5. Four

I stepped into the dimly lit cafe, breathing in the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee. Scanning the room, my eyes darted from one shadowy corner to the next, seeking platinum blond hair and tattooed skin.

Eli wasn’t the type to come early, apparently. Or perhaps he wouldn't show at all. I had extended this invitation with ulterior motives. But obtaining his trust, his cooperation, was paramount. If he didn’t show, I’d have to track him down by some other means.

The barista glanced up questioningly as I lingered near the entrance. I flashed her a disarming smile and made my way to a table in the back. Easier to observe. Harder to be overheard.

I settled into the hard wooden chair, drumming my fingers against the scratched tabletop. Unbidden, memories of my short time in the cult surfaced. Packed dirt under my feet. The wet penny scent of blood in the air. Stomach growling, so hungry, always hungry...

No. I clenched my fists, focusing on the bite of nails into flesh, anchoring myself to the present. I was no longer that frightened, powerless child. I would dismantle the Children of the Light piece by piece, using every tool at my disposal—even if that meant exploiting others.

The bell above the cafe door jingled. I glanced up, affecting a casual air even as my pulse quickened. Eli stepped inside, hunched into his oversized hoodie like a turtle retreating into its shell. His gaze darted about the room before settling on me. I raised a hand in greeting, an easy smile on my lips.

He approached, movements tight and wary. “Hi, Shepherd,” he said, a slight nervous edge to his voice as he slid into the seat across from me.

“Eli. It’s good to see you.” I kept my voice warm, soothing. The kind of tone that invited confidences. “Did you have any trouble finding the place?”

A shrug. “Not really.”

I signaled the barista for two coffees before turning my full attention back to Eli. Up close, the shadows under his eyes stood out in stark relief against his pale skin. Exhaustion clung to him like a shroud.

How long since he'd had a decent night's sleep? Since he'd felt a moment of true safety or peace? The protective instinct that rose up caught me off guard in its intensity. I tamped it down. This wasn't about coddling the kid. This was about gathering intel. Means to an end.

Eli fidgeted with the frayed cuff of his hoodie sleeve, his eyes flicking up to meet mine before darting away again.

“So, are you a native to Columbus?” I asked, keeping my tone light even as I studied Eli intently. “Or is home somewhere else?”

His shoulders stiffened slightly before he shrugged. “I’m not native to anywhere. I’ve been all over.”

“How did you wind up in Columbus?”

He shrugged again and popped a bright blue candy into his mouth, pursing his lips afterward. “Random chance, I guess. There are more jobs in the city.”

The barista approached with our coffees, and I thanked her politely. Eli's hands immediately wrapped around his mug as if desperate for the warmth. I took a slow sip of my own, considering my next words carefully. “So, what do you do for a living?”

Eli shifted in his seat, fingers tightening around the mug. “I work part time at McHappy's. And I'm an apprentice at a tattoo shop uptown.”

I nodded, unsurprised. My research into Eli's background had been thorough. “Tattooing sounds like interesting work.”

A hint of genuine enthusiasm lit Eli's eyes. “Yeah, I guess so. I mean, it’s not as cool as running your own club, but I like the idea of creating something meaningful and permanent. Tattoos can be powerful, you know?”

I leaned forward slightly, letting my knee brush against his under the table. Eli twitched but didn't pull away. “There's something compelling about marking the body. Claiming it as a canvas.”

Color rose in Eli's pale cheeks and he dropped his gaze. I suppressed a smile. He was so responsive, so eager to submit, even if he didn't yet realize it.

I let my hand drift across the table, fingertips grazing the back of his wrist. “The ones on your chest I saw last night…are those your designs?”

Eli swallowed hard, his pulse jumping beneath my fingers. “Some of them, yeah. The alien one and the toaster king.” His voice came out slightly hoarse. “I like weird stuff.”

I traced idle patterns on his wrist, savoring the way his breath quickened. “I'd like to see them again sometime. All of them.”

The pink in Eli's cheeks darkened to red. He pulled his hand back, wrapping it once more around his mug like a shield. “I... I don't...” He trailed off, clearly flustered.

