Chapter 14 Griffin
GRIFFIN
The sound of his sobs threatened to break my heart.
I closed my eyes, unable to watch the camera feed any longer even as the sounds came through the speakers. I hadn’t ever seen him that distraught before, even when he’d first been delivered to me. There had been a spark then, defiance that had kept him going, and now…
I wasn’t sure where it was.
I still didn’t know why he’d disobeyed me over something so simple, and to be honest, I didn’t know why I’d gotten so angry about it. It was such a small thing.
But I’d been stunned by his sudden act of disobedience on the heels of his good behavior, and it had startled me into acting. Maybe if he hadn’t been so perfect the whole day — maybe if we hadn’t played for a while, with him getting into the role — it wouldn’t have surprised me as much.
Maybe I wouldn’t have reacted like I had either.
He didn’t stop crying, and guilt descended upon me like a cold blanket. My anger seeped away, replaced by something I didn’t want to identify.
I felt horrible. I’d worked so hard to get him to trust me — fuck, to like me! — and I’d undone everything in a matter of minutes. How long would it take to get him back? Was it even possible, or would he think it was only a matter of time until I slipped again?
I shoved my chair back and got up, striding toward the door, then the basement. I went downstairs, and my heart ached at the sight of him crying. His body shook, shoulders jerking, and his face was buried in his hands.
I didn’t think he knew I was there, and for a moment, I stood there, watching him.
You did this.
This is your fault.
I crossed to the cell door, unlocking it and opening it.
He jerked his head up, looking at me with red-rimmed eyes and a tear-streaked face. He tried to wipe away his tears, but more kept falling.
This wasn’t the kind of tears I liked.
I went to him, scooping him up in my arms. “Shh, Toby,” I whispered, straightening again so I could carry him toward the door.
This time I took him like he was fragile, in my arms with his looping around my neck as he steadied himself.
I didn’t think he really wanted to be holding onto me, but I wanted to believe he did.
I knew better.
I shouldered the door open, my heart aching more as he sniffled and unsuccessfully tried to stop crying. I brought him into my room, setting him gently on the bed, then curled up as the big spoon to his little spoon.
“I’m sorry,” I said, voice rough. I was afraid I’d start crying along with him.
What had I done?
It was like the floodgates opened all over again. He drew in a breath and let it out in a strangled sob, breaking down once more. I held him as he did, and he turned, burying his face in my chest and gripping the fabric of my shirt.
Startled, I smoothed my hands along his back, trying to soothe him. I didn’t know how to do this. I’d never been one to deal with others’ emotions, and so few people had wanted to see me when I’d first been injured.
I hadn’t had anyone to hold me while I cried.
It had never bothered me as much as it did in that moment, and I hugged him tighter against me. I kissed the top of his head, hands sliding along his bare back, and I murmured nonsensical sounds and soft shushing sounds to him until his tears started to abate at last.
I didn’t know how long we stayed there like that, with my arms around him and his face against my shirt, but I didn’t want to rush him. I’d done this, and it was only fair that I deal with the consequences.
Except I’d never expected to be so moved by his tears. I liked his tears, but that had been about his humiliation. That hadn’t been heart-rending sadness crashing into him and burying him under the tide. This was different, and I never wanted to see this kind of tears again.
They’d be bitter if I tasted them instead of salty-sweet.
I expected him to pull away when he stopped crying, but he stayed there long after he stopped trembling. I started to drift into sleep, keeping myself at the edge instead of tumbling over in case he needed me.
Not in case he decided to try to escape. Because he needed me, and I wasn’t going to fail him again — not then, not ever.
Logically, I knew it was impossible, especially given our… relationship. I would hurt him again. I would hurt him every day I kept him here against his will. I might see these tears again simply because he was homesick, and I…
I didn’t know if I could handle it.
I swallowed hard, not liking that realization one bit.
Set him free.
I couldn’t. I could never let him go. My life had become one of pained solitude as it was. I couldn’t handle the idea of living in prison for the rest of my days. Something inside of me insisted that I was trapping him in his own prison, but at least he wasn’t stuck in a small cell.
Not anymore.
I exhaled slowly, kissing the top of his head again.
It was selfish, but I didn’t want to go to jail.
I didn’t want to admit that this might’ve been a mistake.
Maybe I should’ve just hired some whore to pretend.
Maybe I should’ve swept someone out of a bad situation and used their gratitude to bind them to me.
But I’d chosen this path, and now I had to walk it.
It was selfish, but I didn’t want to walk it alone.
“I’m okay,” he finally said, the words muffled against my shirt. He squirmed, and I relaxed my grip enough to where he could pull back.
I stroked his hair as he did, and he watched me.
I couldn’t read his expression, but his eyes were swollen, red specks dotting his skin around them from the force of his tears.
Guilt rose within me once more, and I sighed.
I let my arms fall away from him, giving him the freedom to pull away, but he stayed where he was.
