fucking tried.
Shh.
A cold breeze swept over him, and he stopped running. He panted. He gasped. He saw the flickers of brutal memories whizzing past like fireflies. One there, a quick flash, reminding him of the time he was dunked under ice-cold water, and then it was gone. Another flash. Showing the memory of when he got his face pressed against the inside of the crate he’d been trapped in. He remembered being called a filthy animal and a useless fuckhole. Everything reeked of piss and mildew. Nausea crawled higher up as he dragged his fingers through the film of slime that covered the boards. Old vomit. Water. Shit. The flash was gone.
He heard himself gasp. A hoarse, choking sound.
Dizziness threatened to pull him under, but he registered something else. The softest touch. Fingers brushing along his arms and shoulders. Combined with the crisp breeze, the sensations raised goose bumps across his upper body.
Come back to me, knucklehead.
Gray latched on to the voice and managed to wrench himself out of sleep.
He sucked in a ragged breath, and his eyes flashed wide open.
Darius was there right away. With a hand to Gray’s cheek, Darius made him look him in the eye without restraining him too much. He just knew what worked. He knew how easily Gray felt trapped.
“You’re okay,” Darius whispered, forehead to forehead. “I’ve got you.”
Gray gulped and nodded. He couldn’t just lie there. He had to sit up. He eased away and crawled over Darius’s body toward the open window. Darius must’ve opened it. The moon shone brightly and cast the cabin in a faint blue glow.
These nightmares were going to be the death of Gray.
Fuck.
He swallowed against the dryness in his throat and leaned back against the wall, right next to the window. Then he scrubbed his hands over his face and waited for his pulse to calm down.
“Talk to me.” Darius sat up too, and he gave the other bed a glance. Jayden was fast asleep, thank God. Gray didn’t want to upset him. “Tell me what you dream of. You were looking for Jackie.”
Gray flinched and pulled his knees to his chest. “It’s everything. Most nights, it’s Milo, Jonas, and Jackie. Sometimes, the other guys we lost. Sometimes—just shit I went through before the yacht.”
He cleared his throat and stifled a yawn. He was dead tired but knew he wouldn’t be able to sleep yet.
“Pick one memory and tell me about it,” Darius coaxed. “We’ll get through this together.”
Together.
The word crashed into the loneliness he’d lived with for months after he got kidnapped. “We were cargo,” he heard himself whisper. He peered down at the duvet and ran his fingers over the striped pattern of the top sheet. “The torture was…I don’t know. Maybe those scars are bigger, but being stripped of your humanity—I don’t know how to shake that feeling. Like I’m useless.” He remembered a seminar he’d taken in college once. He’d recently begun his journey toward maybe one day working with children in one way or another, and he’d seen a poster for this professor coming to give a seminar about the ramifications of punishments on children. “When he asked the students what punishment they thought children suffered from the most, almost everyone said it was violence.”
Fuck. It hit him that Darius had no clue what he was talking about.
“I’ll explain—”
“It’s okay. Just talk. Get the words out. That’s what’s most important right now.”
Gray exhaled and felt weirdly grateful. He wasn’t sure if he could switch tracks. “It goes without saying that corporal punishment is bad. There’s a reason—or several—we don’t strike kids anymore. But looking back… I mean, we have generations of people… What I’m saying is, I think those scars can heal easier. And that’s what the professor was trying to get at. Even though abuse is abuse, there’s some abuse that’s worse, and I believe it’s neglect. Being forgotten, ignored, cast aside. That’s what makes you feel worthless.” He paused. “Kids who mess up to get attention don’t care about getting Dad’s belt. All they want is to be seen. It’s completely fucked up—but it’s proof, you know? From a young age, we’re willing to hurt in order for people to see us.” He rubbed his arm absently, getting a bit chilly. But the cold was nice too. “Being waterboarded in front of an audience of kidnapped teenagers hurt. I panicked. I thought I was gonna die. I threw up water afterward and got sick.”
He didn’t even remember the reason. It