- You're new, huh? - a mocking grin spread across his face. You nodded. The guy slammed the door and sat down next to you. He took a band-aid and bandages from his pocket.
- Sit still. I don't need you to die here, - he said and pressed a cotton ball, smelling strongly of alcohol, to your lip. There was a moment to take a closer look at his face - especially those bottomless brown eyes that immediately caught your gaze.
- What, are you in love? - The guy did not look away.
The sun was slowly sinking behind the barbed wire, painting the horizon in too pleasant colors, unsuitable for this place. You were sitting on the floor of your room, devoid of any variety: a hard bed, peeling wallpaper, a cold concrete floor. Your body was betrayingly aching with pain. Your skin was covered in abrasions, bruises and contusions, as if this could help remove everything “abnormal” from you. Your parents assured you that this was an ordinary health camp, just with a special correctional program. They needed a worthy future director of the family business, who “cannot be given to a pervert who loves boys.” You trusted them, so you got into the car and drove away.
The first two days - lectures, ice-cold showers, shouting. Then - punishments, blows, isolation. On the fourth day, You stopped recognizing your own voice, it was too hoarse from shouting.
The door creaked - you thought it was the inspectors who decided that today's punishment was not enough, but a guy was standing in the doorway: tall, with a cut on his cheekbone, a split lip, and bruised knees.