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    it gets easier

    Petra Lovison
    Petra Lovison


    Posts : 89
    Female Age : 32
    Daemon Name : Tasia
    Eilemaiden : Ughdarras
    Location : Dahlin

    it gets easier Empty it gets easier

    Post by Petra Lovison Tue Sep 23, 2014 2:16 pm

    "Stop whimpering," Petra hissed as she applied the vodka-soaked washcloth to the small, circular burns that marred Nils' back. Not exactly the best antiseptic in the world, but medical supplies weren't exactly in high supply here in the derelict old house that was serving as their group's "headquarters" for the time being. "Someone's gonna hear you."

    "Sorry," Nils whispered, wincing as Petra cleaned his wounds. It stung, but not nearly as badly as when the cigarettes had first been pressed into his back. They had to be quiet; if Petra got caught helping Nils, there'd be a punishment for her too. One of the unwritten rules of their organization was that showing any sympathy for Nils was not allowed. They kept their voices at a whisper.

    "Fuck, Nils," Petra said. She counted no less than six burn marks. "What'd you do to piss Renick off this time?"

    Renick, their boss, was by no means a pleasant man to anyone, but for some reason he had developed a special hatred for Nils over the years. "He wanted me to do something," Nils replied, his voice dropping until it was almost inaudible. "To hurt someone. This guy he caught. But I couldn't."

    Petra sighed. Nils' soft heart was always getting him into trouble. "Listen," she said. "I know what we do isn't pleasant, but we have to do it. You're just making everything harder on yourself."

    "I know," Nils said miserably, squeezing his eyes shut as Petra moved on to the next fresh burn. "I tried. I'm trying. I just--I just froze up again."

    Petra shook her head. "You gotta get over it, man," she told him, her voice stressed with sympathy. She knew how he felt. He didn't want to hurt anyone, neither did she. None of them did. But they had to. They had to do what they were told. If they didn't, they'd be...they'd be...Well, they'd be treated like Nils.

    "We can help you next time," she offered, her voice softer. "Me and Henri. We can get you through it. The first time is the hardest, but after that it gets easier."

    Nils didn't answer. He'd never admit it out loud, but it scared him when Petra talked like this, even though she was trying to comfort him. He didn't want to think about how when Petra or Henri were ordered to kill somebody, they did it with a little less hesitation each time.

    "Done," she told him, setting down the cloth. "We gotta keep an eye on these so they don't get infected, though."

    Nils nodded, grabbing his T-shirt from the floor and pulling it over his head. He grimaced and bit back a groan as the fabric rubbed against his burns. "Thank you, Petra," he managed, his voice strained. He turned to look at her. Her eyes were wide with sympathy and worry, but there was also something else there. Frustration. Even she was growing impatient with his constant fuck-ups.

    "I'm sorry," he said automatically, even though she hadn't even said anything to him.

    Petra rolled her eyes. Nils was always apologizing, always racked with guilt and shame. But instead of letting it motivate him, he just let it cripple him. She hated it, watching her friend destroy himself, but there was nothing she could do for him as long as he wouldn't do anything for himself. "Don't apologize," she said. "Just do better next time, okay?"

    Nils swallowed a lump in his throat and nodded, knowing he wouldn't.

    Petra stood up from the wooden floor, brushed herself off and held her hand out for Nils. "Come on," she said. "Before Renick starts looking for us."

    Nils took her hand and got to his feet, the skin on his back feeling tight and sore. He was glad he had at least one friend in this place besides Henri. The two of them cleaned up their supplies and left, each of them silently wondering how much longer Nils was going to last here.

      Current date/time is Thu Mar 28, 2024 10:13 pm