Three

Jeremiah was trapped in a nightmare.

Again.

Reliving every horror he longed to forget, every memory he buried deep but never truly escaped.

He saw himself. The boy he used to be. The boy who died the day his father shut the door quietly, like he was nothing more than an inconvenience. A mistake.

He kept asking himself what he had done wrong to deserve abandonment. Why did his father dispose of him like he was a useless pair of mismatched socks? Home had never been a place of warmth for him. It was only filled with cold memories. And pain.

When he pleaded for help, desperate and terrified, the adults just brushed him off and always chose to look the other way. No one had ever done anything for him. No one noticed when the shadows swallowed him whole. Or maybe they did. Maybe they just didn’t care.

No one had tried to stop the monster from taking him. The monster with dead eyes. The one who spoke in growls and carved suffering into his skin. The man who shattered him. No one tried to save him.

It wasn't his father who broke him. No. It was him. The cruel man who laughed when he cried and enjoyed his pain and suffering. The man who carved knives into his skin and made him bleed.

Jeremiah hated himself. He hated how weak he was. Hated the life he’d been given. Hated his father for abandoning him. Hated those who refused to help him. Hated the monsters who stole everything that was left.

He felt a sharp pain right at his neck and when he looked up, his nightmare stared back at him. Grinning. Licking his blood from his lips,

“You can never escape me. You'll always be mine.”

...

Jeremiah gasped awake, bolting upright as the room spun disorientedly around him in waves. His heart slammed against his ribs, his breath came in shallow pants, and sweat soaked through his shirt. It took him a minute to realise he was in his room, not back in that place.

For a moment, he was sure he wasn't alone. That the nightmare had followed him out. He glanced around frantically, but instead he found a pair of blue eyes, watching him, with an intensity that made him shudder.

He didn’t realise he was clutching at the scar on his neck. It took him even longer to notice that he was tightly gripping someone's hand. 

Jeremiah yanked his hand back, flinching. His gaze darted toward the man beside him, unfamiliar yet oddly calm.

“W..who ar…are you? How did I get here?” 

The whimper slipped out before he could stop it. Everything ached. His body. His chest. His soul. He curled into himself, hiding behind his knees like a scared child.

A hand reached into his hair. Soft and Careful.

“Shh. Don’t be scared, love,” the man murmured. “No one’s going to hurt you.”

Jeremiah shivered. A strange flutter stirring in his chest, something too warm to be fear. He wanted to believe the words but he knew better. 

“It’s alright.”

It wasn’t.

He gasped, hand flying to his burning chest. That’s when it hit him_ he had been shot. He looked up at the stranger again, panic flashing behind his eyes.

“Who are you? What happened?”

He wanted to ask how he was still alive, but the words stuck in his throat.

“Breathe, love,” the man said softly, almost like a lullaby.

“Don’t call me that. How'd I get here?” Jeremiah snapped, defensive. “Who are you?”

“A friend,” the man said gently. “You don’t have to panic, Jeremiah. I promise, I won’t hurt you.”

How many times had he heard that before? He couldn't count how many times he had been fooled by that lie disguised as kindness.

“My brother_ your roommate, called me when you wouldn’t go to the hospital. He needed help. So I came.”

Jeremiah blinked. Vague pieces clicked together. “I don’t remember much,” he admitted.

“That’s okay. It’ll come back in time.”

Jeremiah studied him, noting the resemblance to his roommate. A doctor maybe? 

“Thank you,” he whispered.

The man nodded again.

Jeremiah's gaze drifted over his large frame and sharp features, very easy on the eyes. There was something steady about his presence, something unsettlingly safe.

“Why didn’t you want to go to the hospital?” the man asked suddenly.

“W..what?”

“Are you in trouble? With the police? Is that why you wouldn't go to the hospital?”

Jeremiah stiffened. His throat tightened. “N–No,” he lied.

The man's expression didn’t change, but his eyes narrowed slightly. He didn’t believe him. “How did you get shot?”

“I… I…,”

“Was it the person who did that to your neck?”

Jeremiah’s hand flew to the scar, panic erupting in his chest. Questions. So many questions. His breathing grew frantic.

Had he said something while he was unconscious? Did it have to do with his scars?

He stumbled to his feet, ignoring the wave of dizziness that hit him. He needed to get away.

“You shouldn’t be up yet,” the man said, reaching toward him.

“Don’t touch me!” Jeremiah snapped, slapping his hands away.

“You are going to hurt yourself.”

“What’s going on?” his roommate, Xander, called from the doorway as he stepped into the room. "Is everything alright?"

Perfect. A distraction.

Jeremiah didn’t hesitate, bolting past them both, ignoring their voices, ignoring the stabbing pain in his ribs. He rushed into his room, slamming the door, and locking it.

Finally alone.

Only then did he let the tears fall.