Chapter 4

I blinked, trying to adjust to the sudden light that flooded in from the open door, but the brightness only made my vision spin, and my head felt heavy. I barely had the strength to hold my body up, my legs trembling, and my arms too weak to support me. My skin was burning, too hot to touch, like I was trapped in a fever that wouldn't break. Every breath felt shallow, my throat dry and aching from thirst. My stomach ached in hunger, but even the thought of food felt overwhelming.

The footsteps and voices I had heard earlier had become distant echoes in my foggy mind, and now, as the closet door swung open, a new voice reached me-a voice filled with concern, a voice that wasn't Colton's. I could hardly process it, but it was enough to pull my focus away from the pain, from the haze clouding my thoughts.

"Oh dear, what did he do to you?" the voice asked, gentle but frantic, like they were seeing something awful, something worse than I could even understand. They pulled me carefully, with surprising tenderness, guiding my fragile body out of the suffocating confines of the closet.

I tried to open my eyes fully, blinking through the exhaustion, but everything felt blurry. The world around me spun like I was caught in a whirlwind, and I couldn't find the strength to steady myself.

"You're burning, Señor!" the servant said, panic clear in their voice. Their hands were warm, and they moved quickly, but not without care, brushing against my overheated skin with a sense of urgency.

I wanted to speak, to tell them I was okay-or at least, that I could manage, that I wasn't worth all the worry. But my throat felt like sandpaper, and no words came. I could only manage to squeeze my eyes shut in a feeble attempt to block out the dizziness threatening to consume me.

I was burning. I felt it with every passing second, the heat wrapping around me like a suffocating blanket.

I wanted to say so much. I'm sorry. I need help. Please... But nothing would escape my lips.

"Come, you need to lie down," the servant said gently, helping me to my feet with surprising strength. They were so careful, as though they knew I was fragile, as if one wrong move would cause me to break completely. I felt so small, so utterly powerless.

I was burning. I couldn't think straight. I needed water. Food. But all I could do was lean against the servant, too weak to do anything for myself.

The servant's grip on me was steady, but their voice trembled with concern as they guided me carefully out of the dark confines of the closet. My vision was still clouded, the world around me a disorienting blur. I felt like I was drifting in and out of consciousness, unable to fully grasp the reality of what was happening.

"Shh, it's okay," the servant whispered softly, their tone almost soothing as they led me to a soft, cushioned surface. "You're safe now. Just breathe, okay? Breathe with me."

I tried to focus, to follow their instructions, but the heat inside me was overwhelming. I was burning, my skin like fire, and it made my entire body feel heavy and unresponsive. The servant settled me down onto what felt like a plush bed, their hands still on me, checking my temperature with a worried frown.

"Don't worry, Señor," they murmured, brushing a damp cloth over my forehead in an attempt to cool me down. Their touch was gentle, but their hands shook as they moved to soothe my fevered skin. "I'm here. I'm going to help you."

My mouth was dry, and I felt as though I hadn't tasted water in days. The emptiness in my stomach was unbearable, a gnawing ache that didn't stop. I wanted to speak, to ask for help, but the words wouldn't come. I could only lie there, exhausted and weak, hoping they would understand.

"You've been in that closet for too long," the servant continued, their voice low but steady, as though speaking in gentle reassurance to themselves as much as to me. "What he did to you... It's not right. You shouldn't have to go through this."

I felt the sadness in their words, the empathy. It was strange to hear it, especially in this place, from someone who wasn't Colton. Did they know what I had been enduring? Did they care?

"I'm sorry," the servant said, their voice breaking slightly as they wiped my forehead again. "I should have known. I should have done something sooner."

The feeling of someone-anyone-caring, reaching out to help, was foreign to me. It almost felt unreal. I didn't know who this servant was, but their presence was a welcome relief. It was something good in a world that had been nothing but cruel to me.

"Stay with me, okay?" they whispered, their voice soft but filled with determination. "I'll get you something to drink. Just rest. I'll be back soon, Señor."

I tried to nod, but my body refused to cooperate. The heat was still there, making my vision swim and my body tremble. The servant's touch lingered for a moment longer, as if they weren't quite ready to leave me alone, as if they were worried I might slip away into the feverish haze again. Then, with one last soft stroke of my hair, they got up and left the room, their footsteps retreating but still carrying the promise of something I had longed for-compassion.

The servant's presence was like a flicker of light in the overwhelming darkness that had surrounded me for so long. As they left, I could feel my body weakly sagging against the soft sheets, the cool air from the open window only slightly easing the fire that raged within me. My breathing was labored, shallow as I tried to force air into my burning lungs. Every part of me ached, from the bruises that still marked my skin to the aching, hollow emptiness inside me.