He covered his ears with his hands, wishing he could stop himself from hearing that voice, those rotten, harsh words that had been repeated to him so many times. It was awful. Those words were awful.
The only thing holding him there, keeping his mind from jumping away from reality again, was Jake. Jake and his kindness, his soft words helping Rye fight against the awful ones.
“You’re so, so brave, Rye. You’re so incredibly brave.”
Brave.
He could be brave.
He had more to say. And he could say it.
He shifted, lifting his head up from the table, and he wiped fresh tears from his cheeks. When had he even started crying?
Stupid fuckin’—
No!
Rye swallowed hard, and he found some way to make the words come. “The night I escaped... I ran. I... don’t know how far. But it w-was just starting to get dark when I... when I left the man’s house. And—and then, when I made it to your beach... y-you were on the phone, outside on your patio.” Rye gripped the soft fabric of his sweatpants, closing both hands tightly into fists. “He... lives... nearby. A-and I want you to know.”So maybe you can help me tellthe police.
His heart thrummed harder, and he pushed both hands down into his thighs, hard. He wasn’t sure he was breathing anymore, and the burning weight on his chest wasn’t helping. He scrunched his eyes closed and forced himself to take a breath and then another and another.
It was dark and cold. Dark and cold and lonely and terrifying.
But then the softness came again. Settling on his upper back. Rubbing gently. Words surrounded him, reassuring him, even if he didn’t know what they were at first.
Slowly, they came into focus through the haze. “Shh, shh, you’re safe. It’s okay.” They repeated, over and over. Soft. Kind.
Jake.
Rye nodded. He nodded, and then he inhaled deeply and exhaled slowly. And he said the final words this time. “I want you to know... a-and I want you to... help me t-tell the police.”
Exhaustion set in then. A deep, heavy exhaustion that pulled at him. He wanted to sleep. He wanted to go to his bedroom and climb under the covers and close his eyes. But he couldn’t do that yet.
Rye moved his hands to the table, folded his arms, and rested his head down in the crook of his elbow, hiding his face. “Can you help me?” He had to force out the words, his voice unsure and barely audible. But he’d said them. And then he held his breath, waiting.
The hand on his back continued its light movement, and Jake answered quietly, “Of course I can.”
The feeling of relief that hit him only added to his lightheadedness, and he was glad he already had his head resting on his arm.
“Thank you,” he said, though he wasn’t sure if he’d managed to be loud enough for Jake to hear him. He didn’t try saying it again, though, and instead, he just took another deep breath in and out.
“Do you want me to do that right now?” Jake’s hand stilled on Rye’s back.
He nodded.
“You’re okay with me sharing everything you’ve told me today?”
Rye nodded again, even as his stomach twisted.
“And with your mom?”
He forced himself to nod one more time, though it almost hurt. God, his mom...
“T-tell her... tell her I-I’m sorry,” he mumbled, and he pressed his closed eyes harder against his arm, willing the tears not to fall. “Please tell her.”
“Shh, shh, Rye. You have nothing to be sorry for,” Jake said.
But Rye shook his head this time because Jake was wrong. “It was my fault!” he blurted out. “I got lost. I couldn’t find home, and I got lost. And—and—and the man s-said he’d give me a ride. And—and I agreed. And he drove right past Sycamore and—”
