Page 82 of His Pet

“Sir, your concern will be documented and passed on to the supervisor. I can assure you that if there’s something unusual going on, it will be dealt with. Is there something else I can assist you with?”

I want to yell at him that he hasn’t assisted me yet, but there would be no point. He’s the second person I’ve talked to, and they both said the same. They won’t lift a finger to help Cameron. To them, he’s a criminal. Why would they care about him? Small is one of them, after all. Who knows how many people are in on his scheme. I need to do something else, but what?

Think, Justin. Fucking think.

The protective nurse brings me dinner. “Did you reach your family?” she asks as I return the phone to her.

“Yes,” I lie. “They’ll come pick me up. Do I need to sign some papers before I leave?” I need to help Cameron, and I can’t do that from a hospital bed.

She frowns. “You’re not cleared to leave yet, Mr. Palmer. The doctor needs to evaluate you first.”

“Evaluate me? I’m not a freaking equation. I just want to go home. You can’t keep me here.” A jolt of fear shoots through me. Small can’t force them to keep me here, right? “I’m not under arrest. I can leave if I want to.”

“Yes, of course you can. But you’ve been brought here in a rather serious condition. It would be for the best if you stayed here for a few more days. At least until you see a doctor and our crisis counselor.”

I barely stop myself from snorting. Unless they put Small in a straitjacket, a hospital shrink can’t help me with my current crisis. “I need to leave right now. I’ll sign whatever you need.”

She sighs. “Very well. I’ll get the form ready. It might take a while, though. I’ll need to find a doctor to sign off on your release. Would you please at least talk to the counselor before I get everything ready? He’s waiting outside. It’s your choice, but I really feel like it would be for the best.”

I have no desire to talk to anyone about my feelings, but I need another favor from the nurse, so I play nice. “Okay, I’ll talk to him while you get the form ready. Could I please borrow the phone for one more call?” My best attempt at puppy dog eyes softens her enough that she hands me the device. Or maybe she just has a soft spot for lost souls.

I beam at her. “Thank you so much. I hate to be such a bother, but I really need to leave as quickly as possible.”

She just shakes her head, her sad smile tugging at my heartstrings. “Eat your dinner, Mr. Palmer,” she reminds me as she leaves. The bowl of broth doesn’t look particularly appetizing, but I’m gonna need my strength, so I dig in while I log into my iCloud and find my roommate’s number.

Derek’s at a party, no surprise there, but my being alive is enough of a shock for him to agree to bring me some clothes and my old phone. I’ll need it once I leave the hospital. I don’t have a concrete plan yet, but whatever I decide to do, I’ll need a way to communicate.

Once I finish the phone call and slurp down most of the broth, someone knocks on the door. Grimacing, I set the bowl aside. I know I agreed to talk to the therapist or counselor of whoever this person is, but now I really don’t feel like it. I could probably send them away, but then the nurse would be disappointed. This people-pleasing habit is getting really inconvenient. I should probably go into therapy for it.

Oh, wait…

“Come in,” I call out, resigning myself to my fate.

A man with a wild mane of red hair peeks in. He looks too young to be a shrink. He has freckles, for Pete’s sake!

“Hi,” he says with a smile. “I’m Mark, one of the hospital social workers. I just wanted to check in with you. May I come in?”

“Sure, whatever.” I expected an older person in a white coat who would judgmentally stare at me over the rim of their glasses. What am I supposed to do with this friendly guy? “I’m still leaving the hospital.” I’m not letting them keep me here for a second longer than necessary.

“Of course, that is your choice. I just wanted to ask how you were doing after everything that’s happened.”

“There’s nothing to talk about. I just want my boyfriend back.” I realize I sound like a toddler demanding a toy, but what else am I supposed to say? “The police have no right to hold him.”

Mark nods. “I don’t work for the police, Justin. May I call you Justin?” My nod makes him smile again. “Okay, Justin. I’m not here on behalf of the police. I’m here for you, so you have someone to talk to. About anything, really. We don’t even have to talk. Silence can sometimes help, too.”

He’s too nice. How am I supposed to grumble at him when he’s this nice? At least he doesn’t work for Small. Unless he’s lying. Is he allowed to lie to me? Damn, I should have studied law instead of accounting.

“There’s really nothing to talk about,” I repeat stubbornly. “Everything that happened between Cameron and me was consensual.”

My lie sounds a little more convincing than the first time, but Mark still picks up on it. Unlike Detective Small, however, he doesn’t call me out. “Okay. But sometimes there are situations where the lines of consent blur a little. If there was such a moment, would you feel comfortable talking about it?”

“I… No!” I don’t even want to think about those hours and days filled with terror, let alone talk about them. Things are different now. I need to focus on that. “You’re trying to make Cameron into some sort of a monster. He’s not.”

“I’m not here to label anyone. I just want you to have a safe space to talk about your feelings.” Mark pulls a chair a decent distance from the bed and sits down. I like that he’s not crowding me. I like a lot of things about him, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to talk to him. Doing so would betray Cameron, and no matter how rocky our start was, I won’t do that to him.

“Can you tell me how you ended up staying at Cameron’s house?”

A crazy Russian kidnapped me. “I just did,” I avoid the question. “And I’m happy about it.”