Did the drugs make her feel different?
Or is it because I’m a man, so I should have been strong enough to fight them off?
She was a kid: vulnerable.
She was drugged: vulnerable.
I’m a man: no excuse.
And no excuse means there will always be a question about why I was weak. Delilah will see me as less. If I ever actually admit it to myself, I’ll know I’m less too, so I keep burying it—refusing to look at my body, refusing to acknowledge why I need the pain to pause the memories because nothing fucking happened to me.
Once I’m dressed in clean clothes, I walk out of the bathroom. Then immediately turn around to face the wall. “Hey, kid, do you want to put your shorts back on?”
“Do you want me to do something else?” he whispers, full of fear.
What the fuck have they done to him?
“No.” My voice comes out rough as I talk to the wall. “No one’s going to touch you.”
I walk back into the bathroom, grabbing a t-shirt and some socks from the bag. Walking backwards I ask, “Are you dressed now?”
Something rustles then he quietly says, “Yes.”
I look up in case he isn’t as I turn, but he has his shorts on. I try to be gentle as I slowly walk towards him. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, okay?” He stares at me like he doesn’t understand the words or the t-shirt and socks I hold out to him. “So you don’t get cold.”
“You want me to wear clothes?”
“Always. No one should want to see you undressed.”
The crease between his brows deepens until they’re touching as he slowly takes the clothes from me and pulls the t-shirt over his head.
“Would you like to go to sleep?” I ask, unsure of what the fuck to do. He slowly lowers to the floor then lays on his side, tucking his hands under his cheek. Given his assumption of what I’m going to do to him, I don’t touch him as I softly say, “Don’t lay on the floor. It’s cold. Get in the bed.”
“You said you don’t want me. The bed is only for if you want me, or for Master to sleep in.”
I take a deep breath to brush my anger aside. “Look at me, kid. No one should touch children. Ever. I will never touch you, in any way, and I won’t let you sleep on the floor.”
“You wanted to pick me up,” he argues, still scowling.
“I asked you first. If you said yes, I would have carried you into this place, nothing else. You didn’t, so I didn’t touch you. If your legs hurt, you want a hug, or your feet are cold and you want me to pick you up, all you have to do is tell me. I promise I will never touch you any more than I have to.”
“What’s that?”
“What?”
“Promise?”
Fuck, what the fuck has this kid seen he doesn’t know his name or what a promise is?
“A promise is…” I lower, opposite him, with my knees bent. “A way of you knowing I’m telling the truth. It’s one of those words where I know what it means, but I’m not really sure how to explain. Do you understand that?”
“Xanthe has those words too.”
“Who’s Xanthe? Your mom?”
He shakes his head.
“Your sister?”
