fucked by the kapo, and he turned around so he was face to face with the other man who he never really talked to and found him cold and lifeless, expression peaceful.

He'd thought about that for weeks. The coldness of his skin when he tried to wake him. He'd never touched a dead body before. Had never been so close to one. To wake up and the first thing you're greeted with be death, staring you right in the face...it shook him to his core.

He'd had to climb over his body so he could get out of bed and be ready in time for roll call, because failing to get there on time meant harsh punishment, even death.

They had to stand for hours, before it was light, while their numbers were called out. The homosexuals were one of the smallest groups at the camp from what he'd gathered, but there were still close to a thousand of them, and they were all registered together. It didn't help that if any mistakes during roll call were made, they would start again.

One time, about a month ago, he'd collapsed during roll call. He'd gathered it was about February, and it was a cold cold winter. He'd been standing for hours, shivering and wrapping his arms around himself to try retain just the slightest bit of warmth. He'd only blacked out for a second, and woken up on the floor with 5 surrounding prisoners trying desperately to get him to his feet as quick as they could so no one would notice and they wouldn't have to start the list again.

But they did notice, and he was punished for it. It was the first time he'd been properly punished at the camp since he'd arrived. Until that point, he'd managed to blend in and behave. He hadn't seen Wolf despite his threats. But on that day, they separated him from the rest and struck his back with a whip until his blood dripped onto the snow, crimson striking against sparking white. And then they'd sent him to work like nothing had happened. And he worked like nothing had happened because what choice did he have really? He'd be killed if he stopped, even though he knew the whole back of his uniform was stained red with blood, even though every single step made him want to scream in pain, even though every time he had to bend over to pick anything off the ground he wanted to throw up.

He'd collapsed when he got back to the barracks that night, and he didn't know how long he'd slept for, but he was fairly sure he'd slept through the day. He woke up in a room he didn't recognise, lying on his stomach on a proper bed, his shirt hung over the bed post.

He later found out it was the kapo's room, and that Jens had convinced him to protect Peter for that day by letting him hide there. He didn't know how they'd got him through role call without getting caught, but he survived the ordeal, and was back to work the next day despite the pain, because he knew Jens' ploy to save him probably wouldn't succeed for another day. He got lucky.

Jens sat in the kapo's room one evening, him on the floor, Friedrich on the bed. His head rested against Friedrich's inner thigh, his eyes closed, drifting off to sleep, feeling Friedrich's fingers running through his hair which was beginning to grow back in again.

"Thank you for doing that for me," he whispered, running his thumb against the back of his other hand, folded in his lap. "For protecting Peter.

"You're welcome," Friedrich said quietly, thumb brushing against Jens' cheek. He turned his head to the side and snapped at Friedrich's fingers as they brushed the corner of his mouth, pretending to try bite him. Friedrich chuckled lowly and leant back against the wall, returning to stroking Jens' hair. "I'd do anything for you, Jens."

Jens smiled and relaxed further against the side of the beg and Friedrich's leg, stretching our like a cat before settling again. Besides Peter, he was the only person who said his name and didn't sound like saying it made him want to throw up. But even then, aside from the people like Max, who were just jealous of what he had with Friedrich, no one else used his name at all. It was nice to hear it. Made him feel grounded. Like he was still himself, deep down.

Over the years he'd spent with Friedrich, sleeping in his bed almost every night, he'd developed feelings for him. It was hard not to when he did so much for him. He needed him, and not just for protection anymore. If he were to leave, or to be sacked and moved back to the barracks where he lived before, he didn't know what he'd do. And if an officer found out what they were doing, and Friedrich was shot, he didn't see how he'd be able to carry on without him. How could he, when the only person who ever brought him any kind of joy was dead?

Friedrich gave him everything. He spared him from the hardest or even lethal work, he fed him, and he let him satisfy him every night. Life would be hell without him, so he was determined to love him. He knew he had to fall in love with him, whether he wanted to or not, because he didn't have any other choice in this place. Everything he did with him would be much more bearable if he made himself fall.

So he did, and it was like a downwards spiral from there. He became obsessed, craved to be with him every second of everyday. All his thoughts were about Friedrich and what he would say to him the next time he saw him. What would they do that night, how would he treat him? Sometimes he was so nice, and then other times he was so mean, would torture him with his words all night. Not a kink thing, he was genuinely just mean a lot of the time. He would tell Jens how he was disgusting, how everything they were doing was disgusting. They were both going to burn in hell. They had to stop and pretend this wasn't true, because it couldn't be true. They were both just deluded and sick.

Once he pinned Jens to the wall and choked him, hand wrapped firmly around his throat until he was gasping for air, on the verge of passing out. He'd told him to kill him self, because death was better than this sinful life he was living. He'd told him to kill him self over and over again as his grip got tighter and tighter. When he finally let go and Jens collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap, he'd sank down onto the bed, his head buried in his hands, and sobbed, telling Jens he was sorry, so fucking sorry, and that it wouldn't happen again.

And like always did, no matter what Friedrich had done, no matter how  bad condition he was in, Jens had moved over to him and took his hands in his, squeezing tightly like he'd never let go again. He forgave him. He forgave him countless times. Friedrich clearly had issues, but so did he, so did everyone in the camp. Even before he'd arrived there, he'd met a lot of repressed gay people who took that anger out on others. Friedrich was a good person. He could be good. He was good. He loved him. He loved him. He needed him.

Shorter chapter today but I added up the word counts and it's over 40,000 now wooooo. This is probably the longest/least cringe book I've written so far and I'm quite proud of it so comments/votes/adding it to reading lists is so appreciated! Please tell me what you think, do you want more of Jens and Friedrich, or should I just focus on Eli and Peter even though they've been separated? Please tell me and again thank you so much for reading!