If it weren’t for the fact his back was torn up, I’d have ran my hands up and down his back. Instead, I gently held him, one hand at the nape of his neck, the other along his back hip bones, mindful of where the deep cuts were.
If I could, I’d give this Omega the entire world. He didn’t have to utter a single word ever again.
Not knowing exactly what Charles needed, I just sat there, holding him as his tears slowly made a puddle on my shoulder.
Too soon, his body began to shake, silent sobs wracking his thin form.
“It’s okay, sweetheart.” I wasn’t sure if it was, truthfully. I don’t think anything will ever be okay for Charles again. Not after what he had to go through.
“Adrian is here. He’s been helping me take care of you; to get you back to health. He’s put cold towels on your back. And he’s held you. And got you to drink some sips of water.”
I just talked. I told Charles about everything. The weather. What book I was planning to read next. I even told him that I’d read the leather bound book to him, when he was up for it.
I didn’t know if my words reached him. Maybe they didn’t. But slowly, the trembling eased. The tears kept falling, silent and steady, but his body sagged against mine like he’d finally run out of fight.
“S…Sir?” His voice was barely there, muffled against my neck.
“I’m here, Charles.”
“I… don’t feel good.”
“I know, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
I’d expected that. I expected the pain, the confusion, the way he clung to me like he wasn’t sure if I was real.
Moore stepped in without a word, a bucket in one hand, a syringe in the other, and a cup of applesauce balanced between his fingers.
He didn’t need me to explain.
“Can you try to eat something for me?” I asked gently, brushing my thumb along Charles’s damp hairline.
He shook his head. Didn’t speak, just pressed closer.
Moore’s voice was quiet but firm. “A feeding tube may be the best option, Vincent.”
I swallowed hard. The thought made my stomach turn. No thanks. Not yet. Not unless there was no other way. I had maybe a day before that option was the only one.
“I’ll…try.” It felt as though just those few words exhausted him.
I stayed seated with him still clinging to me, his breath shallow against my neck.
Moore had left the applesauce on the nightstand, but I didn’t reach for it right away. I waited, letting him settle. Let the shaking slow enough that I could shift without him panicking. I twisted my body enough my back was up against the headrest, Charles still stuck against my front.
Then I picked up the cup, peeled back the lid, and dipped the spoon in. “Just a little,” I murmured, voice low, steady. “You don’t have to finish it. Just try.”
He didn’t respond. Didn’t move. But when I brought the spoon close, his lips parted, barely.
I fed him one bite. Then another. Slow and careful. He didn’t chew much, just swallowed like it hurt to exist. But he didn’t fight me. And that was something.
I brushed his hair back, thumb grazing his temple. “You’re doing good,” I whispered. “I’ve got you.”
He didn’t answer. But he didn’t pull away either.
When the cup was half gone, Charles turned his head away, a grumble not making its way from his lips.
Moore took the cup, setting it aside before inserting the tip of the needle into the IV slot, pushing the liquid into Charles’ arm.
Within minutes, he was asleep, a soft snore passing his lips.
