Page 59 of The Sound of Him

“Bryce-”

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he says, cutting me off. His voice is as sharp as his unbelievable jaw and cheekbones, as icy as his glare, but there’s a wobble in his bottom lip. He knows himself well. He’s got his teeth clamped down on it just a second after I’ve noticed. If I had blinked differently, I’d have missed it.

He must be so exhausted, always trying to hold himself together like that.

I sure as fuck know that I am.

“Whatever it takes,” he continues. “Does Carter need to stay here? Is that part of the deal with Maison and Travis? They’ll play whatever game this is if they get to have Carter? Jake and Casey too? It doesn’t - I can’t think about that right now. I can’t think about the two of them. Just - just let Matt and Nolan go, okay? I’ll stay here with Carter and Casey. I’ll - I’ll be whatever you want me to be. Just let them go. Really go.Please.”

“This is real,” I tell him again. “I know, okay? Iknowit doesn’t feel like it. I do. It’s going to take some time, but it’ll sink in. You’ll-”

“Can we go inside your office?” he asks before I can finish.

I may not have a lot of in-person experience with survivors, but I know enough to realize this is fucking abnormal. A survivor doesn’t go out of their way to be alone with a stranger. Especially a stranger of the same gender as their abusers. Especially when he doesn’t even believe he’s been saved.

“Please?” he presses. “Whatever you want to talk about, fine, but not out here. Not when someone might hear. They don’t need to worry. They - they can keep thinking it’s real.”

Something itchy and hot crawls inside of me. “No. No, I don’t think that’s a good idea. Let’s stay out here. This is real. I’ll tell all of you, as much as you need me to. This is all real.”

There’s a pause, but it isn’t him hesitating.

It’s him recalibrating.

In the next second, the next breath, he’s adjusted. Despite barely moving a muscle, he’s transformed into someone else. I find myself looking at a man that’s ten years younger, all wide-eyed innocence and bashfulness, everything about him soft and warm and inviting. He lets his next exhale come out a little shaky, lets his hands flutter nervously at his sides. He looks down, tilting his chin just so, and peers at me through his thick lashes. “Please, sir?”

That thing crawling inside of me manifests in my throat as burning bile. I have to swallow twice before I can manage to speak, the words choked. “Bryce, that’s not what this is. Okay? I don’t want-”

“I’m so good,” he practically coos. His teeth play with his bottom lip as he steps forward. He reaches his hand toward me as he adds, “I’ll be such a good boy for you.”

I stumble back just a second before he can make contact with my chest, my own hands raised in surrender. Everything whirls for a second, my lungs seizing with decades of panic. I have to lock my knees to keep from falling. I can feel the phantom sensation of a closet wall at my back. Can feel the darkness. Can hear heavy boots.

You’ll be good, won’t you, kiddo?a voice asks.You’ll be a good boy for me?

“Or - or I can be bad!” he hurries to correct, his wide eyes reflecting my own panic. “Would you like to punish me, sir? I’ve been so naughty-”

“Stop.” I step back again, nearly tripping. “For fuck’s sake.No. No, don’t - just -no. Stop it.”

He curls in on himself, arms wrapping around his waist, his shoulders heaving with his breaths.

Fuck.

Fuck, I have to calm him down. That’s my job. That’s my fucking job. I don’t get to be the one panicking. I don’t get to be upset. I have to-

But then the little quick-change artist recalibrates again, locking down everything that’s real and replacing it with fury.

This time, the hit doesn’t connect with my face. It glances off my shoulder as I lurch to the side. He falls into the punch, stumbling forward. I catch him with gentle hands around his arms. He writhes for a second before going perfectly pliant forme, his body trembling so hard I’m not sure he’d be able to stay on his feet if I let go right now.

Keeping my grip as gentle as possible, I stoop low until his eyes meet mine.

Furious tears are pouring down his cheeks.

“Just tell me what to do,” he whispers. “Just fucking tell me, okay? What do you want?”

“I want,” I say carefully, slowly, wanting him to hear every single word. This isn’t a nervous ramble. This isn’t me filling up space or trying to work through a problem or attempting to cheer someone up. This is important. These words, every one of them, are so goddamn important. “For you to one day not doubt this. For you to wake up and believe that you’re actually free. For you to believe that you’re safe. Believe that you’re allowed to have a life where you get to be happy. Whereallof you get to be happy. A life that doesn’t include you sacrificing yourself for others. A life where you don’t have to bargain or settle.

“Bryce, I want you to live the life we just handed back to you, the one you were entitled to before the world decided to be cruel. I want you tolive, even when it’s hard, even when it feels like it’s impossible to take one more breath, and when you’re not sure if you can, I want you to ask for help. I want you to let yourself lean on people. I want you tosurvive, Bryce. I just want all of you to survive.”

And maybe because of the fearful hope sparking in his eyes, or the fact that I’ve been drowning in files upon files of filth for days with no sleep, or because Keaton is so invested in him, or maybe just because he deserves to hear it, and I deserve to get to fucking say it - I find myself telling him, “I want you to survive like I got to.”