Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 66062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
“How do you expect to ever get better if you refuse to talk about the cause of your depression?”
“He isn’t the cause of my depression,” Aiden said, acutely aware of how unconvincing he sounded.
Sometimes he almost hated Zain. Hated him for turning him into this miserable, mopey person who craved him like he craved air. Zain had done this to him. It was as though Zain had contaminated him, infected him with a feverish sickness for which he was the only cure. He wanted—needed—Zain close. He wanted his body inside his. He wanted to feel his dark-brown eyes on him. He wanted his arms around him. He wanted to sleep against him, his ear pressed against the steady beat of his heart.
He wanted a lot of things he was never going to have again.
Dr. Richardson gave him a patient look. “Aiden, you can trust me, you know. I’m not going to tell your parents anything you tell me. They might be paying the bills, but I’m here to help you, not them.”
“You want to help me?” Aiden said. “Convince my parents to allow me a fucking phone. That would be a good start.”
Later that evening, Aiden stood outside Dr. Richardson’s office and listened to his parents’ argument with her.
“You were the one who told us not to allow him a phone!” his father said.
“It was my recommendation to limit his access to electronic devices, to make him talk to you. But you pushed him too far. He feels like you’re his jailers, not his parents. Buy him a phone and don’t monitor what he does.”
“But,” his mother said. “He might contact that man if we do it.”
“If he wants to, eventually he’ll find a way to contact him, no matter how many bodyguards you assign to him. By actively forbidding it, you’re only making him resent you instead of making him forget about that man.”
“But what if he does contact him?” his mother said plaintively.
Dr. Richardson sighed. “Frankly, it might actually do Aiden some good. The environment in which he developed his attachment to that man was very unusual. If he talks to him, it might help Aiden realize how far apart their real lives—and their real selves—are. It might give him the closure he needs.”
“But what if contacting that man makes things worse?”
“How?” Dr. Richardson said. “It’s been three months since he was rescued and your son isn’t getting better.” Her voice softened as she added, “I know you feel overprotective after what happened, but Aiden is not a child. The truth is, he lived with the man for nearly a year. While we don’t know what exactly transpired between them, the fact is, at least physically Aiden seems to have been treated well enough. A phone call wouldn’t break him.”
“She’s right,” his father said with a sigh. “I’ll get Aiden a phone.”
True to his word, his dad handed him a brand new iPhone the very next morning.
“Thanks, Dad,” Aiden said before running back upstairs, the box clutched in his hand.
It took him ten minutes to set up his phone, and it still felt like forever.
Once he was done, he stared at it, his body shaking with a terrible mix of excitement, longing, and trepidation.
To make things worse, he wasn’t even sure he would be able to get through to Zain. He hadn’t bothered to memorize his number, and trying to get to Zain through his company’s corporate numbers seemed like an impossible task.
But luckily, Aiden knew a person in the UAE who was easier to get in contact with than Zain was. Salma Abadi owned a prestigious spa and wellness center in Dubai—Aiden recalled Zain mentioning it in passing—and it was easy enough to find it on Google.
It still took Aiden a good twenty minutes before he was finally connected to Salma.
“Hello,” she said. “Who is this?”
Aiden licked his lips. “Hi, you probably don’t remember me—I’m Aiden. We met last year, when Sheikh Zain Rahim visited you—”
The woman chuckled. “Oh, I do remember you. You’re the kid Zain looked at like he couldn’t decide between putting a collar on you and strangling you.”
Aiden flushed. “I—lost Zain’s number. Could you please give it to me?”
“I could,” she said. “But I wouldn’t contact him right now if I were you, in light of recent events.”
“What recent events?” Aiden said, frowning. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t had the opportunity to Google Zain—he could have done it, regardless of his limited access to electronic devices. The truth was… he’d been scared to learn that Zain had easily moved on with his life—that Aiden had never mattered to him as much as Zain mattered to Aiden.
“You haven’t heard? His brother ran away just before his wedding. It’s been a shitstorm. Zain has been breathing fire ever since. The sacrifice he had to make to placate the President would infuriate anyone.” She sighed. “But to be fair, he’s been breathing fire for a few months now, ever since that terrorist attack on his house.”