14
GRIFFIN
The sound of his sobs threatened to break my heart.
I closed my eyes, unable to watch the camera feed any longer even as the sounds came through the speakers. I hadn’t ever seen him that distraught before, even when he’d first been delivered to me. There had been a spark then, defiance that had kept him going, and now…
I wasn’t sure where it was.
I still didn’t know why he’d disobeyed me over something so simple, and to be honest, I didn’t know why I’d gotten so angry about it. It was such a small thing.
But I’d been stunned by his sudden act of disobedience on the heels of his good behavior, and it had startled me into acting. Maybe if he hadn’t been so perfect the whole day — maybe if we hadn’t played for a while, with him getting into the role — it wouldn’t have surprised me as much.
Maybe I wouldn’t have reacted like I had either.
He didn’t stop crying, and guilt descended upon me likea cold blanket. My anger seeped away, replaced by something I didn’t want to identify.
I felt horrible. I’d worked so hard to get him to trust me — fuck, to like me! — and I’d undone everything in a matter of minutes. How long would it take to get him back? Was it even possible, or would he think it was only a matter of time until I slipped again?
I shoved my chair back and got up, striding toward the door, then the basement. I went downstairs, and my heart ached at the sight of him crying. His body shook, shoulders jerking, and his face was buried in his hands.
I didn’t think he knew I was there, and for a moment, I stood there, watching him.
You did this.
This is your fault.
I crossed to the cell door, unlocking it and opening it.
He jerked his head up, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes and a tear-streaked face. He tried to wipe away his tears, but more kept falling.
This wasn’t the kind of tears I liked.
I went to him, scooping him up in my arms. “Shh, Toby,” I whispered, straightening again so I could carry him toward the door. This time I took him like he was fragile, in my arms with his looping around my neck as he steadied himself. I didn’t think he really wanted to be holding onto me, but I wanted to believe he did.
I knew better.
I shouldered the door open, my heart aching more as he sniffled and unsuccessfully tried to stop crying. I brought him into my room, setting him gently on the bed, then curled up as the big spoon to his little spoon.
“I’m sorry,” I said, voice rough. I was afraid I’d start crying along with him.
What had I done?
It was like the floodgates opened all over again. He drew in a breath and let it out in a strangled sob, breaking down once more. I held him as he did, and he turned, burying his face in my chest and gripping the fabric of my shirt.
Startled, I smoothed my hands along his back, trying to soothe him. I didn’t know how to do this. I’d never been one to deal with others’ emotions, and so few people had wanted to see me when I’d first been injured.
I hadn’t had anyone to hold me while I cried.
It had never bothered me as much as it did in that moment, and I hugged him tighter against me. I kissed the top of his head, hands sliding along his bare back, and I murmured nonsensical sounds and soft shushing sounds to him until his tears started to abate at last.
I didn’t know how long we stayed there like that, with my arms around him and his face against my shirt, but I didn’t want to rush him. I’d done this, and it was only fair that I deal with the consequences.
Except I’d never expected to be so moved by his tears. I liked his tears, but that had been about his humiliation. That hadn’t been heart-rending sadness crashing into him and burying him under the tide. This was different, and I never wanted to see this kind of tears again.
They’d be bitter if I tasted them instead of salty-sweet.
I expected him to pull away when he stopped crying, but he stayed there long after he stopped trembling. I started to drift into sleep, keeping myself at the edge instead of tumbling over in case he needed me.
