“It really would seem like you don’t want to see them.” He mused when I quivered the next time he did this. His voice was low. “You know what ... want to hear. Go on, say it.”“No.” Two fingers this time, sliding easily into and abruptly out of me.By this point I was shaking beneath him, every stimulus enough to take me to the edge, worn out from his torture.“If you don’t say it, I’m going to tie you to those bed posts and instead of serving your friends with no underwear I’ll go and tell them. ” He wiped at the mud drying on his face, but it was futile, it was everywhere. Even pooling in the stretcher as it sank with the weight of the now dead soldier. “He’s already gone.”I would like to point out that I wasn’t actually dead at this point. But it was 1918, and this was all happening right on the battlefield. So I’ve learned to forgive these poor fellows, who never could’ve saved me even if they had known I still had a heartbeat.He was left there, in the unnatural stillness of no. More

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