“We’re not going to hurt you,” he says. I barely hear it as I take a breath.
I study his face. He’s young, not like most of the people I’ve grown up with. His short hair is black, and his eyes are a green I’ve only ever dreamed of. Like what I imagined grass in a sunny meadow might look like on a beautiful day.
A dream that kept me going when I was in so much pain.
There’s something familiar about him. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve seen him before. The idea of that makes me wary of him, but I feel something in my chest telling me that I can relax. That I can trust him. The idea is so foreign to me that it is almost absurd.
His face feels like a memory, like I might have dreamed of him at some point in my life. It feels impossible, but I know him. I have to.
“I promise, nobody here wants to hurt you. We want to help,” he says. He doesn’t smile, but something in his eyes tells me he’s not lying.
The doctors would lie to me all the time. They told me they were helping me, but I saw the evil in their eyes. He doesn’t have that.
The older man with the syringe takes a step forward. “I know you’re frightened right now, and all of us understand that. But it appears to us that you’ve been drugged, and I was going to give you medicine to help clear that out of your system. To make you feel better.”
His eyes are filled with concern, just like the man on the bed. But hearing that explanation doesn’t sit right with me.
“H–how could you know that?” I whisper, my heartbeat quickening again. “You can’t know that I was drugged unless you did it yourself.”
The man at the foot of the bed shuffles, and I immediately look at him, wary of whatever is happening now. He takes a breath in and wrinkles his eyebrows as he watches me.
“Don’t you feel that?” he asks. “The bond between us? I’m your mate. You’re safe here with us.”
Mate? I don’t know what he means, yet something about it sounds right.
Even as I try to deny it in my head, I’m reminded of that invisible rope I felt guiding me through the woods. That’s gone now that I’m sitting here in front of him. I don’t know if it’s because I’m safe or if it’s because of whatever happened when I...transformedinto something else.
I just shake my head.
It’s only a momentary flicker, but I see sadness in his eyes. He’s not angry because I’m not doing what he wants, like I’m so used to. But sadness.
“Let’s save that conversation for another time,” another voice says behind them. This man is taller and broader, with similar dark hair and dark eyes. “We found you in the woods like this. You’re covered in injuries, and we have no idea where you came from. Can you tell us about that?”
“How did you wind up in the woods like this?” the green-eyed man asks. He clenches his jaw, and for the first time, I see a flicker of anger in his eyes.
That scares me at first, but I can clearly see that it’s not directed at me. He’s mad at something else, but I don’t know what it is quite yet.
“I don’t want to answer questions,” I whisper, raising my knees to my chest and wrapping my arms around them to make myself as small as possible.
The green-eyed man lets out a small huff and looks over his shoulder at the other two. “Could you guys give us some time alone?”
The other two nod their heads, the older man grabbing a large bag off the floor and putting the needle back inside. They close the door behind them, and I’m left sitting on the bed across from the green-eyed man.
It’s clear to me he wanted to be left alone because he thought I would do better with just him. I don’t know if that will be the case, though.
I’m terrified. I have no idea where I am. The only thing I know is that I’m not in my small cell, freezing with the one rough blanket they gave me, grating against my skin.
This room is much nicer than anything I’ve known. It’s warm, and the bed is plush with soft fabrics beneath me. A part of me wants to sink into the covers and collapse to rest. But I don’t know that I could ever rest if I don’t feel safe where I am.
This is the first time I’ve ever been away from home. If I could call the facility, I was at home, anyway. It’s just the only thing I’ve ever really known.
I know there was a home therebeforeI was. Somewhere, I must have been born, where I must have had a family. But I don’t remember anything about it. Those cold concrete floors and startlingly white halls are the only things I know.
“Would you like to take a bath?” he asks. His voice is soft, and there’s a gentle look in his eyes. “I know you must be exhausted, and the warm water will do wonders to soothe your muscles. Plus, you’re covered in grime from being in the woods.”
“I don’t know what—” I grimace as I try to think about what he means. “I’ve only taken showers.”
Even the thought of that now sends a shiver through me. A shower at the facility meant I was stripped naked and forced into water that was either far too hot or cold enough to make my skin crawl while an armed guard stood watch.
