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Chapter Two

Jesse

I stared at the mirror in the tiny hospital bathroom, barely recognizing myself.

The face looking back was gaunt, with dark circles under my eyes and hair that had grown long and wild during my captivity.

The nurse had helped me wash the worst of the smoke smell out as I couldn’t stand long enough for a shower, but it still clung to me like a reminder.

It was almost amusing they thought they should call my parents. In a sick kind of way, that was.

The borrowed scrubs hung off my frame. I'd always been slim, but after months of being fed just enough to keep me alive, I looked like a skeleton with skin stretched over it. The thought of going home with a complete stranger made my stomach twist with anxiety, but what choice did I have?

When I'd felt the heat and smelled the smoke last night, a part of me had hoped it would just end there.

That the fire would take me and the nightmare would be over.

But then the firefighter—Chris—had broken down the door and pulled me out.

And now here I was, alive, free, and terrified of what came next.

I took a deep breath, wincing at the pain in my chest. The doctor said there was no permanent damage to my lungs, just irritation that would heal. The other stuff... I wasn't so sure about.

A soft knock at the door made me flinch.

"Jesse? You okay in there?" It was Chris, his voice gentle.

"Yeah," I managed, though my voice still sounded like I'd swallowed gravel. "Coming out."

I opened the door to find him waiting, standing with a small bag in his hands.

His broad shoulders nearly filled the doorway, but there was nothing threatening about him.

If anything, he looked like I wished safety felt.

Every fantasy I’d ever had in a real live person. But then I’d been so wrong before.

"The nurse gave us some pain meds and a prescription," he said, lifting the bag slightly. "And I've got a hoodie in my truck you can borrow. Those scrubs aren't going to be warm enough."

I nodded, not trusting my voice again. Every interaction felt like navigating a minefield. Would he expect something in return for helping me? Would he get angry if I said the wrong thing? A year with Graham had taught me that kindness always came with a price.

"My truck's in the parking lot," Chris continued. "You ready?"

I glanced around the hospital room one last time. Despite everything, it felt safer than stepping into the unknown.

"Hey," Chris said softly, noticing my hesitation. "We can take this slow. One step at a time, okay? And if you change your mind at any point, I'll bring you right back or call the sergeant."

Something in his eyes made me believe him. An orderly grabbed the handles of the wheelchair they’d insisted I sit in, and pushed.

The hospital corridors were busy with the morning shift change. Each person we passed seemed to stare, and I found myself hunching my shoulders, trying to make myself smaller. Chris seemed to notice and positioned himself slightly between me and the curious gazes.

Outside, the morning air hit me like a physical force.

The orderly stopped at the entrance, and I stared, overwhelmed by the vastness of the sky.

I hadn't been outside in daylight for so long that I'd almost forgotten what it felt like to have the sun on my face.

I closed my eyes and took a shaky breath, feeling dizzy with the sudden freedom.

"You okay?" Chris asked, concern evident in his voice.

I nodded, not wanting him to think I was already falling apart. "Just... it's been a while."

Understanding flickered across his face, but he didn't push. Instead, he helped me stand, and guided me to a black pickup truck parked near the entrance. He opened the passenger door for me, then reached behind the seat and pulled out a navy hoodie.

"Here," he said, handing it to me. "It'll be big, but it's clean."

I reached out but he was already bunching it to pull it over my head.

The fabric was soft when I slid it on, and it smelled faintly of laundry detergent.

It hung off me like a tent, but the weight of it was comforting somehow.

I climbed into the passenger seat, trying not to wince as the movement stretched muscles I hadn’t used in a long time.

Chris got in and started the engine. "Our place is about fifteen minutes from here. Just outside town, so it's pretty quiet."

I swallowed. Quiet? Was that safe? No one to see me… but then I’d been held in an apartment block and the neighbors never gave a fuck despite me shouting my head off at first.

I’d stopped that pretty quickly when I’d been punished and gagged so hard I’d choked. Sometimes I couldn’t choke back the screams even when I knew it made no difference.

I watched the hospital grow smaller in the side mirror. Part of me still couldn't believe this was happening. That I was free. That Graham hadn't found me yet. Or maybe he wasn’t interested in looking? I nearly scoffed, knowing that I was lying to myself.

"My boyfriend Saul will be there," Chris continued, glancing at me as he pulled onto the main road. "He's a chef and probably cooking up a storm right now.” Chris grinned. “When I take food into the station house I’m the most popular guy there.”

I didn’t know what to say so I remained silent. We eventually pulled up at a neat one-story house. No immediate neighbors, but I’d already found out having neighbors hadn’t helped before.

Even before Chris had killed the engine, another man opened the door and stepped out onto the porch. This must be Saul.

He was shorter than Chris, with tousled dark hair and warm brown eyes that widened when they landed on me.

