I wake in the dark room. Again. I’ve lost all sense of time. All sense of reality. I haven’t eaten a thing besides some candy I found stashed away in my room. When I’m thirsty, I suck down water from the bathroom faucet.

I’m in prison.

No entertainment. No windows. No food. No human contact.

No Torin.

Fury blazes through me. I want to kill him. In his head, he probably thinks this makes sense. It makes no sense. It’s psychotic.

I’m going to die.

My stomach grumbles and I’m reminded of all the times I got in trouble for taking food from the pantries of my foster homes. Food was always scarce and had to be evenly distributed. Since coming to Tyler and Torin’s, I haven’t hungered not once. Not until now.

I’m weak, but I manage to stoke my fire and then hop in the hot shower. I stand under the spray for a long time, contemplating my future. Will Torin come to his senses and let me out? Am I this madman’s prisoner forever? Nobody will come looking for me. I’m an adult now. I was supposed to blaze out of this town and start my life when I turned eighteen. Turns out, I traded one misery for another. I’m feeling quite sorry for myself by the time the water grows cold. I dry my hair and by the time I escape the bathroom, I’m overheated, which hardly happens for me. I forgo my usual hoodie and jeans, instead opting for a T-shirt and cotton shorts. Once I’m dressed, I stare at the wall. The heavy dresser sits in front. Unmovable and mocking.

God, I miss Tyler.

He’d pull me against his side and kiss the top of my head. I’d be warm and safe and protected. Now, I feel so alone.

Alone.

Abandoned.

Anger wells up inside of me again, giving me a surge of energy. I’m not some damsel who can be kept until she dies from starvation. I can get into that wall. I just have to think. I’ve tried moving the dresser over and over again but maybe I’m going about it wrong. The wall is hollow, but the panel that gives me entry is covered. I wonder if I can get into it a different way.

I walk along the wall and run my fingertips over the thin wood. When my fingers dip into a slat, I peek inside. A shiver ripples through me at fearing I’ll look straight into someone’s eye. But all I see is darkness. The fire crackles beside me and I get an idea. Suppressing a squeal, I run over to the fire pokers on the hearth. I grab one that has a hooked end and rush back over to the paneled wall. It takes some effort, but I manage to shove it into the slat. When I yank the poker back toward me, the wood splinters and cracks. With newfound determination, I tear apart the wall slowly until I can get a grip on it with my hands. Then, it easily tears away from the studs. Once the opening is big enough for me to fit inside, I peek my head in.

The air is cool and it smells musty. But the terrifying part is that it’s dark. Quelling my fears, I climb inside the opening. If a little girl could run through the house and not be afraid all those years ago, so can I. With my fire poker tight in my grip, ready to beat anything creepy down, I start down the passageway. The wood below my feet is cold, but my adrenaline has fire burning through me. I walk slowly, carefully making sure I don’t fall into any unseen holes. Every few steps, I discover slats that give me a bird’s-eye view into another room. My heart clenches a bit knowing not only did the little girl see the world from this vantage point, but so does Torin.

Tears sting my eyes, but I quickly blink them back. Now’s not the time to pity him. He locked me away and threw the key out. Left me to starve. I will ignore the pang in my heart every time I imagine him watching Tyler and me interact with ease while he peered on from the shadows.

Shakily, I make it down along the hidden passageway. It’s barely wide enough for me to walk without turning my body, which means Torin must have to walk sideways.

Stop thinking about him.

But telling myself to stop thinking about him is like giving my brain permission to conjure up the way his brown eyes would pierce mine when he’d say, “Mine.” My heart does a quick patter. It makes me want to scream in frustration.

When I find him, I’m going to beat his ass.

And then what?

I’ll leave. Definitely. There’s no turning back now. He’s too unpredictable.

