ears makes me jerk. Fuck.
Now my heart is racing and I’m breathing like I just finished a run. My skin is covered in goosebumps and my teeth are chattering. I’m so tired of being cold. And hungry. And tired.
There’s an IV in my arm, dripping caffeine straight into my veins to make sure I’m unable to sleep. I now have two new cuts with stitches on my stomach. Once again, I’m standing in front of the mirror, staring at my bleary-eyed face.
The door opens to the bathroom and if I wasn’t so tired, I would probably flinch.
How long have I been here? Is it still Saturday?
“Time for a shower.”
I’m too exhausted to hide my reaction and whimper.
“Pull yourself together. No one wants a weak man.” Father comes to me, disconnects the IV and removes it from my arm. He puts a bandage on it and wraps it to keep pressure on it until it stops bleeding.
“Strip. Time to shower. Let’s go.” I force my body to move. My knees want to give out, but by sheer force of will I stay standing. Pulling the compression shorts off is a battle that takes longer than he wants but I can only move so fast at this point. I splay both hands on the cold black tile under the shower head and my father reaches in to turn on the cold water. It hits my skin like a thousand needles, stealing the air from my lungs. I can’t stop the trembling or the flutter of my muscles desperately trying to warm me.
My feet go numb, turning blue and purple.
“Wash, let’s go. The longer you stand there, the longer this will last.” With shaking hands and chattering teeth, I reach for the soap pump. Thank God I don’t have to pick it up, I would probably drop it.
Once I get my body soaped up, I step back under the water to rinse it off. I shout as the cold once again stings my skin, hating that this is my fucking life. That this is what I have to do to keep my sister safe.
Only a few more months.
Eventually I’m clean enough to make my father happy and I’m able to dry off and get dressed. My clothes have been cleaned and pressed, because God forbid I leave looking disheveled.
“If you would behave, I wouldn’t have to do this, Charles.”
The words I’ve always said after correction fall from my lips on reflex. “Thank you, Father.”
I do my best to hide my exhaustion, the shaking of my hands, and blink to clear my vision as I ride the elevator down to the lobby. Father’s driver is waiting for me, the door open and ready for me to enter.
Not yet. Don’t relax yet. Just breathe.
I don’t remember the drive back to the dorms, back to Jeremy, but I’m quickly losing my control. In the elevator to the dorm, I lean heavily against the wall, needing the bar to hold on to so I don’t drop to the floor. I stumble down the hallway to my door and pray that it’s unlocked. If it’s locked, I’m fucked.
My breathing is too fast, the breakdown that always follows these corrections taking over my brain and shutting down any logic. Turning the handle, it’s fucking locked and I damn near cry.
Raising my hand, I bang on the door. “Jeremy!”
I hit the door again and again.
“Jeremy!”
The door opens and I stagger into the room, slamming my shoulder into my dresser.
“Whoa,” Jeremy holds his hands up like he would catch me if I fell. “What’s wrong? Are you drunk? Did you take something?”
“No,” I manage between breaths that are coming too fast. They’re taking over and there’s nothing I can do about it. I’m so tired of fighting.
A tear trickles down my cheek.
“What happened? What did your dad do?” Jeremy wraps one hand around the back of my neck, the other holds my wrist.
I can’t speak, can’t admit to the humiliation of my failures out loud. All I can do is shake my head and pull up my shirt. Show him how much of a fuck up I am. How broken. Useless.
Confusion creases the skin between his eyebrows as he drops his gaze to look at my exposed stomach.
“What is this?” His eyes meet mine in the dim light. “Are these cuts?”
Tears fall freely down my face now with my biggest secret exposed. I’ve never shown anyone the tally marks of my failure. My eyes slam closed, not able to look at him anymore. Not able to see the disgust I know is coming on his face. He’s come to mean too fucking much to me. Somehow, in the weeks we’ve spent in this fucking shoebox of a room, I’ve learned to trust him and didn’t even realize it. Yet, I’ve done nothing but hurt him.
I drop to my knees on the thin, shitty carpet. The ache radiates through my knees but it’s a dull roar in comparison to the pain in my heart.
“Jesus, Preston!” He drops down in front of me, cupping my face in his hands. His palms are so fucking warm. “Why are you so cold?”
“I don—” I shake my head, not able to speak as my throat constricts.
