Page 79 of Fallen Rook

Rubbing my forehead, I asked, “What does it feel like?”

“What do you mean?”

“A PTSD episode.”

“It feels…like you’re on the edge of a cliff, and you have to do whatever it takes not to fall. In that moment, nothing matters other than the voices in your head, and ninety-nine percent of the time they tell you to do something you know is destructive.”

I rubbed my lips with my fingers and stared at the wall. Something clicked in my brain.

I felt like this. All the time.

I had PTSD episodes.

I had PTSD.

From my homophobic, abusive father who’d taught me how to kill, how to maim, how to torture, and how to hate myself.

From a family that demanded the complete destruction of my soul if I wanted to fit in.

From anxiety so acute, I now dealt with flare-ups pretty much year-round.

I too ran to a place inside my head that told me destructive things. And those things were to scratch my skin until it bled.

“Enzo?” Tom peered into my face. “I really am sorry. I promise you I’m clean. I haven’t been with anyone since my last health bill. I’ve ruined your first time. I—”

“Why didn’t you tell me you were moving to Chicago?” I blurted out.

I was tired of talking about what happened. Especially because I secretly loved it. Being manhandled, grappled, bossed around, spanked. It didn’t excuse his behavior, but digging into it felt too raw right now.

“What?” He scowled. “Who told you that?”

“You know I can’t discuss it with you.” I took a swig of my Coke. “When are you moving?”

“I’m not. Their bureau sent out a request, but I turned down the offer.”

Satisfaction fluttered behind my breastbone. My first drugging hit of this thing called hope.

“Why?”

“My grandmother. Iris. Silas. Lots of reasons.” He stopped, searching my face. “Fuck,” he muttered. “I don’t know that I can ever look at your face again and not see what I did to you flashing over your eyes.”

Rage simmered beneath my skin. Did he want me to reassure him I was okay? And why couldn’t he fucking admit that he liked me? That I was one of the reasons he wanted to stay?

“I’ll be fine,” I clipped out.

“I hurt you,” he breathed.

“It was my choice. You asked me to leave. Several times. Would you have stopped if I asked you to?”

“Of course.”

“You said you weren’t in control of your body.”

“I’d have injured myself if it meant sparing you.”

I believed him. “Are you gonna admit that you’re staying here because of me?”

He gave me a look imploring me to leave him the fuck alone.