I gentled my smile, reeling myself back in. Too much, too soon. Eli was a skittish creature; I needed to coax him out with care and patience.

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I took a measured sip of my coffee, forcing myself to adopt a casual demeanor, though my heart raced beneath the surface.

Eli's shoulders relaxed a fraction. “It's okay,” he mumbled. “I don't usually do this.” He made a vague, awkward gesture. “Dates, I mean. I’ve never actually been on one.”

I tamped down a triumphant smile at Eli's admission. His inexperience, his vulnerability, would make this that much easier.

“You know,” I said, leaning back slightly, “many people find their first relationships to be a little awkward. It’s part of the journey, really. What matters is how we learn and grow from them.”

Eli's shoulders hunched slightly. “I guess so. Relationships seem so complicated. With hookups, it's simple. Purely physical.” His fingers tightened around his mug. “Feelings mess everything up.”

I nodded. “Especially if you've been hurt before.” I let a beat of silence stretch between us before asking casually, “Is that what happened to you?”

His gaze darted to mine, wide and wary, a flicker of something unspoken in his eyes. The silence stretched, thick with tension, as if he were weighing his words against the weight of his past.

I shrugged, taking a sip of my coffee. “You mentioned growing up all over. That kind of rootless childhood can leave scars. Make it hard to form attachments.”

Eli's eyes narrowed slightly, his posture stiffening. “Are you some kind of shrink or something?”

I smiled, unsurprised by his wariness. “I am, actually. A psychologist specializing in sex therapy.” I leaned back in my chair, keeping my body language open and non-threatening. “But let’s set my work aside for now. I want to understand what makes you tick.”

Eli's fingers tapped restlessly against his mug. “Why? What's so interesting about me?”

“Everything,” I said simply. “Your resilience, for one. It takes a lot of strength to survive the kind of upheaval you experienced growing up.”

Eli scoffed, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face before he quickly looked away, as if afraid of what I might see. “I did what I had to do. That's all.”

I hummed thoughtfully. “And that tattoo apprenticeship? That's a recent development, right? What made you decide to pursue it?”

Eli shrugged, still not meeting my eyes. “I don't know. I've always liked art. Thought it would be cool to learn how to do it professionally.”

“It's more than that, though, isn't it?” I pressed gently. “Tattooing is a way of reclaiming your body. Making it yours again, after...” I let my voice trail off, leaving room for him to finish the thought.

Eli’s head snapped up, a flash of anger mingling with something deeper—fear. “After what?” he demanded, his voice tight, as if the question had pulled at a raw nerve. I saw the walls go up around him, the instinct to guard his wounds flaring to life, and it sent a pang of sympathy through me. “Whatever you think you know about me…”

I held his gaze steadily. “I know you've been hurt,” I said quietly. “I know you've survived things no one should have to endure. And I know the marks on your skin are more than ink. They're armor. A way to rewrite the narrative of what happened to you.”

Eli's breath hitched, his fingers clenching into fists on the tabletop. For a long moment, he stared at me, jaw working as if he were physically biting back words.

Then, abruptly, he shoved his chair back and stood. “I have to go,” he muttered, refusing to meet my eyes. “This was a mistake.”

“Eli.” I stayed seated, but let a thread of dominance wind through my voice. “Sit down. Please.”

He wavered, body poised for flight. I could practically see the war waging behind his eyes—the desperate desire to flee wrestling with the instinctive urge to obey. To submit.

After a long, tense moment, he sank slowly back into his chair. His hands twisted together anxiously in his lap, shoulders hunched as if bracing for a blow.

“I'm not going to hurt you,” I said quietly. “And I'm not going to force you to talk about anything you don't want to. But I need you to listen carefully to what I'm about to say.”

Eli gave a jerky nod, still not raising his eyes from where they were fixed on the tabletop.

“I know you're scared,” I said, my voice low but firm. “And I understand why you might feel that way. You've been hurt, you've been used, and you're scared of letting anyone in. But you don’t have to keep fighting. Not with me. I’m not here to hurt you; I’m here to help you heal.”

