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Carter’s heart thuds painfully in his chest, echoing in his ears.
He already knows he doesn’t want to be kneeling. He knows it’s wrong. A mistake. Humiliation rushes over him like hot water. The same sensation rolls down his cheeks, but he quickly realizes that’s real. He’s crying.
“Please get up,” Maison finally says, his voice raw and choked. “I didn’t mean - I would never-”
“I know.” Carter curls his shoulders in and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. “Fuck, I know. I didn’t mean to.”
“Carter, I-”
“Hey, what’s going on here?” Carter hears Benny - no, Jake, Jake, Jake, because this isn’t the compound, and Carter is safe, and this is his brother and Jake.
The humiliation grows. He presses harder against his eyes, holding in a sob.
“I yelled and hit the machine. I - fuck, I scared him.”
“Yeah, we all heard that, asshole.” Suddenly a body is beside Carter, a hand on his back, Jake crouching beside him. He runs the hand up until he’s cupping the back of Carter’s neck and gives it a gentle squeeze. “You okay, little one?”
Carter shivers, caught between the past and the present.
He can’t answer - partly because he doesn’t want to open his mouth in case a sob escapes, and partly because he doesn’t fucking know.
“Carter?” Jake asks softly.
The sob escapes.
God, this is horrifying.
Why can’t Carter talk? Why can’t he stand up? Walk away? Run to his room and hide? That’s all he wants, but his body won’t move.
He wants sir.
“Pet?” Jake says - almost like a question.
Carter jerks his head in response. He knows what Jake is asking, but Carter isn’t stuck in the past. He’s not caught in a memory. He’s not pet, he’s Carter. He’s here. He’s just… frozen.
Why the fuck is he frozen?
“I see you’re doing laundry. That’s good.” Jake massages the back of his neck. It feels good, grounding him. “It’s been a rough day though, huh? I bet you could use a nap. Why don’t you go rest while your clothes spin?”
“My-” Carter swallows hard, glad he didn’t sob but still worried he might. “My stuff’s in the washer.”
“It’ll be safe there.”
“His sheets and comforter,” Maison says quietly. “He’s saying his bedding is in the washer. You want him to rest, but his bed is bare.”
Jake hums. It sounds a lot like Travis. Like sir. Enough to make Carter’s chest ache. “We have extra sheets and blankets. How about I help you, huh? Or I can get Casey? We’ll take care of your laundry. Make sure it gets finished and dried.”
Carter leans into Jake’s touch, letting himself pretend for just a moment that it’s someone else there. Someone who smells like lavender and tea tree oil and that something else that drives Carter insane.
The humiliation is still there, but it’s quickly being pushed down by exhaustion. That nap sounds nice. Especially if he can put on Travis’s sweatshirt and hide from anyone who saw this happen. Hide from himself.
“Carter, I think your sir would really like it if you took a nap. Can you do that for him? Can you let me help you take a nap for him?”
He wants to tell Jake he’s not in that headspace. He wants to tell him to fuck off. He wants to tell him he doesn’t want sir. Doesn’t need sir. Doesn’t give a fuck what sir would like him to do.
Instead, he nods and whispers, “A nap.”
He’s helped to his feet and guided out of the laundry room. Someone asks if he’s okay - the question directed at Jake, not him. He thinks maybe it’s Casey. He hears Jake’s low rumbling answer but doesn’t really process it.
