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But I love him.
But do I really?
God, this freedom is agony.
I hate him.
I hate him for making me love him.
I hate him for all of the misery that meant nothing in the end.
I hate him for freeing me.
I hate him, I hate him, I hate him.
“D-don’t. Don’t touch me!” I yell, knowing I want that much at least. Regardless of what feelings are real or not, I don’t want this man anywhere near me while I figure them out. “They—they promised you can’t touch me anymore.”
“Nolan—”
A sob fills my throat, so full of grief and anger I choke on it. More come up behind it, shoving it up and out of me until they’re all pouring freely without any possibility of wrangling them anytime soon.
But the worst part? Worse than the fear and the anger? Worse than the grief and the sobs?
The worst part is the way my freedom is solidifying by the second. Because I just yelled at Master Roarke. I told him no. And he allowed it. He didn’t care.
I was bad, and it didn’t matter. I was bad, and he’s the one stuttering out an apology right now.
The one thing that kept me going all these years—gone.
It feels like the person inside of me is gone with it.
What’s left?
“Nolan,” someone says softly. Someone who isn’t Travis. Then, a little louder, “No, don’t touch him.”
I blink, fat tears falling down my cheeks. They aren’t the first. Another sob pours out of my lips as I find myself looking at a blurry Bryce. I nearly laugh. He was always the fixer back at the compound. The mom of the slaves, his friends teased. Looks like he’s not going to give up that role anytime soon.
Another sob. More tears.
“Nolan,” he says again, giving me his signature soft, brave, steady, I’ve-got-you, I-can-conquer-the-world smile that he’s mastered. “Let’s get you back to your room, yeah? That fuckhead is gone.”
“Don’t,” I whisper before I can stop myself. I squeeze my eyes shut, ashamed of my knee-jerk reaction to still defend Mast—Travis. “Sorry. I—fuck.”
“It’s fine. You’re fine.” He reaches for me slowly with his hands out in front so I can see them coming. When I subtly nod, he grabs my elbows and helps me to my feet. He smiles again. It’s proud this time. I feel a little dizzy with that. I feel even dizzier with the realization that I can apparently feel good making people proud—people who aren’t a master or a master’s associate. I don’t know if it’s comforting or terrifying.
I don’t know anything anymore.
“Gabe, help keep him steady. I’m going to walk ahead and make sure that asshole isn’t around any other corners. We’re going to bring him to his room.”
I go along with the plan. Bryce clearly has his shit together more than me.
For the first time since the party, I sink into the safety of just obeying.
I already feel emotionally drained by the time the house’s first group therapy session comes around later that afternoon. I still go. If anyone is going to have answers to the fucking mess that’s become of my mind, it’ll be a professional. This operation—and the man who led it—caused the mess, after all. The operation’s therapist should have to fix it.
The man looks friendly enough, sitting by the fireplace in the large sitting room with a notebook and a pen. I feel like he’s about to inspect us. I hope he’s fucking prepared for what he’s about to find.
“Hello, everyone. I’m Dr. Singh, and I will be here for as long as it takes to help all of you with your recovery.” Even if it takes forever? Asking for a friend. “Now, I know after you were all brought here and debriefed that a few of you have decided to take the action of leaving instead of staying at the safe house. I want to reiterate that this is a supported option and none of you are ever required to be here, but once you leave, you cannot return, as keeping this location secret is top priority. Because of this, I want to do a small group talk once before anyone leaves. I also want to open up my afternoon for private sessions. I’m reserving that time for those of you who plan to leave. I’ll stay up all night if needed. I’ll also be conducting these group talks three times a week and will be here daily, offering private sessions for those of you staying, starting tomorrow. Come to me whenever.”
