Chapter 17 Ryder? Toby? Ryder
RYDER? TOBY? RYDER
Iwas smiling.
I’d tried to fight it at first, but it was all I could do not to outright laugh in the wake of our playtime. I was relaxed in a way I hadn’t been in so long, and I didn’t even mind that I’d been acting like an idiot because it had been fun.
I didn’t know what would happen next, but for the first time, I was ready to face it.
I was ready to look him in the eyes and challenge him, to see just what he might do.
Would he coax me toward more smiles and the laughter that was so close to bubbling over?
Or would he go and ruin it again like he had the last time?
Before I could figure it out, he started to speak before making a mad dash for the bathroom, and I blinked owlishly after him as I tried to figure out what the fuck was going on. Had I done something wrong?
Why would he run from me when—
When he started to retch, I realized what was going on. He’d been acting a little off, but I’d thought it had just been because of how I was playing. I hadn’t understood that something else was going on. And now…
Now I didn’t know what the hell to do.
This was the first time I’d been left unfettered and free, alone in his room, and a part of me screamed to take advantage of it. From the sound of it, he was going to be trapped in the bathroom for a little bit, which meant he was utterly useless.
Which meant I could make a break for it at long last.
I could get dressed in his clothes and run.
Instead, I remained on the floor, sitting back on my heels.
I didn’t know why I wasn’t running. It was like when there had been a knock on the door, and I hadn’t screamed for someone to help me. I could’ve alerted someone to my presence then, and I had a chance to get the fuck out of here now. I should’ve been taking advantage of it.
I got to my feet, and it felt strange to stand after so long of not being permitted to. I stretched, and my eyes went to his closet almost before the thought could cross my mind. There it was. I just had to go for it.
I glanced back toward the bathroom, where he couldn’t seem to stop vomiting for longer than a few seconds. He had to know the risk, but he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. It would serve him right to have to stay in there knowing that I was making a run for it.
He deserved to be left on his knees, incapable of doing anything while his mind raced. He needed to know what it felt like to be so helpless, to know his entire world was being ripped to shreds while he remained trapped.
So why wasn’t I getting dressed and bailing before he could recover?
I didn’t like to admit it, even to myself, but I felt bad for him.
Until I’d grown used to them, his scars had been hideous, capable of scaring most people off before they even spoke to him for the first time. He’d lost everything because of an accident — because I remembered now that he’d helped someone else escape the fire instead of getting himself out.
I couldn’t help but wonder what had happened to the man who had sacrificed everything for another person. How had he gone from that to… this?
And I was scared. He’d been so kind to me, but if I tried to make a break for it and failed, what would he do?
The basement would be the least of my worries.
He wouldn’t forgive me for trying to leave, even though we both knew it was the logical thing for me to do.
He knew I wanted my old life back, and I had the chance to get it.
He’d left my hands free, he hadn’t secured the collar around my neck with a lock, and now I was alone in his room.
I could do anything I wanted.
Instead, I stood there in indecision, incapable of doing anything at all as the thoughts raced through my mind. I knew what I should do, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
When I did start to move, it wasn’t toward his closet like it should’ve been. It was in the direction of his bathroom, where he remained helpless and sick.
I cursed myself for being so stupid, but I couldn’t bring myself to walk away from him. I wasn’t like him. I wasn’t the type of person to leave someone to suffer.
He’d been like that once.
It shouldn’t have been enough, but there I was, standing in the doorway before I could bring myself to change my mind. He glanced up at me through tear-filled eyes, and I saw the shock cross his expression in the seconds before his stomach started to empty itself all over again.
Run.
I needed to run. I had to run.
I walked toward his bathroom sink, crouching down to get a washcloth from beneath it.
I ran the cold water over it, soaking it before wringing it out.
I went to him, hesitating. It wasn’t like I’d never helped a frat brother out when he’d vomited his guts for, and I’d always had a strong stomach.
I could deal with throw-up, even if I liked it about as well as the average person.
“Shh,” I said. I swallowed hard then stepped closer, running the cloth along his forehead. “Shh. It’s okay. Come here.”
He turned, his eyes stunned. “Toby, wh—”
“Hush,” I interrupted him. “Let me clean you up a little.”
Before he could argue, I started to wipe his face. Eyes first, then his nose, then his cheeks, then his mouth.
He retched again, and I pulled away. “It’s okay. I’m not going anywhere.”
