Moore and I took turns handing Adrian cool cloths to put over Charles’ eyes, hoping that the swelling wouldlessen. The poor boy couldn’t open his eyes, even if he wanted to. Moore assured me it was just from being hit or pushed up against something, but I wasn’t so positive on that outlook.
Moore made sure to change out a cool damp towel across Charles’ back, too, to keep the pain at bay the best he could.
Pain meds only last so long.
I refused to sleep more than a few minutes here and there, mostly dozing on and off in the chair that was in the corner of my room.
Every time Adrian or Charles moved, I was wide awake, making sure my Omega was okay.
Every few hours, I’d guide Charles to the bathroom by half walking, half carrying him. He moved when I told him to, followed commands like muscle memory was all he had left.
Not trust. Not choice. Just obedience.
He flinched every time I touched him. Not violently, just enough to remind me he knew the difference.
And still, he listened. Still, he moved.
Tears slipped down his face in silence, and he never wiped them away. Like even that had been taken from him.
Charles never uttered a word; never made a single noise. I wished he would. I hated the silence of him just existing in my space.
It took all my waning willpower to not fall before him and beg him to just be human; to let me know that he was in there somewhere.
On one of the trips to the bathroom, Charles’ steps were just a tad more steady, his body not leaning as much on me as the other times. His tears had slowed, too. And that almost worried me more than the nonstop tears.
Like before, he obeyed without hesitation. Sat when I told him to. Released his bladder like it was just another command to follow. But this time, his head dropped against my chest.
A small, broken sound escaped him, barely a whimper, but enough to make me freeze. His weight leaned into me, not with trust, but with need.
I stood there, whispering the same words I always did.
“You’re safe now.”
“It’s okay.”
But I knew they didn’t reach him. He was somewhere else, somewhere his mind had decided was safer than here. Safer than me. And I didn’t blame him for that. I didn’t expect to be the place he ran to.
I just cleaned him up again, gently wiping his face like I had every time before. Because it was all I could do. And right now, it had to be enough.
When I got him to stand, his knees buckled almost instantly. I didn’t hesitate. I guided his arms around my neck and lifted him, one hand braced beneath him, the other steadying his back.
His legs wrapped around my waist like it was instinct, like his body remembered something his mind had long since buried.
But it wasn’t natural. Not anymore. It was muscle memory born from survival, not trust. And I felt every ounce of that truth in the way he clung to me without ever holding on.
I carried him toward the bed, arms locked around his fragile frame. He was light and every step felt like I was holding something that could shatter if I breathed wrong.
But when I tried to lay him down, he didn’t let go. His arms stayed tight around my neck, legs wrapped around my waist like he couldn’t tell the difference between safety and survival.
I whispered, voice low. “It’s okay. You’re home.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. Just held on, face buried against my shoulder, breath shallow and uneven.
I could feel the tremble in his fingers. The way his body clung like it was the only thing keeping him from disappearing again.
So I didn’t force it. I sat down on the edge of the bed, still holding him. Letting him decide when it was safe to let go. Even if that moment never came.
Tears began to flow once again, soaking my shirt. That was nothing compared to the torment this boy held within himself.