Eli swallowed, the tension in his body so tangible I could almost feel it vibrating through the air. He remained silent, but his restless fingers continued their nervous twisting, betraying the storm of thoughts in his head.

“I’m not going to push you, Eli,” I continued, keeping my tone soft, coaxing. “But I want you to think about something. All that pain, all the fear you’ve carried for so long—it’s not your fault. You don’t deserve to be stuck in survival mode forever.”

Eli's eyes flickered to mine, uncertainty written in every line of his face. “You...you don’t know me.”

I leaned forward, bridging the space between us slightly. “I know more than you think. I know what it’s like to feel powerless, like you're nothing more than a tool for someone else’s desires. I know the marks they leave behind, inside and out.”

His jaw clenched, but I could see the cracks forming, the way his walls were slowly crumbling under the weight of his emotions.

I held my hands up, palms open. “You have the power to walk out that door right now, and I won’t stop you. But if you choose to stay—if you can find it in yourself to trust me—what I offer goes beyond mere survival. I can help you reclaim your life, piece by piece.”

The struggle behind his eyes deepened, his breath quickening. I could see his instinct to run, the same instinct that had kept him alive this long. But beneath that, I saw the flicker of something else—something raw, fragile, and yearning for a way out.

His fingers gradually loosened in his lap. When he finally met my gaze, the fury that had lit his eyes flickered, giving way to something far more vulnerable—despair cloaked in confusion. “Why would you help me?”

“Because I’ve been where you are,” I said softly. “And no one should have to go through it alone.”

Silence stretched between us, thick with tension, but also with the fragile thread of understanding. Eli looked away, his lips pressed into a thin line as he absorbed my words.

“You don’t have to decide anything right now,” I added gently, sensing that he was on the edge of a decision. “But I’m here. If you need me.”

I leaned back slightly, giving him space, watching carefully for his next move. His shoulders relaxed, and his breathing steadied.

“I…” He hesitated, biting his lip. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” I reassured him. “Take your time.”

Eli stared into his coffee cup, the silence between us settling into something less hostile, more contemplative. He was still guarded, but the hard edge of his resistance had dulled. I could see it—he was beginning to trust me, to open himself up, even if he wasn’t fully aware of it yet.

And that was exactly where I needed him to be.

Eli stared into his coffee, the tension in his body slowly unraveling as my words sank in. I let the silence stretch, giving him room to process, to reflect. Pressuring him too much now would send him running again.

Eli looked down at his hands, fidgeting with the hem of his shirt. “I’ve never had anyone say stuff like that to me before,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. He traced the rim of his cup with his finger, not meeting my gaze. “Most people just... leave.”

There it was. The abandonment, the loneliness. I filed it away. Another crack in the armor.

I leaned in. “People can be cruel, Eli. They get scared of what they don’t understand.”

He bit his lip, his expression troubled. “Yeah... I guess.”

I watched him carefully, noting the way his eyes flicked toward the door, still calculating an escape even as his body softened into the conversation. He was like a skittish animal, inching closer to something he wanted, but was still too afraid to take.

“Do you want to talk about what happened to you?” I prompted gently.

Eli hesitated, his hand tightening around the coffee mug again. “I don’t know. It’s... complicated. I’ve been through a lot.” He glanced up at me briefly before looking away again. “I don’t even know where to start.”

I gave a small, encouraging nod. “Start wherever you want.”

He drew in a shaky breath, his fingers still fidgeting, and finally looked at me. “It’s not just the moving around.” His voice was low, filled with a kind of weariness that came from years of carrying too much. “I wasn’t safe. Ever.”

That was the opening I had been waiting for. I leaned forward slightly, my tone staying calm but filled with empathy. “I’m sorry you had to live like that, Eli.”

He swallowed hard, his throat bobbing with the effort. “It wasn’t my choice, obviously. But...it’s hard to get away from stuff like that. It stays with you. Even when you think you're free, it’s always... there.”

I nodded, letting him know I understood. “Trauma can be like that. It lingers, even when you're no longer in danger. But you don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

His eyes flickered with uncertainty, but also something else—hope, perhaps? He wanted to believe me. He wanted to believe someone could share his burden, even if he didn’t fully trust it yet.

