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Death could be… nice.
“Casey,” the man - Jake, it's Jake and you're safe - says again. But his voice is far away, like he's above the water I'm drowning in.
Please just make it stop.
“Casey!” Jake growls. There are hands on my face, holding me tight. They hurt enough to pull me to the surface. “Casey, look at me. Look into my eyes. It’s Jake. You’re here with me. You’re safe. Look at me.”
I blink, ignoring the tears that fall down my cheeks after. It clears my vision enough for me to see the blurry image of a worried Jake. I lift my shaking hands to touch the hands on my cheeks, trying to reassure myself that they’re real. That this man, this freedom, this safety are all real.
“You’re okay,” Jake promises. Calloused thumbs brush away my tears. More fall when I blink again, but Jake doesn’t get frustrated. He just wipes those away too. “I’m here. It’s Jake. We’re in my room in the compound, the door is locked, I have two guns and a combat knife on my body, and more weapons around the room. No one is going to hurt you. Carter is down the hall sleeping. We’re about to drink tequila and eat the best fucking meal you’ve had in months. You. Are. Safe. Can you say that? Tell me, Casey. Tell me what you are."
“I - I’m safe,” I somehow manage to whisper. “I’m w-with Jake and I’m safe.”
“Safe,” Jake echoes.
I nod, a whimper catching in my throat. “S-safe.”
“I’m going to help you sit down.”
“O-okay.”
“Okay.” He moves his hands from my face and grips my elbows instead, then slowly lowers me to the ground. I faintly register that there’s a pillow beneath me.
Safe.
That word keeps echoing in my mind, said in Jake's warm, authoritative voice.
Safe, safe, safe.
“The best part of it being the middle of the night right now is that the kitchen was empty,” I hear Jake say in that same intoxicating voice. God, it’s like a fucking blanket being wrapped around me. “No kitchen workers trying to micromanage me while I get my food together. They would have had heart attacks if they’d seen me do this.”
Do what?
Jake holds up his hands, showing he's now carrying a black tote-like bag in one and two bottles of liquor in the other. "I have reheated chicken alfredo, garlic knots, pickle juice, vodka, and tequila."
I wrinkle my nose, momentarily forgetting everything else. "Um. Not to judge, but what in the world do you plan on doing with the pickle juice?"
"I didn't know if you'd want it as a chaser."
"That's the most disgusting thing I've ever heard, and I've been-" I cut myself off, not letting my thoughts go down that road. I shake my head to dispel any memories that might have slipped through and paste on what I hope is a convincing smile. Don't think about the disgusting things you've had to endure. Don't think about the past. Just… don't think. "I'll drink my tequila straight. But thank you for the thought."
He flashes a grin that's not even fair. It's even sexier than the one before he left the room, which shouldn't be possible. It's almost enough to get me to reconsider that whole no sex ever again thing.
Almost.
"You should at least try the pickle juice. It's really not bad."
"We'll see." I study the containers of food he's pulling out of the bag. Noodles in one. Sauce in another. Diced tomatoes. Steamed broccoli. Chicken. Garlic knots. "Can my stomach even handle all of this stuff?"
“You’re going to eat mostly noodles and chicken. The sauce might be a little heavy for you, so I thought you could dip the steamed broccoli in it. Just a few pieces. And you can have a few pieces of tomato, too. And nibble on a garlic knot. When you start feeling full, stop. You can always eat more later.”
I try not to let myself enjoy the fact that he's clearly thought this through already. That he cares. Because of course he cares. It's his job to care. But it still feels so damn nice.
He places a plate in front of me, then offers me a fork. We pause as we both sit there with our hands on each end of the utensil, neither of us letting go. My cheeks burn, knowing exactly why he's hesitating. "I've practiced. While you were gone. I won't make a mess."
"I wouldn't care if you did." He lets go of the fork, giving me a soft smile. "I'm sorry you had to relearn that."
"I'm sorry you had to feed me like a kid."
