Page 2

William

Ryan slept through the following morning and afternoon while I cleaned in between hovering—something I said I wouldn’t do. How could I not? I checked more than once to make sure he was breathing. My own breathing leveling at each sign of life. A twitch of his limbs, a tug on his makeshift chains. Even the terror-stricken thrashing that left him trembling against the hard floor, as though something unseen had been tearing his insides apart.

It was hard not to untie him, not to set him free. But I knew the chains that truly bound him weren’t the ones he wore on the outside.

He hadn’t woken up once, not even to roll to his other side, or to eat or use the bathroom. I wondered if the latter was a sign of dehydration. He hadn’t allowed the doctors or nurses to examine him at the hospital. Was he healthy? Should I have encouraged them to hold him for observation?

I, on the other hand, hadn’t gotten much sleep at all. It had little to do with the escalating pain in my shoulder and hip due to the unforgiving floor, and everything to do with the pain in my heart. Had he been subjected to this every night? I’d been tempted to create my own set of chains to get the full experience. Just to hurt a little more.

I abandoned my post outside his bedroom to venture into the living room, resting my palms against the windowed wall. It was hurricane season somewhere, because the storm from last night hadn’t ebbed one bit. Thunder roared, and the gray, ominous clouds cast shadows over the whole apartment.

What had I gotten myself into? What had I always gotten myself into? I wasn’t a physician, or a therapist, or anything resembling someone who could help Ryan. Not with the things that mattered.

“You’re easy to connect with.”

My mother’s assurances rang out in my head. I never understood that. All I had to offer was deep rooted sorrow and crippling regret.

“There’s also your rare but beautiful smile, sweetheart.” She’d cradle my cheeks and say, “Let me see it.” I had to give it to her, it worked every time.

My phone sounded from somewhere behind me. I tracked it down to the kitchen, right next to my untouched bagel and coffee from this morning. My stomach growled, reminding me that Ryan wasn’t the only one who hadn’t eaten yet.

Davidson’s name flashed across my screen. I glanced down the hall to Ryan’s door before heading for the library—which doubled as my office—on the other side of the apartment.

“How’s it shaking, kid?”

“I’m thirty-one, Davidson. I haven’t been a kid for a long time now,” I reminded him, sinking onto my desk chair.

“Yeah, well, when you get to be my age, anyone under forty is a kid.”

I huffed, unable to manage a fully formed laugh.

“How’s it going?” He lowered his voice as though he didn’t want anyone overhearing. The buzz of activity in the background told me he was either in the office, or his kids were in town. Knowing Davidson, his kids were probably in town, but he was in the office anyway.

“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted, shifting to face the window. “He hasn’t woken up yet.” I left out the details about Ryan’s heartbreaking sleeping method.

“He’s been through a lot in just the last twenty-four hours, and I can only imagine the hell he’s been through before then. Plus, the sedative is probably still purging from his system. I wouldn’t worry too much.” He knew worrying was my favorite pastime. I didn’t let on that I knew we shared the same hobby. There would be at least three more calls from him before this evening.

“Anyway, I gotta go. I’ve got a shit-ton more paperwork to do. Let me know if you get him to talk. Maybe he heard or saw something that could help the investigation. It’d be great if we could question him about it.”

I leaned forward, not liking the idea of Ryan being interrogated. “He isn’t a criminal.”

“I know, kid, but we want to get the people who did this.”

“Well, what about the other survivors? Have you spoken to them again?” I wanted the people who did this caught too, I just wasn’t sure if I wanted Ryan traumatized further to make it happen. He wasn’t in any condition to help bring anyone down.

“We’ve gotten all we can from them for now. He may know things they don’t.”

“What did they say?”

“Nothing I can share with you.” He’d probably shared too much as it was.

“Okay. I understand. I’ll keep you posted on Ryan.”

“Hey,” he called out before I hung up. “Maybe bring your mother in on this, yeah?”

I sighed, not wanting to go that route. She had a stealthy way of getting me to face realities I’d rather ignore. Hazards of a job that could easily bleed into our mother-son relationship if we weren’t careful.

“We’ll see.” I ended the call, turning to drop the phone on my desk. My hand bumped against my favorite book. I’d been in here reading it before leaving town a few days ago. I must have forgotten to put it back on its coveted shelf.

I headed for the bookshelf now, the one at the end of the room next to the display case full of meaningless awards. Running reverent fingers over the book’s worn spine and edges, I gripped it to my chest, bringing it to my nose and inhaling its aged pages. Hoping, and not for the first time, that I could siphon Gargantuans strength into my body, as if the process were akin to osmosis.

Xavier would never let me hear the end of it if he knew my favorite piece of literature was a children’s book—one that I could recite by heart now. Another form of self-punishment my mother would say, if she knew.

Tucking it back into its hiding spot, I turned to find Ryan watching me from the doorway. My brain glitched, my mouth opening and closing, words nowhere to be found. How long had he been there? What had he heard or seen? What had he discovered about me?