“And that brand you carry,” I added gently, “that’s a reminder, isn’t it? A reminder of what you’ve survived.”

His head jerked up in surprise, eyes wide. For a moment, he looked like he might shut down again, pull away. But then, almost imperceptibly, he nodded. “Yeah...you could say that.”

“You don’t have to explain it all now,” I said softly, sensing how close I was to breaking through. “But if you ever want to talk about it—about what you’ve been through—I’ll be here to listen. No pressure, no judgment. Just... support.”

Eli looked at me for a long moment, his gaze searching mine, as if trying to find the catch, the trap. But he wouldn’t find one. Not overtly, anyway. The more I played this carefully, the more he would come to rely on me without realizing how deeply he was being ensnared.

He finally gave a small, tentative nod. “Maybe... sometime. But not right now.”

“That’s perfectly fine.” I smiled softly, backing off enough to keep him comfortable. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Eli gave a tired smile in return, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Thanks, Shepherd.”

I could feel the shift happening, the slow unraveling of the walls he’d built around himself. This wouldn’t happen overnight, but the process had started. A few more carefully placed conversations like this, and he would trust me completely. Then, he would give me what I needed—answers about the cult. And maybe more than that.

But for now, I would let him think he was in control. After all, trust was the foundation of every manipulation.

I leaned back in my chair, allowing a thoughtful silence to hang between us for a moment. Eli's eyes were still wary, but there was a flicker of curiosity there too, a hesitant openness. I knew I needed to tread carefully, to offer just enough vulnerability to draw him in without revealing too much.

“You know,” I began, my tone measured and reflective, “I understand what it's like to feel unsafe. To carry scars that no one else can see.”

Eli's gaze sharpened, his body stilling. “You do?”

I nodded slowly, as if the admission pained me. “When I was a child, my family got involved with a cult.” I paused, letting out a heavy sigh. “They believed in harsh discipline, in breaking the will of children to make them obedient. I experienced things there that no child should ever have to endure.”

Eli leaned forward slightly, his brow furrowed. “What kind of things?”

I shook my head, looking away as if overcome by dark memories. “Deprivation. Isolation. Physical punishment. They convinced my parents it was necessary for our spiritual growth. Of course, it was really about control. Manipulation. Stripping away our sense of self.”

The story I was feeding him was only half true, but he didn’t need the truth. This wasn’t about truth. It was about getting the information I needed from him, one way or another, and he’d be far more likely to give me what I wanted if he felt we had a deeper connection.

Eli swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around his coffee mug. “How...how did you get out?”

I met Eli's gaze, letting some of the old pain show in my eyes. “It wasn't easy. The cult had their hooks in my whole family. Especially my sister.”

I paused, my jaw clenching at the memory. “When I started to question things, to rebel in my own small ways, they came down on me hard. More discipline. More brainwashing. They tried to break me.”

Eli was watching me intently now, his own posture tense. “But they didn't.”

“No,” I agreed quietly. “They didn't. But it took years for me to find the strength to leave. To break free of their control, both physically and mentally. And even then, I couldn't save my sister. She was too far gone.”

Eli's eyes flickered with something like recognition, and I knew I had struck a chord. He understood that sense of helplessness, of watching someone you love slip away into the grip of manipulation.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly. “That you had to go through that. That your sister did.”

I nodded in acknowledgment, letting the moment hang between us, heavy with shared pain. “It's why I became a psychiatrist, you know. I never want anyone to feel as alone and powerless as I did back then.”

Eli's gaze dropped to his hands, his fingers tightening around the coffee mug. “I get that,” he murmured. “Wanting to help others who've been through hell. To make some kind of sense out of the senseless shit you experienced.”

I leaned forward slightly, my voice low and earnest. “Is that why you want to be a tattoo artist? To help others reclaim their bodies, their stories?”

Eli's head jerked up, surprise flickering across his face before he quickly shuttered his expression. “I... I don't know. Maybe. I never thought about it like that.”

“Trauma has a way of shaping us,” I said gently. “Even when we don't realize it. The choices we make, the paths we take, are often a response to the pain we carry. An attempt to regain some control.”

