He closes his eyes at the touch, soaking up the comfort of it. It makes the next thing he says a little easier to get out. "I don't know. I don't remember."

A week. Gone. Poof. Better or worse than remembering every excruciating hour of torture? Up until that morning he would have said better, but at least in the First Order's cells he could recall what they ripped from his mind. That someone might have done something like that and he doesn't remember it is more frightening by far.