I’m too tired to hold it back anymore, so I don’t. I let my body fall apart, hyperventilating, tears flowing down my face, shaking and weak. The walls I keep surrounding my heart have been demolished, leaving me vulnerable and defenseless.
Reaching for him, I pull him against me, burying my face in the crook of his neck, allowing myself to be comforted by him. My arms wrap around his waist until he’s sitting on my thighs and his arms are wrapped around my shoulders. Once he’s settled, my hands dig into his back as I find his shoulders to grip on to, needing something to ground me. Needing him to ground me.
For once, I allow myself to break in front of someone. I allow myself to be comforted by another person. For the first time since my mother died, I have someone who cares enough to see that I need it.
Sitting there on the floor, I shake, tears pouring from my eyes as I sob, and my hands hold him so hard there’s no way he won’t have bruises.
“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he repeats, holding me just as tightly as I hold him. We rock on the floor and I don’t know if he’s moving us or if I am, but it doesn’t matter.
“Oh shit,” someone says behind me. Some part of me recognizes the voice but I can’t focus on it enough to put a name to it. I’m too far gone, too broken. Jeremy tenses against me, a hand lifting off the back of my head. I can’t stand the disconnect, but I don’t have the words to say that, so I sink my teeth into the side of his neck. He sucks in a breath and shudders against me.
If I wasn’t so fucking tired, so fucking beaten, my dick would like his reaction, but there isn’t enough energy left in my body to do anything about it. Jeremy’s hand cups the back of my head again and I relax my jaw, no longer digging my teeth in but not pulling them off his skin either.
I’m so tired.
My eyes close and my body starts to relax as the realization that he has me cuts through the panic. I don’t know who’s behind me, but I know Jeremy won’t let them touch me.
The door closes quietly and I lean forward, putting Jeremy’s back on the carpet and settling on top of him. I rub my face against his neck, soothing myself with him. With his scent, his warmth, his comfort. And fall asleep.
Why can’t I move? I have to move. Run. Hide.
All I can hear are his footsteps and my ragged breathing.
My arms are heavy, weighed down by something I can’t see. Have I been drugged?
Father never drugs me, too aware of the drug testing the team does.
He’s coming. I have to run.
Run.
Hide.
He’s going to find you. Hurt you. Again.
Terror grips me by the throat as he gets closer.
I’m frozen in place by my fear. I know he’s going to hurt me again but I can’t stop it. He’s bigger than me, stronger than me.
He’s trying to make you better.
The bedroom door opens with a bang against the wall and I scream. Loud and long, blood curdling.
“Strong boys don’t scream like scared little girls, man up.” He’s angry.
I messed up. Let my anger consume me and left Jeremy unprotected to get hurt during the game. But he’s mine.
My fingers ache but I can’t see them.
Father comes toward me with a cattle prod and zaps me on the back. I scream again, crying from the pain.
“I will not allow you to tarnish this family’s name, you worthless little shit.” Spit hits my cheek as he speaks, his fingers gripping at my arms so hard I’m sure to have bruises. Why does he hurt me? No one else on the team has parents who hurt them. Why am I such a bad kid?
“Preston.”
Jeremy? Why is he here?
“Preston, wake up.”
What?
There are hands on me but they aren’t hurting me. I don’t understand.
With a jolt, I pop my eyes open and jerk up off the floor, expecting to find myself in my childhood bedroom, my father standing over me with a fucking cattle prod, but I’m not. I’m in my dorm room and he isn’t here.
“Hey, look at me.”
My eyes scan the space, watching for the shadows to move, for my father to jump out at me.
“Preston,” Jeremy says my name again, reaching up to cup my face, but I grab his arm before he makes contact and stare at him.
“You’re okay now.”
I force myself to swallow past the constriction in my throat.
“Why are we on the floor?”
He watches me for a second before answering me. “Well, you laid on top of me and passed out. If you don’t mind, I need to pee, actually.”
I sit up, giving him room to get up and go to the bathroom. He climbs to his feet and disappears quickly, shutting the door behind him Sitting back against the bed, I scrub a hand over my face.
What the hell did I do? I wrack my brain for what happened after I left the penthouse but it’s all blurry. Did I show him the scars? God damn it. He can’t know about them. What does he think about me now, knowing I’m fucking useless?
