Page 15 of The Sound of Him

She’d say it like it was something to be sad about, but only a little sad. There’d be a dose of pity in her tone and a shake of her head - because there was nothing to be done. The situation couldn’t be fixed. Slaves like me ruined things. Filth like me wasn’t meant for silks.

What a shame.

The silks were soft, though. Even after I ruined them. Even after Master Jason eventually came to deal with me, sometimes wrapping one around my throat to use as a leash as he dragged me out of the room.

Every once in a while, he’d fall asleep after making love to her without remembering to get rid of me first. I’d get to just lie there on the floor those nights. I would be so still and pretty and quiet. I’d focus on nothing but the feeling of those silks against my skin, the world fading away for a while as I floated on the sensation ofsoftandcoolandsmooth.

I wasn't real, then. I wasn't human. I was just a pretty doll to be enjoyed, then tossed aside for the real thing, broken and quiet on the floor.

I'm still on the floor in this safehouse that I can’t quite believe is safe. Maybe that's just where I belong.

Sometimes being high up on the beds is scary. It makes it harder to feel like I’m still on Earth. It makes me feel like any second I might fall - or be pushed. Any second I might crash. Ilike the hard feeling of the ground beneath me, as long as I’m the one who put myself there. I like being able to safely hide under the bed like now, so far into the corner no one would be able to reach me.

Maybe things can still be different here. Can still bebetter.

The blue bunny is so much better than those silks. The soft blue bunny is thebestthing.

Nothing is bleeding. Nothing is bruised. There’s no punishment to wait for. No blood or cum or sweat or tears to ruin anything.

No one is shouting or fighting or pacing or pointing. No friends are talking to me, filling my head with too many words, looking at me with pleading eyes like if they just want it badly enough then maybe I’ll be able to act normal again. There are no words at all under the bed. They can’t prickle my skin here. They can’t make my head ache, and ache, andache, or my gut fill with shame.

It’s just me and the softest little blue bunny.

I won’t ruin you,I promise him, pressing our foreheads together as if I can make the words teleport from my mind to his.I won’t ever ruin you. I’ll keep you so, so safe. I’ll keep you soft. I promise.

Here, with me, you can be soft.

Someone is lying on the floor beside me. There's enough light in the room for me to tell it's Bryce. He's curled up on his side, knees pressed to my hip, his face half-shadowed. He smiles when he notices I'm looking at him, but it's his worried smile.

“Hey, Matty.” He puts his hand in the air between us and wiggles his fingers, his way of asking if he can touch me. I'm rewarded with his fingers in my hair when I nod. His nails scratch just a little along my scalp. It's nice.Good, even. “You hungry?”

Now that he asks, I can feel the cramping of my empty stomach. It's still manageable. It doesn't hurt yet.

If I could, I would ask what there is for me to eat. I'd make sure there was something safe before admitting my hunger. Otherwise I'll wind up downstairs eating something triggering while he sits and watches me struggle to keep it down. I can't ask, though, and I'm not hungry enough to take the risk of not knowing. So I shake my head.No, I'm not hungry. A lie.

He frowns, seeing straight through me. “I could bring you something?”

I shake my head again. It'd be even worse to have to eat it here in this room, maybe even under the bed where I've felt safer than anywhere else in a long time. There'd be no choosing between bad and worse options, then. I'd just have to try whatever he brought me. And if I couldn't keep it down, he'd be right outside the bathroom to hear me fail.

“I'm worried about you, Matty,” he murmurs, his hand moving in my hair again. It hasn't started to grow out yet. Most of us underwent maintenance before Mast -Travis's- fancy party the night of our rescue. That was only yesterday.Or two days ago, maybe? Three?

Regardless, it wasn't a long enough time to let my hair grow. There’s barely enough of it for him to even card his fingers through. Maybe I’ll grow it out, now that it’s my choice. I wonder if he'll be patient enough to still play with it like this if I do. It'll tangle so easily when it’s long, especially if he isn't careful, but it feels so nice when he does this. It makes my head go quiet.

It makes me feel safe. Calm. Almost happy.

My mamá used to do this all the time, on good days and bad. She’d gesture for me to lay my head in her lap or on my pillow and spend countless minutes working her long, slender fingers through the curls. Sometimes she’d do it quietly, or while chatting with papá, but my favorite was when she’d do it while she sang to me. Her fingers would move in swirls and strokes to the tune of her favorite canciones de cunas, never once tangling in my crazy curls.Is that just some sort of magicmamá thing? Would Bryce be able to learn? Would Nolan, since he does this too sometimes?

I could keep it short, if it meant they'd keep doing this for me.

I do miss my curls, though.

Going through that bag of hair products the man -what was his name again?- brought me was like coming home. The coconut oil he bought was the exact brand mamá used on megrowing up. When I closed my eyes and smelled it, I swore I could feel her behind me, ready to start my hair routine. It had hurt, but in a good way.

There's a word for that. For when something is painful but nice at the same time. Not a sexual thing - not masochism. It happens in your chest. It happens in your heart.

God, what's that word?

“Matty?”