I don’t hear them coming until they are already here. Through the water rushing past my eyes, I see them. There’s four of them and they’re dressed.

Somewhere in the corner, I see the guard.

He’s lurking, waiting for it to happen. He knew about this before I did and he has no intention of stopping them. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t like me or if he just likes them better.

The first blow lands on my stomach. I fold in half from the pain and my feet slip.

I catch myself on the wall and stop myself from falling down.

The second fist collides with my head. It throws me off my feet as I hit the tile behind me.

The ones that follow, I can’t remember very well. Everything becomes a blur.

I try to block the blows as best as I can by putting up my forearms into the air in front of my face, but they quickly get heavy and tired yet the blows keep coming.

The men take turns attacking me while they call me filthy things. I can hear the hatred and the anger in their voices and I can’t help but wonder what I’ve ever done to them. And after that, things get even more bleak.

When men are cooped up together in a dark place like this, their sexual urges become a game of power play. And some of them will do anything to satisfy their desires.

The assault goes on for a long time, how long I don’t know.

Instead, I just wait for it to end.

A while later, when I think it can’t possibly go on any longer, they surprise me and it does. I keep fighting, but it’s all to no avail. They use their fists and legs and other parts of their bodies until I’m exhausted and completely spent and then one of them punches me so hard I black out completely.

Sometime later, I regain consciousness in the infirmary. My eyelids feel too heavy to lift so I keep them closed. There are people rushing around me and other prisoners somewhere on other cots, also shackled to their beds.

One of the nurses is talking to another just within earshot. At first, I can’t make out their words but slowly I start to put pieces of their conversation together.

“You know that you have something to live for, right?” one of them says, talking to the guy next to me about him slitting his wrists.

Her voice is quiet but high, and she sounds young. The prisoner doesn’t respond. She talks to him about God and all of the good that there is in the world, probably not realizing that she’s just making his decision to leave this place even easier.