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Chapter Four

Jesse

I ran blindly, my feet slapping against the cold ground, the borrowed socks soon wet.

The rational part of my brain screamed that I was making a terrible mistake, but panic had taken over.

All I could see was Chris's thunderous expression, all I could feel was the burning shame of what I'd just done.

What had I been thinking? These people had shown me nothing but kindness, and I'd repaid them by trying to kiss Saul. Of course Chris was furious—I'd just made a move on his boyfriend. In their home. After they'd rescued me, fed me, and were about to even buy me clothes.

My lungs burned as I pushed myself harder, not even knowing where I was going. The borrowed sweatpants caught under my feet, nearly tripping me. I stumbled over something—a root or rock—and pain shot through my foot, but I kept going.

Behind me, I could hear shouting. My name. They were coming after me. Fear spiked through my system, memories of Graham's punishments flashing through my mind. I veered off the gravel driveway into the trees that bordered their property, desperate to disappear.

The woods were darker, branches catching at my hair and clothes. My foot throbbed where I'd cut it, but the adrenaline kept me moving. I'd ruined everything. Again. Just like Graham had said I would if I ever got free because no one would want me. I was broken, dirty, used up.

I reached the edge of their property where a line of trees began, my lungs burning from exertion. The hospital had been right about the smoke damage. Every breath felt like inhaling glass. I stumbled to a stop, doubling over as a coughing fit wracked my body.

Behind me, I heard voices calling my name.

"Jesse! Wait!"

I couldn't face them. Couldn't explain what I didn't understand myself. Saul had been kind to me—the first genuine kindness I'd known since Graham had locked me away—and I'd mistaken it for something else. No I hadn’t. He hadn’t made the move, I had. Half of me had thought he would expect payback.

Half of me wanted more than warm clothes.

The forest was dense enough to hide in, but where would I go after that?

I had no money, no ID, no phone. Just borrowed clothes and the piece of bread still stuffed in my pocket from earlier.

Graham would find me again. Or worse. Maybe I should give up?

Maybe I could crawl into a hole and go to sleep and never wake up?

"Jesse." Saul's voice, closer now. "Please stop."

“Jesse, it’s okay. I’m not angry,” Chris said, and I shook my head.

Of course he was. They might not have a cage, but Chris was huge, and he’d been furious. He could beat me to a pulp without breaking a sweat.

I pressed myself against a tree trunk, trying to quiet my ragged breathing. Every instinct screamed at me to keep running, but my body was betraying me. My legs trembled, my lungs burned, and my vision swam with black spots.

"Jesse, please." Saul's voice was closer, gentler. "We're not going to hurt you."

A branch snapped nearby, and I flinched violently, pressing harder against the rough bark. Through the trees, I could make out Saul's form moving cautiously in my direction. He wasn't running, just walking slowly with his hands visible at his sides.

"I can see you," he said softly. "I'm not coming any closer unless you say it's okay."

I swallowed hard, my throat raw. "I'm sorry," I managed to croak out. "I didn't mean to—I thought—" The words tangled in my throat. I didn’t know what I thought.

"I know," Saul replied, his voice steady. "It was a misunderstanding. No one's angry."

I didn't believe him. Couldn't. Graham had taught me that kindness always came with a price. That I was only valuable for one thing.

"Chris is furious," I whispered, the memory of his thunderous expression still fresh.

"He was surprised," Saul corrected gently. "And worried about you. He's hanging back because he thought I might be less intimidating right now."

As if on cue I caught sight of Chris's larger form several yards behind Saul, keeping his distance. He smiled gently when he saw me looking.

"Jesse," Saul continued, taking a careful step forward. "You've been through a trauma. Your reactions right now aren't always going to make sense, even to you. That's normal."

I shivered, suddenly aware of how cold it was outside in just a t-shirt and sweatpants. My socked feet were soaked and freezing, and the adrenaline that had carried me this far was rapidly fading.

"I messed up," I whispered. "I always mess up."

