Did he belong to Arsen now? Did death transfer his ownership like with other property? He kept his face slack, his expression as docile as possible as he played. If he was Arsen’s, it was best to make him see he could behave. That he knew how to follow orders. Maybe he’d be nice to him. It hurt less when he didn’t fight back.
Usually.
He didn’t want to think about that. Arsen’s hair was soft; it felt like feathers in-between Ever’s fingers. When his thumbs would accidentally brush Arsen’s temples, he flinched like Ever had hurt him. He wanted to apologize. But the words wouldn’t come. He’d learned a long time ago that apologies didn’t work, begging didn’t help, and words meant nothing, especially promises.
So, why bother?
Ever let his gaze dip downward, sneaking a peek at Arsen’s phone. The screen looked like a moving picture book, like a TV. The colors were as rich and saturated as Arsen himself, the sky so blue it hurt Ever’s eyes to look at it. On the screen was a knight, like in Ever’s fairy tales.
Arsen controlled the knight’s movements as Ever’s fingers kept combing through his hair. He watched as sneakily as he could, taking in the mountains in the distance, the forests and lakes. Ever had always wanted games like that. To be able to disappear into a game like he did with books and sometimes music.
Arsen carried a whole other realm in his pocket. A box popped onto the screen and Arsen muttered something under his breath, making it go dark.
Ever couldn’t stop the disappointed sound that left his lips. Arsen’s gaze flicked to his. For a split second, they were locked onto one another, neither moving.
He had kind eyes. Was he kind? He’d called Ever “little one” and had taken his collar off. That seemed like friend behavior. But Ever didn’t have friends. Ever didn’t have anything. Not even the courage to use his own voice.
There was a sound in the hallway, the heavy fall of footsteps on carpeted floors, and then two large men entered the room. Ever scurried back against the wall, his heart tripping so hard it ached. He put his hands over his face. It didn’t stop the hurt, but at least he didn’t see the bad things coming. Sometimes, that made it easier.
“Easy,” Arsen said, tone low. “They’re my friends. They’re going to help. Okay?”
Ever was trembling, but he lowered his hands, looking at the two imposing figures. Friends. Arsen had friends. Most normal people did. At least, in books. Friends were normal. Friends were safe. Except, they weren’t. Mother’s friends were never safe.
“What’s happening?” the dark-haired man asked.
Arsen gave Ever a patient smile, flashing perfect teeth. “May I show my friends your back? Please?” Ever swallowed the lump in his throat, looking back and forth between the men. Arsen caught Ever’s gaze, pulling his attention back to him. “I won’t let them hurt you,” he said softly, “but we have to get that thing out of your back so we can get you out of here.”
“Thing on his back?” the taller, red-haired man asked.
Arsen continued to look at Ever, nodding. “Please?”
Ever liked his voice. It was…soothing, melodic. He had an accent like Mother’s, but not as harsh or jarring. When she was mad, her voice was like broken glass in his ears. Mother. Revulsion shuddered through him, raising goosebumps along his skin. He gazed back over at the bed. He didn’t have to call her that now. Not anymore.
He crawled away from the wall, letting Arsen pull him to his feet and gently turn him around. His face flushed hot as he lifted his dirty t-shirt and he heard one of them make a sound of disgust. “We can clean all this up back at the shop,” the red-haired man said. “Why did you make us come here?”
“It’s not the wounds, Atticus,” Arsen said. “Look.” Ever sucked in a breath as his fingertips brushed over the spot on his back. “They’ve…chipped him. Like a dog.”
“Who did?” the other man asked.
“How would I know this?” Arsen asked, tone frustrated. “Maybe her, maybe someone else. But he won’t leave until it’s out. So, can you get it out or no?”
Ever stiffened. Was Arsen mad? He sounded mad. Ever sucked his bottom lip between his teeth, biting down until he tasted blood.
“It was probably her, right?” the other man said.
“Do you want to take the chance, Coe?” Arsen asked. “Can you get it out of him or not?”
Atticus sighed. “I can. I can give him something to numb the area, but he might need a couple of stitches. What are you going to do with him after that?”
“He’s coming home with me,” Arsen said, his tone firm.
So, he was Arsen’s.
That knowledge left him feeling…untethered. He wanted to believe things would be better if Arsen owned him. He looked nice. He felt nice. But once upon a time, she’d seemed nice, too. She’d bought him toys and let him eat ice cream for breakfast. But that hadn’t lasted long.
What would Arsen want from him in exchange for his life? Did Ever care? Arsen would be a much better captor than Jennika. At least, if Ever could make him happy. He could cook and clean and run errands like he did for her. Maybe that would be enough. Maybe Arsen wouldn’t need to sell him to others.
Yes, Arsen would be much better.