I pause when I hear a sound. Music. A soft, melodic tone of a song I recognize. Quietly, I hurry toward it. The passageway splits off into different directions, but I follow it straight in an effort to find where the music is coming from. Soon, I come to a set of steep stairs against the wall where light pours down from up above. Bright, warm, yellow. I hurry up the steps and peek inside an opening that reveals a room—actually what looks like an attic. It’s charming and whimsical. Soft blues repainted on the walls. A vaulted ceiling runs from one end to the other. The beams have been painted white. Compared to the rest of the dark, wood tones of the house, this room doesn’t belong. It’s bright and cheery. Welcoming and comforting. The most eye-catching thing about the room is the way white Christmas lights have been strung across the ceiling. So many lights. Some twinkle while others remain on. Thick, white carpet lines the space and I wiggle my toes, wondering if it’s soft under my feet. I’m still taking in the room when something catches my eye on the bed that sits in the center.

Cats.

One, two, three of them.

Irrational anger wells up inside me. It just goes to show how little I know about Torin. He never told me he had three cats! The music in this room is playing at a nice level. If I wasn’t so furious, I’d crawl right onto that bed and relax. But I’m pissed and upset. A garbled sound escapes me.

A body sits up from the bed and the heavy blanket covering him falls away.

Torin.

Shirtless, messy-haired, emotionless Torin.

Why does he have to be so hot? It only pisses me off further.

“You!” I screech as I climb out of the hole and into the room. The carpet is incredibly soft, I notate for a brief moment, before charging for him. “You asshole!”

His eyes widen at the poker in my hands. The cats meow and scatter when I run toward them. Torin doesn’t move or flinch, even as I threaten to hit him with the poker. And that only makes me explode with rage. As hard as I can, I swing the metal stick at him. With surprising reflexes, he raises his arm and blocks the poker from taking out the side of his head. He jerks to his feet, revealing the fact that he wears nothing but a pair of black boxer briefs, and I almost freeze to stare.

Almost.

But I’m too pissed to drool over his overly cut stomach muscles that look all too lickable. So I swing the poker again. He blocks the hit before yanking it from my grip. I’m jolted forward but am now without my weapon. I attack with my claws. I screech and scratch my nails across his chest. He hisses and swats me away, but I’m already attacking again.

“Casey-Casey!” he barks, his voice almost commanding.

“I hate you!” I scream.

When I attempt to tackle him, I catch him by surprise. We both crash to the floor, the two of us groaning in pain. The carpet is super soft and I want to just lie on it, but I’m in the middle of beating down Torin for keeping me captive. His strength surprises me when he flips me onto my stomach and presses his weight against me, pinning me down. I wriggle and squirm, trying to escape, but he’s too heavy. He nuzzles my ear with his nose, his hot breath tickling me. I freeze because I realize our clothing situation. My shirt has risen and my stomach rubs against the plush carpeting. The firmness of his bare chest muscles brushes against my back where only my thin T-shirt separates us. As though he’s realizing this too, his cock grows hard against the crack of my ass.

I screech again and try to roll out from under him. His hands find my wrists and he holds them so tight against the floor I worry my bones will crack. He breathes against my hair, frantic and wild, his heartbeat pounding against me.

I burst into tears.

He sniffs me and then his tongue seeks out my tears. He licks them. The move is intimate and confusing.

“You trapped me!” I scream, desperate to cling to my anger that’s quickly fading while in his grip.

“Casey-Casey,” he growls. “Mine.”

His cock twitches at that proclamation and my nipples harden.

“No!”

“Mine,” he snarls.

“You can’t keep me!”

He grinds his stone-hard erection against me, causing me to moan. My heart is racing out of control and yet a small part of me wishes he’d kiss me. That he’d make sweet love to me. That he’d be like his brother for five minutes to take care of me and promise me a future of love and happiness.

“Mine,” he murmurs, his one hand abandoning where his other grips my wrists. His fingers rake down along my sides on their journey. When he tugs at my dampened panties, I whimper. They get pulled down my thighs before he’s rubbing up against me again. Another moan rasps from me. Shame courses through me. Why am I turned on by him right now? He’s been horrible yet a small part of me is hoping we can connect in a way I’ve never connected with anyone.

