Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 110671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110671 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 443(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Gray flinched and pulled his knees to his chest. “It’s everything. Most nights, it’s Milo, Jonas, and Jackie. Sometimes, the other guys we lost. Sometimes—just shit I went through before the yacht.”
He cleared his throat and stifled a yawn. He was dead tired but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep yet.
“Pick one memory and tell me about it,” Darius coaxed. “We’ll get through this together.”
Together.
The word crashed into the loneliness he’d lived with for months after he got kidnapped. “We were cargo,” he heard himself whisper. He peered down at the duvet and ran his fingers over the striped pattern of the top sheet. “The torture was…I don’t know. Maybe those scars are bigger, but being stripped of your humanity—I don’t know how to shake that feeling. Like I’m useless.” He remembered a seminar he’d taken in college once. He’d recently begun his journey toward maybe one day working with children in one way or another, and he’d seen a poster for this professor coming to give a seminar about the ramifications of punishments on children. “When he asked the students what punishment they thought children suffered from the most, almost everyone said it was violence.”
Fuck. It hit him that Darius had no clue what he was talking about.
“I’ll explain—”
“It’s okay. Just talk. Get the words out. That’s what’s most important right now.”
Gray exhaled and felt weirdly grateful. He wasn’t sure if he could switch tracks. “It goes without saying that corporal punishment is bad. There’s a reason—or several—we don’t strike kids anymore. But looking back… I mean, we have generations of people… What I’m saying is, I think those scars can heal easier. And that’s what the professor was trying to get at. Even though abuse is abuse, there’s some abuse that’s worse, and I believe it’s neglect. Being forgotten, ignored, cast aside. That’s what makes you feel worthless.” He paused. “Kids who mess up to get attention don’t care about getting Dad’s belt. All they want is to be seen. It’s completely fucked up—but it’s proof, you know? From a young age, we’re willing to hurt in order for people to see us.” He rubbed his arm absently, getting a bit chilly. But the cold was nice too. “Being waterboarded in front of an audience of kidnapped teenagers hurt. I panicked. I thought I was gonna die. I threw up water afterward and got sick.”
He didn’t even remember the reason. It was… Damn. He remembered the burlap sack over his head. Maybe he’d acted out. Said the wrong thing. It didn’t matter.
“I don’t need to process that as much, though,” Gray went on quietly. “Silent abuse is worse. It’s slow. It’s embedded in your core before you know it, and then it’s too late. At first, you don’t notice it. They ignore you, and you even prefer it because you don’t wanna talk to the motherfuckers. Then they start talking about you like you’re not there. You become an object.” Cargo. A shipment. “You lose your voice. Nothing you say matters. You don’t exist. You’re not worth anything. You’re alone.”
Hatred flared up within him, because it was those monsters’ fault that Gray couldn’t go home. The loneliness was still firmly embedded in his marrow. His family would never understand, and it shoved him outside in the cold. In that respect, Gray would forever be the outcast.
He shivered and glanced over his shoulder, then reached for the latch and closed the window. He was done with the cold. He wanted to feel warm.
Darius was perfect for that.
Gray slipped under the duvet and into Darius’s arms.
Darius didn’t question anything and merely lay down and got comfortable. He pressed a kiss to Gray’s hair.
“I don’t know how to talk to my mom and brothers,” Gray admitted softly. “I don’t know if I can sit down and have dinner with them and talk about the weather or the weekend’s game.”
“Because you’re not there yet,” Darius murmured. “Give it time.” He hugged Gray to him a little tighter. “For the record, I think you’re right about neglect and dehumanization.”
Gray hummed and drew his fingers slowly through Darius’s chest hair.
He yawned.
His mind had quieted down, at last.
“You should text your mother tomorrow, though,” Darius said through a yawn of his own. “Be honest with her. From what I’ve learned about her, she wants to be there for you the way you need her. She doesn’t strike me as a person to make this about herself.”
She definitely wasn’t. Gray was beyond lucky, which was why he felt so guilty. But Darius was right. Gray had to explain it to her.
Darius kissed the side of his head. “Baby steps, yeah?”
Gray nodded. “Baby steps.”
“I like this.” Darius touched his cheek. “It’s a good look.”
Gray raised a brow. What look? Toothpaste dribbling down his chin? He quirked a smile and bent over to rinse and wash his mouth. Then he straightened and grabbed a towel, wiping it over his face.