HIDDEN (FIGHT OR FLIGHT)

Chapter 2

DAMON'S P. O. V.

How it started, or how I came to be, has always been a haze to me. Memories are fleeting, like fog at dawn—barely there and then gone. But I do remember one thing for sure: my dad. He was there for a brief, shining moment in my life, and then he was taken from me by bad men—the kind that probably left this man lying in the alleyway to die. I’ve learned not to get tangled up in the webs woven by people like them, or anyone, really. Trusting people only leads to pain, and pain is something I’ve had my fill of. So, I needed to take this man out of my hideout before he woke up, before he became another person in the long queue of those who either wanted to kill me because they saw me as an abomination or wanted to use me for some kind of sick experiment. Or worse, those that wanted to sell me off like a prized pig to the highest bidder.

I stood there, staring at the man sprawled out on the floor of my darkened hideout. The feverish glisten of sweat on his brow made him look even more vulnerable. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, each one shuddering as if it might be his last. No matter how beautiful he was, he had to go; this was the best option for me. My safety had to come first before anything else. I made up my mind and leaned in to carry him out of my home, but as I reached down, his hand shot out, clutching my tank top by the neck. His grip was surprisingly strong; he could have choked me if he exerted any more strength, even in his weakened state. He pulled himself closer, mumbling through cracked lips, “It hurts… it hurts so bad… please, stop...make it stop.”

His voice trembled, soft yet laced with the raw edge of fear and agony. At first, my heart leapt into my throat—I thought it was over, that I had been caught. But no, as my mind adjusted, I realized he was lost in the depths of a nightmare. Maybe it was a memory, some festering wound buried deep in his past. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut, and a heavy lump formed in my throat. Sadness washed over me, strange and unexpected, but undeniable. How could someone so strong, so tall and muscular, be this vulnerable?

I couldn’t help but stare at him, captivated by the contradiction. This man, who looked like he could face the world with ease, was now reduced to a trembling figure, fighting unseen demons. And somewhere deep within me, a part of myself I had never acknowledged before, stirred. I wanted to protect him. Not just from his nightmares, but from the cruelty of the world. I wanted to shield him, to be his anchor. It was irrational, dangerous even. This wasn’t part of the plan. I wasn’t supposed to care. Yet my heart betrayed me, its yearning clashing with the logic my mind tried so desperately to impose.

I sighed, the sound barely audible in the quiet of the room, and pushed the thought of sending him away further into the recesses of my mind. A nagging voice told me this was a mistake, that I shouldn’t get involved. But I couldn’t bring myself to listen. My heart was already too far gone. Instead, I reached for a small hand towel, dipping it in the cool water nearby, and gently began wiping his feverish body. The coldness seemed to soothe him, his muscles slowly relaxing under my touch, though his face still held traces of worry, lines etched from years of unseen battles.

I sat beside him, my gaze tracing his features—dark, unruly hair that curled slightly at the edges, a sharp jawline that looked like it was sculpted from stone, broad shoulders that seemed capable of bearing the weight of the world. He was handsome, not in a polished or pristine way, but rugged, raw, like he had lived a thousand lifetimes. Yet here, in the dim light of my hideout, he was just another soul lost to pain. A fleeting thought crossed my mind: Maybe that’s why I couldn’t walk away, why I couldn’t abandon him. Perhaps I recognized a piece of myself in him—broken, weary, and searching for solace.

I didn’t realize how tired I was until my eyes started to droop. I fought to keep them open, but the pull of sleep was too strong. I laid my head down beside the man, his warmth radiating against my skin, and before I knew it, I was slipping into the darkness of my own mind.