Page 7 of UnTrained: Volume Two
When I step out of the shower, I wrap myself in a thick towel, patting my skin dry with gentle care. I select a pair of soft cotton pajama pants and a loose t-shirt—comfortable clothes that feel like me, not the revealing outfits they forced us to wear at the facility.
I brush my hair, watching droplets of water darken the fabric of my shirt. My hands move automatically, performing this simple task that connects me to the woman I used to be. The woman who got ready for bed without fear, who didn't flinch at shadows or startle at unexpected sounds.
When I emerge from the bathroom, Aiden is sitting on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He looks up when I enter, his eyes moving over me in a way that doesn't feel invasive but appreciative.
"Better?" he asks.
I nod. "Yes, Sir."
"Come here," he says, patting the space next to him on the couch.
I hesitate for a moment, then move to the couch, sitting close enough to feel his warmth but not quite touching. My body still hums with a strange energy—part tension, part something else I'm afraid to name.
"How does it feel," he asks, "to make your own choices again? Even something as simple as what to wear?"
The question catches me off guard. I stare down at my hands, considering. "Strange," I admit. "Sometimes I stand in front of my closet and can't decide. There are too many options after having none."
Aiden nods, his expression thoughtful. "That's normal. Freedom can be overwhelming after captivity."
"Is that why this feels... good?" I gesture vaguely between us. "Having someone else make decisions for me again?"
"Partly," he says. "But there's a crucial difference. You chose this. You can end it with a word." His hand moves to rest beside mine on the couch, not quite touching. "That's what makes it healing rather than harmful."
I let his words sink in, feeling their truth resonate through me. This is nothing like the facility. There, my submission was taken. Here, I'm giving it freely. The difference feels monumental, like comparing drowning to swimming.
"What happens now?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
7
Aiden's fingers brush against mine, a touch so light I might have imagined it. "Now, I'd like you to tell me about your day. Not what happened at the facility, but today. What you did, what you thought about."
Such a simple request, but it catches me off guard. No one has asked about my day since I returned. The therapists, the police—they all want to know about before, about the trauma. No one seems interested in the mundane details of my attempts to reclaim normalcy.
"I..." I hesitate, trying to remember what I did before I called him. "I made coffee this morning. Too strong at first, so I had to add more water." The memory feels small, insignificant, but Aiden nods encouragingly. "I tried to read, but I couldn't focus. I kept looking at the same paragraph over and over. I fed Mochi, though he still won't let me pet him. I'm trying not to take it personally." The words flow easier now, these small details of an ordinary life I'm trying to rebuild.
"I stood in front of the school building for almost an hour," I confess, my voice dropping. "I couldn't make myself go inside. I'm supposed to start back next week, but I don't know if I can do it."
Aiden listens without interrupting, his eyes never leaving my face. There's something healing about being truly heard, about having someone witness these small struggles without trying to fix them.
"The children," I continue, my voice catching. "They'll have questions about where I've been. I don't know what to tell them."
"The truth isn't always necessary," Aiden says gently. "Sometimes a simplified version is enough."
I nod, grateful for the permission to keep my trauma private. The thought of facing those innocent faces, of trying to explain my absence in terms they could understand—it's overwhelming.
"Now," Aiden says, his voice shifting slightly, taking on that commanding edge that makes me instinctively straighten my spine. "Tell me what you need most right now."
The question catches me off guard. What do I need? For months, my needs were irrelevant. I existed to serve, to obey, to endure. Having someone ask about my needs feels almost revolutionary.
"I don't know," I whisper, then seeing the slight frown that crosses his face, I try again. "I need... to feel safe. To feel like I belong in my own skin again."
Aiden nods, his expression softening. "Come here," he says, opening his arms.
I hesitate, my heart pounding against my ribs. Physical contact still feels dangerous, a prelude to pain. But this is Aiden, notthem. I edge closer, allowing him to guide me against his chest. His arms encircle me, firm but not constraining.
"You can leave anytime," he murmurs against my hair. "Just say the word."
But I don't want to leave. His heartbeat thrums steady beneath my ear, his chest rising and falling with each breath. The solid warmth of him grounds me in a way nothing else has since my return.