"You didn't mess up," Saul said firmly. "You're confused and hurting, and that's okay. But we need to get you back inside before you get sick."

He was close enough now that I could see his expression clearly—concerned but not angry. No disgust or contempt. Just worry.

"Can I come closer?" he asked.

I hesitated, then nodded, still pressed against the tree. Saul approached slowly, stopping a few feet away.

"You're bleeding," he said, gesturing to my foot.

I glanced down, noticing for the first time the blood soaking through the sock. The pain registered distantly, like it belonged to someone else.

"I stepped on something," I mumbled, suddenly dizzy. My knees buckled, and before I could stop myself, I was sliding down the trunk of the tree to the ground.

Saul was at my side instantly, his arm around my shoulders. "Easy there," he murmured. "I've got you."

I tensed at the contact, but didn't pull away. My body felt like lead, the exhaustion of the past two days finally catching up to me.

"Chris," Saul called over his shoulder. "He's hurt his foot."

Chris approached cautiously, his expression concerned rather than angry. He crouched down a few feet away, careful not to crowd me.

"Hey," he said softly. "Can I take a look at that foot?"

I stared at him warily. There was no trace of the fury I'd seen in the kitchen—or thought I'd seen. Had I imagined it? The panic and fear had distorted everything.

"I'm not going to hurt you," Chris added when I didn't respond. "I promise."

Slowly, I extended my injured foot. Chris gently took it in his large hands, pulling the sock off.

"Looks like you found a piece of glass," he said, his touch professional and impersonal. "It's not too deep, but we should clean it properly back at the house."

I shivered again, the cold seeping into my bones. Chris looked up at me. “I need to carry you, sweetheart.”

I choked back a sob. It must have been unsuccessful, because with Saul’s help I was in Chris’s arms and tears were streaming down my face.

I tensed as Chris lifted me, his strong arms cradling me against his chest. My mind flashed to the only other time I'd been carried like this—when Graham had knocked me unconscious a second time and I'd woken up halfway to the bedroom, unable to fight back.

But Chris's hold was different. Gentle. Secure without being restraining.

"It's okay," he murmured. "Just breathe. We're going to get you warmed up."

I forced myself to focus on the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against my ear rather than the panic clawing at my throat. Saul walked beside us, occasionally brushing leaves from my hair or adjusting the sweatpants where they'd bunched around my ankles.

"I'm sorry," I whispered again, unable to meet either of their eyes.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Chris said firmly.

"But I tried to?—"

"Jesse," Saul interrupted gently. "People who've been through trauma sometimes confuse kindness with other feelings. It happens. It's not your fault."

I fell silent, too exhausted to argue. They didn't understand. It wasn't confusion—it was desperation. A lifetime of learning that my body was the only currency I had to offer.

The house came into view, warm light spilling from the windows. Chris carried me through the back door into the kitchen, setting me carefully on one of the chairs.

"First-aid kit?" he asked Saul, who nodded and disappeared.

I shivered again as Chris knelt in front of me, gently lifting my injured foot to examine it in the kitchen light.

"Not too bad," he murmured, his touch clinical yet careful. "But we'll need to clean it thoroughly."

Saul returned with a first-aid kit and set a towel on the floor beneath my foot. "Let me get you something warm first," he said, disappearing again before returning with a thick blanket that he draped around my shoulders.

The simple kindness made my throat tighten more. I clutched the edges of the blanket, trying to stop my hands from shaking. Chris opened the first-aid kit and pulled out antiseptic wipes and tweezers.

"This might sting a little," he warned before carefully extracting a small shard of glass from my foot. I bit my lip but didn't make a sound. The pain was nothing compared to what I'd endured in that cage.

"You're doing great," Chris said softly, his eyes focused on cleaning the wound.

Saul moved around the kitchen, making fresh hot chocolate. The domestic normalcy of the scene was surreal after my panicked flight through the woods. These men should be furious with me, but instead, they were treating me with the same gentle care as before.

"I really am sorry," I whispered, needing to say it again. "I don't know why I... I just thought..."

