Schatzi

37

"Daria! Daria, listen to me! Whatever happens, it's going to be okay. You'll survive this. You'll be okay. You'll be okay..."

Peter trailed off. There was only so many times he could tell Daria it would be okay until she stopped believing him. He'd already stopped believing himself.

When Fleck had discovered Daria was pregnant, he had cried. He had kissed her in front of Peter and pressed his hands to her stomach, weeping over the life growing inside of her.

When Peter looked at Daria in that moment, he had seen pure admiration and love in her eyes for Fleck. The girl loved him. Somehow. Somehow she'd fallen for the monster who raped her nightly, who had made the baby inside her that was sure to get her killed. Somehow love had blossomed in this living hell of a place.

Fleck was different around Daria. He was gentle, he was kind, he cried when his whore became pregnant with his child. He was a different man to the one Peter had seen elsewhere in the camp, beating inmates senseless with his swagger stick, smirking with sick satisfaction.

And now, 6 months later, she was in labour. It had happened at work, and Peter had been there the moment she cried out in pain. He'd helped her out of the building without even considering letting someone else take her. The guards let him. He'd become a familiar face in the registration building over the years he'd been in camp and worked there, and luckily no one questioned him. They even pointed out to him where to take her.

So they'd hobbled across the yard and towards the maternity ward, a small and almost forgotten about barrack nestled into the corner of the camp, Daria's arm thrown over Peter's shoulders, his arm tightly around her waist to hold her up. Her groans of pain made him hate Fleck even more. How dare such a horrible man be allowed to put a woman through this much pain. He knew childbirth was supposed to be painful obviously, but it was supposed to be the result of true love, not the kind born out of sheer necessity and the will to survive. And childbirth was supposed to bring a child. Peter didn't know how things would be run in the camp, but he knew that Daria, even with her sought after office job, would not be allowed to keep her baby.

When they arrived, a strict looking woman in a filthy apron wrestled Peter away and dragged Daria deeper into the dark and dingy room. He ignored the unpleasant welcome and followed her in, ignoring the shouts from the nurses to get out.

"Oh god, look at him," one of them muttered from the side of the room. "One of the queers. You don't see many of that lot anymore do you? Especially not around here."

"Of course not. Nothing for them to aim for unless they close their eyes," her fellow nurse joked. "Hey, Marga, flip the one in bed two over and blindfold this fine gentleman."

Both the women laughed and Peter looked over at them in confusion which just made them cackle louder. They spoke Polish, and he didn't understand what they were saying. He shuffled over to the rickety old bed where they'd laid Daria down, kneeling by her head.

"Daria? What are they saying? I feel like they're laughing at me."

Daria sighed and sat up a little to look at the women.
"I'm afraid they are laughing at you. They're making fun of this," she said, pointing to the pink triangle sewn into his uniform. "Saying there's no one around here for you to have sex with because it's all women in here, and that you can rape one of the recovering girls if you don't look and realise she's not a man."

"Jesus..." Peter muttered, looking around at the derelict building and the girls in the beds that lined one wall. They all looked close to death. Why would they even joke about something like that? It made him feel physically sick.

"Trust me, it's not that outlandish," the nurse tending to Daria said. "Not the bent part but the rape part. We've learnt to just let any officers in here if that's what they want. They'll get their way even if we try to stop them."