Page 16 of The Chamber
“Name’s Jeremiah,” the stranger said, his voice surprisingly soothing. It was like a gentle caress against the raw edges of Kenneth's frayed nerves.
“You’re new here, aren’t you?”
“Y-yeah,” Kenneth stammered, his gaze lingering on Jeremiah’s chiseled jawline. “I’m Kenneth.”
He swallowed hard, trying to focus on anything other than the tingling heat that began to spread through his body at the sight of the strikingly handsome man.
Jeremiah's eyes, somber and wise, fixed on Kenneth. “Welcome to Richard’s version of hell.”
He sighed, his eyes narrowing as he studied the war veteran’s scarred form. “If I could hazard a guess, I’ll bet you weren’t expecting all of this when Richard lured you with his little hook and line act.”
“Nothing could have prepared me for this,” Kenneth admitted, his voice barely a whisper. Despite the unease that gripped him, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jeremiah’s sensual lips, which curled into a small, knowing smile as if sensing Kenneth’s unspoken thoughts.
“Stick with me,” Jeremiah said, reaching out and taking Kenneth’s hand. “I’ll help you through this bastard’s game. Your dreams and mine must cross somehow.” The warmth and strength emanating from his palm sent a shiver down Kenneth’s spine, igniting a spark of hope amid despair.
Jeremiah’s eyes, reflecting the dim light that barely penetrated the darkness of the Chamber, held a depth of understanding that Kenneth couldn’t quite fathom. He nodded slowly, acknowledging their shared predicament with silent trust.
“Used to be an athlete,” Jeremiah revealed, running his fingers along the jagged scars that adorned his arms and torso. “I was pretty good before I wound up here.”
“What sport did you play?”
“I was a skier—downhill. Got busted up one too many times on the slopes, and I couldn’t shake the fear that it would all happen again—couldn’t even strap on a pair of skis without getting the shakes. I turned to all sorts of ridiculous ideas to cure myself, self-medication mostly, and then—Richard.”
“Guess we’ve all got our battle scars,” Kenneth muttered, his fingers instinctively tracing the marks left by his own tortured history.
“Seems that way,” Jeremiah agreed, allowing a small, rueful smile to cross his lips. “We’ll need each other to survive this place, Kenneth. But I think we can do it.”
“I was a soldier,” Kenneth stated, and the words hung like a cloud in the dimly lit air.
The conviction in Jeremiah’s voice steeled Kenneth’s resolve. He wasn’t alone, and he sensed a mutual understanding—at least Richard must have thought one existed. Kenneth knew he wouldn’t have thrown him in with Jeremiah randomly.
“Alright,” Kenneth breathed, steeling himself for the challenges ahead. “Let’s do this together.”
“Good,” Jeremiah replied, his tone resolute. “Just remember, trust your instincts, and lean on me when you need to. We’re stronger as a team.”
As they continued through the treacherous labyrinth, Kenneth wrinkled his nose at the stench of rotting flesh.
He focused on Jeremiah to avoid concentrating on the surroundings. He couldn’t shake the thought that their partnership could go beyond mere survival. They’d already forged an unspoken connection fueled by mutual attraction and the knowledge that they needed each other to endure the harrowing trials ahead.
Kenneth’s eyes lingered on the sinewy muscles that rippled beneath Jeremiah’s taut skin as they navigated the Chamber’s dank corridors. He found himself drawn to how Jeremiah moved—with purpose and quiet grace that highlighted his athletic background.
Kenneth admired how the soft light cast shadows across the contours of Jeremiah’s face, and a wave of brown curls fell over his forehead, pointing to the determination in his eyes.
He felt conflict inside over his intimate relationship with Michael, but when those thoughts appeared, Kenneth wondered whether he would ever see Michael again. The outside world was so far away. The Chamber was quickly becoming his new reality.
“Stay close,” Jeremiah whispered, his voice low and soothing. “Traps are everywhere here. They want to tear us down, but you already know that.”
Kenneth nodded, feeling a mixture of gratitude and something more—an inexplicable connection that went beyond their shared circumstances.
“Have they told you about the Battle yet?” Jeremiah asked, his expression guarded.
“No, what’s that?” Kenneth asked.
“Once a month, they pit us against one another in a vicious contest,” Jeremiah explained, his voice heavy with disdain. “It’s a sick game for the amusement of our captors.”
“Once a month? How long have you been here?”
“I—I don’t know anymore,” admitted Jeremiah.