Invisible breaking point

The whumpee had sworn to themselves they would never choose a temporary reprieve over their values, their end goal, what they stand for goddammit. Never ever would they take the easy way out - how could they? It’s too important, this work that they do. It’s what they’ve chosen, and they could never abandon it.

Yet slowly, they notice that they do. It breaks their heart, but they can’t stop themselves anymore - choosing the easier option, swallowing those insults about to spill over their cracked and bloody lips, giving way just a little. The smallest acts of compliance, of obedience, and how they don’t sting as badly as before.

It’s not that they don’t care, no - they do. They hope to god it isn’t so blaringly obvious to anyone but them when they slip. But… sometimes, after a particularly painful day… when they are granted a brief respite, they’re just - it’s not even grateful, it’s not that, they just - they like it. They’re happy. They’re happy about the beatings that don’t come. About the drownings that never were, but could have been. About the humiliation that is spared them in the now.

Even if it’ll be a hundred times worse tomorrow for it.

Even if it’s all just a scheme by the whumper, another thing to snatch away from them later.

Even if every day they’re here, the chances of their team ever finding them again grow slimmer. Even when another day here really isn’t something to be happy about. Even then.

They’re so aware of the pain they’re not in: it’s so vivid in its absence, bright in its unfulfilled potential - compared to yesterday, this morning, a minute ago - it engulfs them, becomes their all, and they’re happy.

And they hate themselves for it.