Slowly, I brought my hand back up, running it down his back again.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t move. He only continued to watch me with that unreadable look, leaving me with no idea what he was thinking or feeling.
“You aren’t okay,” I said quietly.
“I feel better now,” he said.
Was it because he’d finally cried it all out? Or because I’d gone and gotten him? Maybe I hadn’t done as much damage as I’d thought. Maybe…
“You don’t have to lie to me,” I told him with a sigh. “Not now. Not here.”
“Thank you for not leaving me down there,” he said instead of responding to my words. “I was scared.”
I didn’t know if there was accusation in his voice or if it was something else — but I deserved it. I felt like a chastised puppy myself in that moment, subdued and aware I’d fucked up but not sure how to make it better.
“I…” I didn’t know if I could say the words. But didn’t I owe it to him? Didn’t he deserve to hear it? “I’m sorry,” I choked out, the words bitter and tasting bad.
“Are you?” he asked softly, the words weighted in a way I couldn’t identify.
I nodded.
He sighed, but he didn’t speak again.
Several moments passed, and I finally said, “Would you like me to bring you dinner in bed?”
He started, looking at me with a strange expression. “What?”
“Dinner,” I repeated. “In bed. You can stay here and rest, then we’ll have dinner, then you can take a bath. Would you like that?”
“You can’t buy me off like that,” he whispered, his voice catching. “You can’t do that and expect me to be okay with it.”
The words were unexpected, and familiar anger threatened to creep up within me. He was still mine, and if I wanted to hurt him, I could. If I wanted to spoil him, I could.
So why was it so difficult to endure the subtle challenge? It should’ve been easy.
I was too afraid to get angry with him again, afraid of what he’d do — afraid of what I’d do.
I didn’t trust myself with him, and I hated myself for this internal struggle.
This should’ve been easy, but he’d gone from captive to something more, and I hadn’t even noticed it happening until it was too late.
I’d wanted him to love me before.
Now I just didn’t want him to hate me.
“I’m not trying to buy you off. I…” I paused, not sure what I was doing. “I want to do better.”
“Why?” There was something plaintive in the word, something that made my heart ache all over again, and I couldn’t help but wonder just how much damage I’d done — not just to our tenuous “relationship,” but to him as well.
I hadn’t cared when I was working toward breaking him, but once I’d decided I didn’t want him truly broken… Everything had changed.
Maybe it had even changed the first time he’d kissed me.
I sighed, not sure what to say. “I can’t… change what I’ve done,” I said slowly. “But I don’t want to be that way. Not with you.”
“But why?” he pressed, anguish replacing the plea.
“Because I care about you,” I whispered. “I never expected to, but I do.”
Saying it aloud took something from me at the same time as it ripped me apart.
I hadn’t wanted to say the words, hadn’t wanted to admit that I felt that way about him, but there we were.
I couldn’t deny the truth no matter how much I wanted to.
I needed to earn his trust back, and the only way to do that was with the truth.
But would I have lied if it wasn’t true? I didn’t know.
Probably not. I’d just have insisted that he needed to take me at my word because that was how things were. Or I wouldn’t have said much at all. I would’ve just made him stop because he was mine.
He was still mine, but the problem was… I was his, too, which never should’ve happened.
Now that it had, I had no idea what to do.
It was one-sided, and I wanted to make it stop, but there was nothing I could do about it.
“Oh.” He went silent, wetting his lips with his tongue.
I wanted so badly for him to say that he cared about me too, but I knew it was asking too much — especially right now in the wake of what I’d done. I wasn’t going to hear those words from him no matter how much I yearned to.
“Dinner?” I prompted.
This time, he nodded.
As much as I wanted to trust him, I knew I couldn’t. I couldn’t risk him being free to roam around my house. Usually, I’d have put him in the kennel, but it seemed like we’d come to some tentative truce. I didn’t want to ruin that, but I couldn’t leave him unfettered, either.
I eased back, finally breaking our holds on one another, and I grabbed a pair of handcuffs from the bedside table. “Do you want this, or the kennel?” I asked.
He deflated, the same misery appearing in his eyes then. “Neither,” he mumbled.
“I know,” I said softly. “But I can’t just leave you here either.”
Honestly, I was more worried about what he might do to himself than anything. He was so sad, and the last thing I wanted was for him to hurt himself. If I let him remain free, he’d have access to too much to do just that.
“Handcuffs,” he said, sitting up and holding out his wrists.
I took one of them into my hands, securing a cuff around one wrist and the other to the bed. I took the key and tucked it into my pocket where it would be nice and safe, and I looked at him with a sigh. “I’m sorry,” I said, and the words felt more natural then.
“Are you?”
“Is there anything I can say that would make you believe me?” I retorted, feeling more than a little defensive.
It was his turn to sigh. He shook his head. “Probably not.”
I nodded. “Then you’ll just have to take me at my word, or not. It’s up to you.”
Whether I liked it or not, so many things were.