The Price of Freedom

Chapter Three

I shift on the bed, feeling a gentle weight press against my hip, grounding me to the present. I glance down and see Jack's hand resting there, his touch warm and comforting in the dim morning light. The soft rise and fall of his chest, the slight curl of his fingers, all bring a sense of peace I haven't felt in years. Without thinking, I lean into him, letting the tension in my body melt away, finding solace in his presence. He sighs deeply, as if responding to the unspoken connection between us, and tightens his grip, pulling me closer. I close my eyes, allowing myself to savour this moment of quiet, of safety. I don't think I have ever felt this safe.

Turning my head slightly, I place a soft kiss on his cheek, brushing my lips against the rough stubble that has formed overnight. I don't know why, but it feels normal, feels like I've known him for years, that this is where I'm meant to be. His eyes flutter open, the disorientation of sleep fading as his gaze finds mine. There's a moment where everything feels suspended, as if the world outside his bed doesn't exist, as if it never did.

"Morning," I whisper, my voice barely audible.

He blinks, his expression softening into a sleepy smile, one that reaches his eyes and crinkles the corners in a way that makes my heart ache. "Mornin'," he mumbles, his voice low and rough, like gravel on the ocean floor, but there's a tenderness there that makes my chest tighten. "You're still here?"

"Evidently."

He hums. "I've gotta admit I'm kinda glad you are. I was scared you would leave and get hurt."

"Do you really care?"

"Why not?"

"Because we only met yesterday." I scrunch my eyebrows up, and lean up, propping myself up on my elbow.

"So?"

I shake my head, tracing the outline of his hand with my fingers, feeling the callouses that speak of a life lived far removed from mine. "What's the plan for today?" I ask, trying to keep the conversation light, trying to ignore the gnawing anxiety. He shifts, propping himself up on one elbow as he looks at me with a thoughtful expression, his face inches from mine.

"Well, I thought maybe we could grab some breakfast and then go for a walk or something." There's an easy confidence in his voice, like everything in the world could be that simple.

But it isn't. Nothing in my world has ever been simple.

"I-I'm not really hungry," I say, turning my gaze away from him, feeling the familiar unease settle in my stomach. The thought of food fills me with a strange dread, one that I can't shake. He frowns, concern darkening his features.

"Rose, you haven't eaten since dinner," he points out gently, his voice laced with worry. I open my mouth to speak, to offer some excuse, but the words catch in my throat.

He shifts closer, sensing my hesitation. "What is it?" he asks, his tone soft, coaxing.

"I just... I have some problems with eating, that's all," I finally admit, my voice barely more than a whisper. I lower my gaze to my lap, biting my lip, feeling my cheeks heat up with shame. He doesn't need this, doesn't need to bear the brunt of my problems. He probably wants to walk away now; he's saved me from jumping, told me to stand up for myself, what else does he need to do? But instead of walking away, he places a hand on my wrist, and gently lifts my chin up to face him.

"What are they? I'm sure whatever it is, we can help," he says, his wide blue eyes searching mine for answers. Before I can respond, the reality of my situation crashes down around me like an avalanche. I squeeze my eyes closed. They're right, the voices, they nearly always are. I can't stay here, not a moment longer.