Overnight, a purple bruise had formed on his cheekbone, right under his beauty mark. Was it the result of an injury sustained during the tussle at the hospital, or prior? Or one obtained while he slept chained on the floor? Either way, I found myself wanting to ask if it hurt, and wanting to make the pain go away if I could.

“Good morning. I mean, ah, afternoon?” I hadn’t intended for it to end as a question, but I also couldn’t recall what time it was. “I had some groceries delivered this morning. I didn’t know what you liked, so I got a little of everything. You must be starving.” I scanned his frame again, realizing starvation wasn’t new to him. He seemed about twenty pounds underweight. His broad shoulders hid the worst of his malnourishment.

“I’m not that great at cooking, but I’ve mastered the toaster. I can toast a bagel to perfection. Frozen waffles too. And boiled eggs. I can also make boiled eggs. I have a coffee machine as well. I bought Gatorade and some protein drinks, in case you can’t handle solids right now. The doctor suggested it. Or we can order in, or…” I knew I was rambling, but his blank expression unnerved me. Or maybe the blame belonged to his piercing eyes. They seemed to see right through me.

“Are you hungry?” I whispered. “Or maybe you want to shower first? Feeling refreshed helps sometimes.”

He blinked, flushing before subtly angling his head to the right and sniffing himself. I hadn’t meant to imply that he smelled, but who knew if they’d been allowed to bathe during their long journey here. I thought it might help to shower all that off of him. He backed away, the stain of his embarrassment still blemishing his skin.

“I didn’t mean to—”

He darted away in the middle of my apology. I followed after giving him a head start, but he’d already closed his bedroom door by the time I made it there. I called his name. He didn’t answer, didn’t so much as grunt in response. I knocked next, and the door creaked open under my fist. The sound of running water trickled over to me from his bathroom, and I debated the pros and cons of stepping into his space without permission.

My gaze landed on the strips of white cotton dangling from the bedpost. I thought about hiding them, about cutting them free and tossing them in the trash. There were more sheets where that came from, though. I also didn’t want him to think I disapproved, that I judged him. However he needed to cope, I’d let him—to an extent.

Deciding not to intrude on his territory, I eased the door closed and headed to the kitchen. It felt pointless to wait for him to tell me what he wanted to eat since it seemed he wouldn’t speak. I made the decision myself.

Ignoring the clock, which said I should’ve been making dinner, I dropped two waffles and a bagel into the toaster. While that heated up, I piled some fruit into a bowl, and filled a glass with milk.

I plated the food then set it on the island before grabbing the syrup, butter, and cream cheese. At the last second, I placed a bottle of water next to his milk, and dropped a granola bar near his silverware.

Ryan didn’t make any noise when he walked, but I could feel his approach. I considered rushing over to the couch and feigning interest in the deluge of rain coming down outside. Anything to not be caught in the kitchen and deter him from eating. The kitchen overlooked the living room, though, so he’d still be on display. I needed him to eat, which meant I needed to be out of sight. Left with no other options, I crept around the corner and into the dining room, pressing my back to the wall there.

The silence stretched as I held my breath, wondering if I’d imagined sensing him coming down the hall. He should’ve been seated by now, yet the stool legs hadn’t scraped against the floor. I pictured his first bite being tentative, but he should’ve taken it by now.

The illogical part of my brain said I should’ve heard the crunch of bagel or waffle, the sip and swallow of milk or water. There was nothing but the sound of rain hitting the windows and my heart beating too fast.

The air grew thick with tension, and the sensation of being watched—of being caught—made my palms grow sweaty.

I knew what I’d find if I came out of hiding. Knew what I’d come toe-to-toe with. Turning slowly, I tapped my forehead against the wall and internally groaned. Maybe I could’ve waited him out, but the suspense had me on edge.

When I stepped into view, Ryan’s eyes were already pinned in my direction. He probably sensed me in the same way I’d sensed him. His chest rose and fell with his shallow breaths as he looked between the food and me. Clear distrust and confusion sparked in his raven colored gaze.

“I thought you’d want some privacy,” I said, sticking to the archway. “I guess I should’ve just asked.” It seemed so simple then. I made a note to never assume anything on his behalf again. “So, would you rather be alone?”

I crossed over the kitchen’s threshold, still keeping my distance. He sucked in a sharp breath, shuffling back.

“You have to be hungry,” I whispered. His stomach let out a growl. Ryan stiffened, pressing a palm against his abdomen. His fingers curled into a fist, letting me know the pink blotches decorating his cheeks were from anger this time. I got the impression he thought admitting to hunger equated to a show of vulnerability.

“It’s okay,” I assured him, moving forward with caution. “You can eat. Eat as much, or as little as you want. Truth is, I’m hungry too. I was going to eat after you.” Maybe he’d rather we ate together? “Actually, I think I’ll make myself another bagel now.” I’d already tossed my other one into the trash. “It’s officially been twenty-four hours since I last ate. I’m feeling a little lightheaded.” How long had it been since he ate? One day without food probably made me sound privileged from his perspective.