Chris looked up from bandaging my foot, his expression serious but kind.

"Jesse," Chris said softly, securing the bandage, "I think I understand what happened.

When you've been..." he paused, choosing his words carefully, "when someone has used you the way Graham did, it can mess with how you see kindness. "

I pulled the blanket tighter around myself, shame burning through me. "I thought—I thought maybe that's what Saul wanted. What you both wanted. For helping me."

Saul's sharp intake of breath made me flinch, but when I glanced at him, I saw only sadness in his eyes, not anger.

"That's not how things work here," Chris said firmly. "Not ever."

"Graham always said that's all I was good for," I whispered, the words escaping before I could stop them. "That no one would want me for anything else."

Chris's hands stilled on my foot, his jaw tightening. For a moment, I thought I'd made him angry again, but then I realized his anger wasn't directed at me.

"He lied," Saul said, setting a fresh mug of hot chocolate on the table beside me. "People who hurt others always lie to keep control."

Chris finished with the bandage and stood, moving to lean against the counter. He kept his distance, as if understanding that his size might be intimidating after what had happened.

"Jesse," he said quietly, "what happened to you wasn't your fault. And you don't owe us anything for helping you—not a single thing. You're safe here, and you can stay as long as you need to. No expectations, no conditions."

I stared at him, searching his face for any sign of deception. But all I saw was sincerity and concern.

"I don't understand," I admitted, my voice small.

Saul sat down at the table, careful to leave space between us. "What don't you understand?"

"Why you're being so nice to me. Why you're not angry. Why you'd let me stay after what I just did."

Chris and Saul exchanged a look, some silent communication passing between them.

"Because we understand," Chris said simply. "We’re simply paying it forward."

"And because I know what it's like to have the people who should protect you hurt you instead," Saul added softly.

I took a sip of the hot chocolate, letting the warmth spread through me. My foot throbbed dully, but the panic had subsided, leaving exhaustion in its wake.

"I don't know what to do now," I confessed. "I don't have anything—no money, no ID, nothing."

"First things first," Saul said. "You need to rest and heal. Everything else can wait."

Chris nodded in agreement. "We can help you get your life back, Jesse. There’s no rush."

I wanted to believe them. “But you said one night.” And I’d already had that.

Saul grinned. “Get well first. Then take everything one extra day at a time.”

I stared into my hot chocolate, unable to meet his eyes. Part of me wanted to believe him, but years of conditioning weren't so easily overcome.

Chris nodded. "And you don't have to figure it all out right now. Right now, you just need to rest and heal."

I took a sip of the hot chocolate, letting its warmth spread through me. "What happens next?" I asked, fear creeping back in. "Where do I go from here?"

"You stay here until you figure that out," Saul said simply. "No time limit, no pressure."

"But after what I just did?—"

"Jesse," Chris interrupted gently, "what happened was a misunderstanding. You've been through hell, and your reactions aren't always going to make sense. We get that."

I ducked my head, shame burning through me again. "I feel so stupid."

"Don't," Saul said firmly. "In your position, I might have done the same thing."

Chris moved toward the refrigerator, his movements deliberately slow and casual. "I'm going to make us all something to eat. You need more than hot chocolate after all that running."

The normalcy of his tone, the absence of judgment or anger, made my throat tight with unshed tears.

I watched as he and Saul moved around the kitchen together, their actions synchronized from years of sharing the same space.

The easy affection between them was something I'd never seen before—not in my parents' cold, religious household, and certainly not with Graham.

"Can I help?" I asked tentatively, needing to do something other than sit wrapped in a blanket while they took care of me.

Chris glanced over his shoulder, a small smile touching his lips. "Next time. Right now, that foot needs to be elevated."

I nodded, settling back in the chair and trying to ignore the warmth that spread through me at his words.

"Next time." As if there would be many more meals, many more days in this house.

As if I belonged here, even temporarily.

And I suddenly wanted that with a desperation that burned its way all the way through me.