Until I said the words, I hadn’t realized just how true they were. I wasn’t going anywhere, not while he was like this. Maybe after I’d helped him into bed and he was lost to sleep…
But I knew I wouldn’t leave him there alone until I was sure he was okay. I couldn’t imagine being left there like this, all alone and unable to take care of myself…
Why the fuck did I care? He’d left me alone and cold, tormented with the enemas he’d purposely made as painful as possible. He’d done so much to me, and I shouldn’t have given a single fuck. I should’ve felt triumphant.
There were so many things I should’ve felt, so many things I should’ve done.
There I was, stupid enough to go so far as to rinse the cloth off so I’d be there to wipe his face again. After all he’d done to me, I was there.
Why?
I didn’t have the answer. I didn’t know.
I realized that if I tried to figure it out, I’d drive myself crazy. I just had to accept that I was doing this and go with it — or not. I could just leave…
No. I couldn’t.
I wouldn’t.
I took in a deep breath, telling him to sit up so I could flush the toilet and wipe his face clean again.
“Why?” he choked out.
“I don’t know,” I said, my voice a little sharper than I’d intended. “I’m going to help you to the bed when you’re done and get you some water. We’ll see if you can keep it down. Okay?”
He nodded wordlessly, still looking stunned.
He didn’t have time to think about it again.
I didn’t know how long I stayed there, soothing him while he got sick over and over until there was nothing left in his stomach and he was only dry heaving.
Over and over, I wiped his face clean; over and over, I whispered that it would be okay, that I was there, that he didn’t have anything to worry about.
When he finally went a few minutes without getting sick, I helped him sit up again. “You done?” I asked softly, wiping his face once more with the freshly cleaned cloth.
He nodded. “I think so,” he rasped. “Fuck.”
I flushed the toilet again for him, grimacing as I looked at the mess he’d left behind. He’d done his best to contain it, but it wasn’t like throwing up was ever graceful or pretty. I’d have to clean it up after I got him into bed…
Fuck, what was wrong with me? Maybe I just wanted him to have to helplessly watch me leave, knowing he couldn’t do anything about it. Maybe I wanted him to think I was going to stay so I could drive the knife deeper, devastate him more.
I didn’t think so.
“C’mon,” I told him, doing my best to help him to his feet. He was much bigger than I was, though, much heavier, and there wasn’t a whole lot I could do beyond steadying him a little.
I helped him out of the bathroom and into his room, into his bed, and he collapsed heavily on the sheets. I watched him for a moment, then slowly pulled the blankets up and around him.
“Get some sleep,” I said, smoothing his damp hair from his forehead.
“Toby…”
“Hush.”
I didn’t want him to ask why. I didn’t want to try to figure it out and come up empty again.
Nothing with him made sense.
I needed to lie to myself before I drove myself crazy, and I justified it as fear of what he might do if he caught me.
It was easier that way.
This time, though, I did go to the closet, and I thought I might have finally bolstered myself enough to make a run for it. I pulled out one of his shirts and put it on, feeling ridiculous because of how large it was on me. I eyed his pants, knowing perfectly well they’d never fit me, and I sighed.
I could hear him moving in the bed, probably turning to face me and figure out what I was doing.
I sighed and turned, still wearing the shirt as I closed the closet door. I was still there.
I was still there, and none of the excuses I made to myself made any sense at all.
I traipsed to the door, ignoring his whimpers, and let myself out of his bedroom.
Once there, I closed the door behind me and leaned against it, taking a moment to gather myself.
I caught myself trying to make sense of this yet again and firmly stopped those thoughts in their tracks before they could even coalesce into something greater.
I took a deep breath then shook my head, starting toward the kitchen.
It felt huge without him there with me, and I faltered for a moment as I looked in the direction of the front door. I could leave. I could bolt. I could—
I went to the cabinet instead, getting a cup then going to the fridge to get cool water. Instead of going to the door, I went back to his room, where he was still lying there, looking utterly miserable.
“Here,” I told him, holding out the glass. I helped him sit up, and he sipped from it before grimacing, shaking his head and refusing more of it. “Okay,” I said. “I’m going to put this right here. Okay?” I set the cup down on his bedside table, and he collapsed back down onto the bed.
“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered.
My heart threatened to break.
“I won’t,” I whispered back. I leaned down, kissing his forehead. “Now get some sleep.”