His hand hovered for a second, like he wanted to touch me, then pulled back. I watched that out of the corner of my eye.
“It does matter,” he said. “You matter.”
I didn’t answer.
The words slid over me, like everything else people said these days—they all talked, and I nodded when they expected me to, and sometimes I even answered, but none of it felt real. It felt like they were speaking to someone who looked like me, someone who used to care whether he lived or didn’t.
Jace sighed softly. I finally glanced at him then.
He looked so tired. More than tired—worn down around the edges. Seeing that should’ve hurt more than it did. Somewhere inside me, I knew that. I just… couldn’t reach it.
He picked up the fork and nudged the tray a little closer to me. “One bite,” he tried again. “For me.”
I stared at the fork for a long moment. Then I shook my head, barely perceptible.
“I don’t feel good,” I whispered. It wasn’t a lie.
Jace’s breath left him slowly through his nose. He set the fork down carefully, like he was afraid any sudden movement might scare me off entirely.
“Okay,” he said after a moment. “We’ll take a break from trying for now.”
Guilt flickered weakly through me at that, thin and distant. I hated that I was worrying him. I hated that even that hatred felt muted.
Jace took out his phone, typed something, then set it down on the bedside table.
He shifted on the bed, turning his body a little so he could see my face better. “You had your meeting with Elena this morning, right? How did that go?”
Elena, the woman who had tried to talk to me the first time I woke up in this place, was what they called a victims’ advocate, although I still didn’t get why she was coming to see me. I felt like she needed to be helping real victims. Not me.
“It was okay. She was… nice,” I said. My voice sounded far away, even to me.
Jace’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “That’s good. What did you talk about?”
I picked at a loose thread on the blanket. “She asked how I was sleeping. And if I feel safe here.” My fingers stilled. “She asked if anyone ever made me do things I didn’t want to do.”
His shoulders went rigid instantly, but he kept his voice steady. “And what did you say?”
“That I don’t know,” I answered honestly. “I told her sometimes I didn’t know what I wanted. And sometimes I thought I did, but I was wrong.” I hesitated, then added quietly, “She said that didn’t make me bad. And that it was okay I felt like that. Then she gave me stuff.”
Jace closed his eyes for a brief second, and when he opened them, they were brighter. “More stuff, huh? What’d you get this time?” He smiled at me.
“Um…” I hesitated, trying to remember. “It was more underwear, socks, and shower stuff.”
“Did she give you more things to read?” he asked.
I nodded. Elena had given me pamphlets again—words likeconsentandautonomyprinted in friendly fonts. I’d tucked them into the drawer without reading them. They made my head hurt.
Jace looked like he’d expected that answer. “You don’t have to read them,” he said. “Not until you’re ready. Or ever, if they don’t help.”
I shrugged again, small and tired. “Okay.”
Silence settled between us—the kind that pressed down on my chest and made breathing feel like work. I stared at the tray again, at the food slowly cooling, and tried to remember the last time I’d actually wanted to eat.
Jace sighed, then picked up his phone again. “I got some more things for the house today. Want to see?” He looked at me with tentative hope.
I nodded weakly. He’d gotten us a home. He’d said that both of us would need to stay close to here for a while, “for the case.” He wanted to take me to New York, where he really lived, but he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to.
I liked that he lit up whenever he talked about the house. I think it gave him something to focus on.
