Chapter 17

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"P-please, let me g-go home," Calum sobbed, leaning against the door that led to the backyard.

It was Michael's turn to stay home and watch Calum. The three had been taking turns, always leaving at least one person home with the curly haired captive. They all worked 3 twelve hour shifts a week, so there was plenty of time to look after him, they made it work so there was always someone home.

Calum had taken to attempting to escape when he thought no one was looking. He should have known someone was always watching him, but he was confused and vulnerable, so he took the chance when he thought he could.

He felt pathetic. He was being locked in a house by people he thought were his friends, people he felt attracted to, but they also were being confusing.

He couldn't believe he was trapped with murderers. He was disgusted that Ashton—someone he'd always admired despite his occasional bad attitude—had such a dark secret he'd hidden so well. Calum had thought something was a little off about him when they'd met, but he'd placed it as his general grumpiness. He never would have thought it would be something like that.

"I don't w-want to-to st-st-stay h-here," he choked on his tears, unable to take a deep breath. He spluttered, spit hanging off his chin as he collapsed against the door, physically unable to keep himself upright anymore.

"Cal, baby, you need to calm down. You're going to make yourself sick," Michael winced, watching him fall apart as he sat opposite him on the floor.

He hated it, he hated that Calum reacted this strongly to what they were doing. All they were doing was helping, he knew eventually Calum would see, but right now it was torture watching him war with himself.

"Take some deep breaths, Cal, okay? You're going to be all right. I made you some tea, why don't you sit up and drink it?" Michael pushed the mug closer to him, not close enough that he would hit into it if he fell over, but close enough that he could reach if he tried.

Michael knew when Calum worked himself up like this, any touch from one of them was like a lightning strike. He would scream, cry, and make himself worse. All Michael could do was try to comfort him with words until he tired himself out and they could go sit on the couch together.

Calum, still breathing erratically, pushed himself up so his back was against the door and drew his knees to his chest, arms wrapped around his legs and head resting on his knees. Michael knew it was the wrong moment, but he thought the boy looked so cute and small, and he just wanted to hug him and kiss him and love him, but he knew Calum wasn't ready yet.

Once he'd stopped sobbing, Michael asked, "Do you want anything to eat, Cal? You haven't eaten all day and it's almost 7," Calum shook his head as best as he could.

Michael sighed, sitting down on the floor a bit away from Calum. Michael had let him have a moment alone in the den, where he'd been lying on the couch, curled up and not moving. He went to the kitchen to get himself a drink, but he saw movement from the corner of his eye and saw Calum bolt. He found him desperately looking for a way to unlock the door, but all of the exits had been replaced with locks that needed keys to be opened from the inside as well as outside. All the windows were bolted shut. They couldn't risk him leaving.

"Cal, I know this is hard on you, but I swear we aren't bad people."

Calum didn't respond, and his even breathing showed Michael that he'd finally fallen asleep. With a sigh, he picked the smaller man up, cradling him against his chest as he took him to the living room. He placed him gently on the couch, draping a blanket over him and adjusting the pillow under his head. He sat on the other side, sending a quick text to Ashton and Luke, updating them on what happened the last hour.

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