“Torin,” I choke out, tears rolling down my face and soaking the carpet below.

He makes a desperate sound and shuffles behind me. Then the soft skin of his cock slides against my crack. Terror wells up inside me because I’ve never done this before. His weight is suddenly lifted from me. I start to mourn the loss but then strong hands yank me to my knees. The thick head of his penis prods at my slick opening for a small second. Before I can protest or say a word, he slams into me.

Deep.

Hard.

Brutal.

Painful.

“Ahhh!” I cry out, hot tears streaming endlessly down my cheeks. The pain is otherworldly and intense. I can’t even catch my breath to try and analyze what’s happening.

Torin is inside of me.

Torin is fucking me.

His fingers digging into my hips are hard and uncaring. The pain there, though, is nothing compared to the raging fire that rips me from the inside out. He thrusts a total of four or five times before a strangled sound roars from him. More heat burns me as his orgasm floods into me. His cock is then yanked from my body before he collapses on me, our bodies smashed together on the floor.

I can’t breathe.

I can’t think.

All I can do is cry.

His body is tense, but I don’t want him to leave me here. Not like this. Not while the pain tears through me. I need him to hold me and promise me the world.

“Casey-Casey.” Sorrow bleeds from his words. All I can do is desperately grab for his hand. His hand grips mine almost to the point I’m afraid the bones will snap. But they don’t snap. We cling together in this moment. Sticky and sweating and dripping with his orgasm. Our breaths come out ragged and harsh.

I cry and cry and cry.

Torin doesn’t soothe me with his words, but that tongue of his sets to work as he licks away the wetness on my face. His nose nuzzles my hair and he chants my name maybe a thousand times. I lose count. My eyes grow droopy. I’m so tired.

His body grows stiff and I know our time is limited.

“Please don’t leave me,” I beg, my emotion overcoming me.

He sniffs my hair once more before jerking away from me completely.

I’m left alone.

Cold.

Used up.

Tired.

Alone.

I wake warm and cozy. A heavy blanket is draped over me. I decide the blanket is the best thing in the world. But then I remember where I’m at and who I’m with. Anxiety ripples through me in a disastrous wave. I start to roll over to escape when a cat meows at me as though it’s irritated I’m moving. Absently, I reach out and pet the animal that’s nestled beside me under the blanket. It purrs and I relax almost instantly.

He moved me.

He covered me with his blanket.

My heart rate speeds up at his small but caring gesture.

To everyone else, that’s a normal thing, but for Torin, it’s huge.

I tug away the covers and wince at the warm lights twinkling above. Some Mazzy Star plays in the background. I realize there is so much I don’t know about Torin, even down to his music tastes. I assumed autistic people needed classical music to calm themselves and yet Torin is listening to some nineties music that even hyper, spastic me listens to.

I get a whiff of something delicious and I’m shocked to see a bowl of steaming oatmeal filled with chopped bananas sitting on the bedside table. Beside it is my phone. I snag the phone first and read a waiting text.

Torin: I’m so sorry.

Tears well in my eyes as I set the phone down and snatch up the oatmeal. I practically inhale the food, ignoring the way it scalds my tongue and throat. It’s sweet with a hint of cinnamon. The oats are heavy and hot, filling my body and comforting my soul. Once I all but lick the bowl, I chug down a water bottle beside it.

I pick up the phone again and reply.

Me: Why? Where are you?

Torin: Because I need you. And I’m sitting in your room…I didn’t know if you wanted to see me. After…you know.

My sex still stings and throbs, but I’m alive.

Me: It hurt.

Torin: I’m sorry.

Me: Does it always hurt?

The thought of going slower and kissing Torin during sex has my core clenching.

Torin: I don’t know. It was my first time.