Ryan’s curls were wet and heavy, dipping below his ears. Droplets of water fell from the ends, soaking into the t-shirt I’d pulled from the closet dresser for him last night. This close, I could see the wet shimmer of his eyelashes too. Striking had been the wrong word to describe him. Ryan was beautiful, but in a wild animal sort of way.

It was hard to tell with the constant hard set of his features. Whatever softness he may have once possessed, life had beat it out of him.

I grabbed the sleeve of bagels from the bread basket on the counter, splitting one in half before popping both ends into the toaster. “I like cream cheese on mine,” I said, making easy conversation as I moved around the kitchen, pretending his suspicious gaze wasn’t trained on me.

With my fresh mug of coffee and bagel plated, I settled onto a stool and dug in. Anxiety made it difficult to swallow down the bite, but I did it, washing it down with a sip of steaming French Roast.

Ryan took his first reluctant step closer to the island, then rocked back as though his mind and hunger weren’t in agreement. I faked being too consumed with my food to notice, nearly choking on my next bite of bagel when he nudged his plate of food toward me.

“Um, I don’t think I can eat all that.” I set my bagel down and dusted the crumbs off my hands. “Besides, what will you eat if I do?” There was plenty where that came from, but I had to try something to get him to eat. I pushed it back in his direction, but he shoved it back in mine, his face set with determination. That’s when it hit me… Ryan thought I’d drugged his food.

“You think I’ve put something in your food?” I couldn’t keep the shock from my tone. Of course he thought that. It was how they got you to comply, especially when they needed to move you. “I would never do that to you. You can trust me.” I winced at his vacant, but somehow mocking glare. He couldn’t trust me. I hadn’t given him much reason to yet.

Reaching over, I poured syrup onto one of his waffles, meeting his eyes as I bit down on one corner, chewing and swallowing before moving on to the bagel. The sip of water was welcomed, but unless it was in coffee, milk made me gag. I guzzled down half the glass anyway. Lastly, I scooped up his butter knife and added some of his condiments to my partially eaten bagel before taking another bite.

His ragged breathing began to slow the longer I remained clear-eyed. Ryan sat, staring at his food with something other than suspicion now. He looked at my coffee mug, then over my shoulder, then back to me.

I stood to fulfill his wordless request, trying to play it cool while blood raced through my veins with every beat of my heart. “I’m not sure how you like it, but I’ll make it the way I take it.” I added a splash of milk from his cup, since I’d already tested that, then grabbed the sugar bowl. I dipped a finger in, licking it clean to prove it wasn’t tainted before adding a teaspoon to his mug. I did the same with the powdered cocoa and drizzle of hazelnut syrup.

With everything now set in front of him, I waited. I began to get nervous when he didn’t make a move, but then he glanced up at me, then behind him to the living room, and back at me. This seemed to be the way he liked to communicate. I took the hint, leaving him alone while I feigned relaxation on the couch, reaching up to grab the newspaper off the coffee table.

One end ripped in my tight grip as I watched him through the reflection in the window. His back bowed, curling protectively over his plate, like he thought I might return to take it from him. His arms moved frantically as he scarfed his food down. His cup clinked on the table, his silverware clattering to his plate as he rotated between eating and drinking. At a certain point he abandoned his utensils altogether.

I wanted to warn him that eating too much too fast might make him sick, especially if he wasn’t used to eating a high quantity of food at once. I couldn’t bring myself to interrupt him, or the heartbreaking scene before me. It was as though the simple act of eating was an emotional journey.

He stayed there a long while after, his shoulders trembling. My heart squeezed within my chest. I wanted to take him in my arms, to stroke his hair and his tears, to shed my own tears for him. I stayed put, though, once again knowing my attempts at comforting him would do more harm than good.

Eventually, he stood, turning to the living room and flinching at seeing me there. He’d forgotten about my close proximity. Syrup stained his chin and shirt, and in an instant the lost look he wore changed. His puffy eyes had gone stone cold again. I didn’t speak, although an apology rested on the tip of my tongue. Ryan’s pain made me feel sorry for even existing.

I thought he’d head to his room. He’d looked that way. Instead, he moved in a trance-like state to the window, flattening a palm over the rain battered glass. A squeaking noise echoed through the room when he slid to the floor, his hand dragging down the window as he went. The trail of condensation he’d left behind must have come from wiping away his tears.

I perched on the edge of the couch now, not moving a muscle. He curled up onto his side, bringing his knees up to his chest. The knots in his spine were prominent in that position. My insides twisted with rage at seeing his frailty, and it made me want to do unspeakable things to the people who hurt him.

It didn’t take long for his soft snores to fill the space. Some of the tightness I’d been carrying in my limbs since yesterday—since long before then—left my body, seeing him rest. I hoped it was peaceful, that nothing hurt him in his dreams. I couldn’t protect him there, but I’d do whatever I could to protect him in reality.

Tip-toeing over to him, I covered him with the soft throw I kept on the back of the couch. My eyes grew damp as the corners of my mouth rose. I traced my smile with shaky fingers, thinking my mother would be happy to see it.

“Celebrate the small victories,” she’d say, and so I did. Because while he still slept on the floor, at least he was out of his physical bondage.