He was clean-shaven unlike Chris and unlike Chris's powerful build, Saul was slender, wearing jeans and a soft-looking sweater pushed up to his elbows.

The concerned expression on his face made me want to retreat back into the truck.

"Hey," Chris called out as he climbed from the driver's side. "This is Jesse."

Saul's smile was gentle as he approached, keeping a respectful distance. "It's good to meet you, Jesse. I'm glad you're okay."

I mumbled something that might have been "Thanks," my voice still raw. The way these two men looked at each other—with such open affection—was so foreign to me that I couldn't help staring. Graham had never looked at me like that, not even in the beginning.

Growing up, homosexuality had been a sin. A sin that like many others, deserved a beating.

"I made some soup," Saul said, directing this to both of us. "And there are fresh towels in the guest bathroom if you'd like to shower."

"A shower?" The words slipped out before I could stop them, embarrassingly eager. It had been months since I'd had a proper shower. Graham had hosed me down occasionally when I "misbehaved," but mostly it was just a bucket of lukewarm water and a rag when he couldn’t stand the smell anymore.

Something flashed across Saul's eyes—anger, maybe—but it was quickly replaced with a smile. "Of course. As long and hot as you want. I'll show you your bedroom and bathroom.”

I stared at the space he took me to in awe.

I couldn't remember the last time I'd had a room to myself, let alone one this nice.

It was simple—a queen bed with a blue comforter, a wooden dresser, and a nightstand with a lamp—but it looked like heaven to me.

There was even a window with actual curtains instead of the newspaper Graham had taped over the bedroom window before he took me in there.

"Bathroom's through here," Saul said, pushing open a door to reveal a clean bathroom with fluffy towels stacked on the counter. "There's shampoo and soap in the shower, and I put out a new toothbrush and some other things you might need."

I swallowed hard, fighting back unexpected tears. Why were they being so nice to me? What did they want?

"Thank you," I managed, my voice still a raspy whisper.

Saul's expression softened. "Take your time. There's no rush for anything. When you're ready, there's food in the kitchen." He hesitated, then added, "And Jesse? The door locks from the inside. You're safe here."

With that, he left, closing the door gently behind him. I stood frozen for a moment before slowly walking to the door and turning the lock. The soft click made my breath catch. I hadn't been allowed privacy in so long.

Moving to the bathroom, I caught sight of myself in the mirror again and barely recognized the hollow-eyed stranger staring back.

I looked away quickly and turned on the shower, not wanting to see the map of scars and burns that Graham had left on my body.

I stepped into the shower and turned the water as hot as I could stand it.

Chris

I waited until we both heard the shower start then took Saul in my arms. Saul had a soft heart and I was worried that even if Jesse only stayed one night, Saul would be hurt.

I buried my face in his hair, breathing in the familiar scent of his citrus shampoo and the faint hint of whatever he'd been baking.

His arms wrapped around my waist, holding me tight.

"I'm sorry I didn't give you much notice," I murmured against his temple. "It all happened so fast."

Saul pulled back slightly, his brown eyes serious as they searched my face. "You did the right thing, Chris. That boy..." He shook his head, unable to find the words. "I made up the guest room as soon as you texted. How bad was it? The fire?"

I hesitated, not wanting to burden him with the horror of what I'd seen, but Saul and I had always been honest with each other. "Not the fire," I said quietly. "He was in a cage, Saul. Like an animal. And the marks on him... they aren't new."

Saul's eyes widened, his hand coming up to partially cover his mouth. "Oh my god."

"He's been there at least a year, from what he said." I ran a hand through my hair, the exhaustion of my shift finally catching up to me. "The bastard who did it disappeared. Police are looking for him now, but looks like it was a false identity."

Saul's jaw tightened. "Good thing. If they found him right now, I might do something I'd regret."

I chuckled despite the situation. My gentle, animal-rescuing boyfriend sounded deadly serious. "Get in line."

We moved to the kitchen, where the rich aroma of Saul's homemade chicken soup filled the air. I watched as he busied himself with preparations, setting out bowls and slicing fresh bread. It was what he always did when upset—cooked and fed people.

"Do you think he has anywhere to go?" Saul asked quietly, his back to me as he stirred the soup. "He's just a kid.”

"Nineteen. Just turned last month, apparently. I don't know. He wouldn't give his last name at first, and he definitely doesn't want his parents contacted."

“Runaway?” he asked softly. I gazed into those knowing eyes. We might exist in a protective bubble now but we both knew what happened to teenagers who didn’t fit the all-American mold.

"Maybe," I said softly. "He's terrified of someone finding him though, that's for sure, and I’m not convinced it’s just the animal that held him."

Saul's eyes met mine, understanding passing between us. We both knew what that level of fear meant. I wish we didn’t.

And I wish Saul didn’t know more about that than I did.

My mom and dad had been great, supportive.

I’d basked in the knowledge I was loved no matter who I loved. Saul hadn’t been so lucky.