I bite on my lip, a small, satisfied sensation trickling through me. I was his first. He was mine. Even if it did kind of suck and hurt like a sonofabitch, it was still our moment together.

Me: Are you coming back?

Torin: I can’t talk to you. Not like I can like this.

An ache forms in my chest. This is so hard.

Me: I miss him.

Torin: I miss him too.

Me: Can you come back and lie down with me?

He doesn’t respond and I try not to get disappointed. Now that I don’t feel like a caged animal, I’m desperate to know Torin. I’ve never been this deep inside of him. We’ve connected physically. I wish I could find a way to connect with him emotionally.

Meow.

Another cat jumps up onto the bed, followed by a third. They all take their time finding a place to settle on the bed. An idea comes to me and I hunt for an app on my phone. I’m reading about it when I sense him.

My Torin.

His head peeks out of the opening I came through earlier. He’s still shirtless and his hair is sticking straight up as if he’s been tugging at it. It makes my chest squeeze. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

“Can I see your phone?” I ask.

He blinks but doesn’t acknowledge my question. He climbs out of the opening and stands in front of it. A pair of dark jeans hang from his hips, revealing the band of his black boxers. But what has my attention is his incredibly fit and sculpted torso. Each muscle seems to be hand carved by God. Smooth. Perfect. Hard as stone. His lower stomach muscles taper down in what looks like a “V” shape. As though this same God designed his body as a blinking sign that points straight to where his massive cock is.

My sex throbs again, reminding me that his giant dick was tearing away at my innocence not long ago.

Creak.

He steps forward, soundlessly like a cat, until he looms over me. His chest moves as he takes quick, rapid breaths. He hands me his phone, a questioning look in his brown-eyed stare.

I locate the app I’m searching for, load it, and then hand it back.

His attention turns to the device and then his eyes lighten once he realizes the purpose.

“Why did you lock me away?” I ask.

He taps away on his phone and then the app speaks for him in a feminine voice. “Because I can’t let you go. Not now. Not ever.” His lips twitch at the sound of the woman speaking on his behalf. A few moments later of his tapping at the screen, a male voice resounds. “I’m sorry I kept you in that room. I didn’t know what else to do.”

I stare up at him. His words are sad and pleading, yet his features are bland and almost bored looking. It breaks my heart how he battles with his own body and expressing himself.

“You could have just asked me to stay,” I whisper, my bottom lip wobbling.

“Please stay,” the voice says. He blinks and his brows furl together slightly. “Please, Casey,” the voice on the device chirps.

“I like it when you call me Casey-Casey,” I admit, tearfully.

“Casey-Casey,” he blurts out, robotically, but in his own voice. Then, the device speaks for him after he types in something. “Stay with me. Right here. I’ve missed you.”

Meow.

One of his cats flaps her tail as if she agrees.

“I was starving,” I mutter. “You didn’t feed me.”

His fingers fly over the keys, a crease now forming between his eyebrows. The voice speaks again. “I kept you and then felt guilty as fuck for everything. I’ve been in my room trying to figure out a way to fix it. I didn’t realize how much time had passed. I’m sorry.”

“Do you like it here in this room?”

His jaw clenches. Words spill from the device. “It’s one of the few places I don’t have overwhelming anxiety. Nobody looks at me strangely or thinks I’m different. I can read and listen to music and pet my cats. I can work and research. I can do whatever I want and feel like a normal fucking human.”

“Language,” I tease.

His nostrils flare, but he doesn’t laugh at my joke. Torin never laughs. “I lost control earlier. I’m sorry.” Pain flashes in his eyes. His words may be coming through the phone, but I hear them as if he’s the one saying them.

I reach forward and take his hand. It’s cold and clammy in my grip. “I’d like to do it again when I feel better, but we need to open up the lines of communication. I’m confused and upset still. I just need to be held.”

He grinds his teeth. “I don’t think I can hold you.”

I tilt my head up and smile at him. “Then let me hold you.”