Eli swallowed hard, his gaze skittering away from mine. “Yeah. I guess so.”

I let the silence stretch between us for a moment, giving him space to process. Then, quietly: “Eli. Look at me.”

He hesitated, but after a beat, he dragged his eyes back to mine. The wariness was still there, but it was now edged with a fragile sort of curiosity. A tentative hope.

I held his gaze steadily. “You're not alone anymore. I know we don't know each other well yet, but I want you to know that I’m here to support you in any way you need.”

Eli's eyes searched mine, uncertainty warring with a fragile glimmer of hope. “I... I appreciate that, Shepherd. But I'm not sure what you think you can do for me. My problems aren't exactly the kind that can be fixed with a few therapy sessions.”

I leaned back slightly, giving him space while still holding his gaze. “I'm not offering to fix you, Eli. I don't think you're broken. What I'm offering is understanding. Support. A safe place to unpack some of what you've been through, without fear of judgment.”

He looked away, fingers restlessly tracing the tattoos on his forearms. “And what do you get out of it? People don't offer something for nothing.”

Smart kid. Wary, but perceptive. I let a small, rueful smile touch my lips. “You're right. I do have an ulterior motive.” I paused, letting the admission hang in the air between us. “The truth is, I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met at the club. There's something about you, Eli. Something that draws me in.”

A faint flush stained his pale cheeks, but he still wouldn't meet my eyes. “So what, this is some kind of fucked up savior complex? You want to swoop in and rescue the poor, damaged kid?”

“No,” I said firmly. “I don't see you as someone who needs rescuing. I see a young man who has been through hell and come out the other side. Someone with incredible strength and resilience, even if he doesn't fully recognize it in himself yet.”

Eli's fingers stilled on his tattoos, but he still wouldn't look at me. “You don't know me.”

“You're right,” I agreed. “I don't know everything about you. But I'd like to, if you'll let me. I'm not offering to be your savior, Eli. I'm offering to be your guide. Your mentor.” I paused, letting the implication hang in the air between us. “Your dom.”

His head snapped up at that, eyes wide and startled. “What?”

I leaned forward. “I saw how you reacted to me at the club. How desperate you were to please me, even in that brief encounter. You have a deep need to submit, to give yourself over to someone else's control.”

Eli swallowed hard, a mix of fear and longing flickering in his eyes. “I don't... I can't...”

“Yes, you can,” I said firmly. “You're afraid. Afraid of your own desires. Afraid of what it might mean to truly let go.” I reached across the table, slowly so as not to startle him, and laid my hand over his.

Eli’s hand twitched beneath mine, but he didn’t pull away. His breath hitched slightly, his gaze still wide and startled. I could feel the conflict rolling off him—the fear, the yearning, the hesitation.

“You’re not alone in this, Eli,” I said softly, my voice threading through the tension between us. “I’ll be here, guiding you. I’ll help you embrace what you’ve been running from.”

His eyes flickered, panic rising to the surface again. For a moment, I thought he might bolt, pull his hand away, make some excuse to leave. But instead, he sat there, frozen in place, his fingers trembling under my touch.

“I’m not asking you to decide anything right now,” I continued, my tone steady, soothing. “Think about it. Let it settle in. And when you’re ready, you’ll know where to find me.”

Eli swallowed hard, his throat bobbing. His eyes dropped to the table, his voice barely a whisper. “I... I don’t know if I can trust you.”

I squeezed his hand gently, then released him, leaning back in my chair to give him space. “That’s okay. Trust takes time.” I offered a small smile. “Take all the time you need.”

He looked at me, uncertainty written all over his face, but there was something else there, too. Something deeper. Something I could use.

Eli stood abruptly, nearly knocking over his chair in his haste. “I should go. I have a shift at McHappy’s in a few hours.”

I nodded slowly, keeping my expression calm. “I’ll see you soon.”

Without another word, he turned and left, his steps hurried, but his gaze lingered on me one last time before the door closed behind him.

I watched him go, the corner of my mouth curving up.

He would be back, and next time, he’d give me everything I asked for and more.