Page 125 of Deviant Need

“I think I need to see a trauma specialist or something,” I say. The words feel weird in my mouth, but I force them out anyway. “Someone who could help me process all of this.”

“You would do that?”

“I mean, I don’t know how it works when I can’t even talk to anyone but you, but you could come with me. Would you do that?”

“Of course, Danya. Anything.”

I hold back the words that this is for him as much as it’s for me. He needs someone to talk to about his problems, even if he doesn’t see it yet. If he goes thinking it’s all about helping me, maybe he’ll figure out along the way that he needs it too. What he’s been through has been so much worse than anything the rest of us dealt with.

“I really miss you, by the way,” he says, groaning. “I haven’t had an orgasm since the day of the event.”

I huff out a breath. “Same.”

“Maybe later when you feel better.”

I shoot him a look. I’m exhausted. I need at least a month of sleep before I can function like a normal person again.

“Do you want to ask the rest of the questions you had me write down later?” he asks.

“No.”

“Danya—”

“I heard enough. I’m done with that part of myself. She gave me what I needed to know, and I don’t want to dig any deeper. The only thing that mattered was whether anyone from back then was still alive, and she said they’re all dead. So I need to move on now. We got the answers though, thank you for not giving up on helping me find them.”

“Are you sure?”

Nodding, I glance around the room. The walls are white and sterile, and I hate it. Once we’re both feeling better, maybe we can paint them, make everything brighter and more alive in here. Turn this place into something that actually feels like home instead of another pristine cage. We could get dogs too.

“Can we paint the walls?” I ask.

“Whatever you want,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down to rest on my hip. “We can make it look however you want. This is our place now.”

He kisses my neck and tightens his arms around me. I sigh in relief. My eyes are already closing before I can think about fighting it.

Chapter 30

Mikhail

Yulian rubs his head and glares at me from his seat. Alexei and Kelly sit next to him, Lev beside them. They all showed up because apparently we need to decide who’s taking over now that our father is unfortunately dead.

It’s not going to be me. Fuck that. I’ll end up bald like Lev from the stress, and I happen to like my hair, thank you very much. Even though it’s buzzed, but that’s only because Daniil likes the texture when he runs his fingers through it.

I’m going stir crazy being stuck at home, and I painted our bedroom purple for Daniil yesterday. Spent hours doing it, made sure the coverage was perfect, no streaks or uneven patches.

He was so happy when he came back from the physical therapist. His whole face lit up, and he dragged me in there just to stand in the middle of the room and stare at the walls. He kept smiling at me like I’d given him something incredible instead of just slapping some paint on drywall.

He’s been going to PT a few times a week for the past two weeks now. He’s getting stronger, moving better, eating normally again.

He lost so much weight after the shooting that his clothes hung off him, and I could see his ribs when he changed shirts. But he’s gaining it back slowly. He can walk without getting winded now, can lift things without wincing, can shower without needing help. That’s progress.

We’ve both been seeing the specialist Daniil found. Dr. Reyes, some woman who works with people who’ve been through the kind of hell we have. She doesn’t push too hard, and she lets me pace around her office when I can’t sit still, which helps more than I thought it would.

He’s been opening up in sessions, writing down his thoughts and handing them to her since he can’t talk to her. I’ve been trying to listen when she explains how trauma works, how it affects people differently, how our brains process fucked-up experiences. Trying being the key word here. My brain doesn’t exactly cooperate with sitting still and absorbing information, but I’m making an effort. I think that counts as personal growth or whatever.

As for me outside of therapy, I don’t know. I’m taking it day by day.

Some days are better than others. Some days I wake up and feel okay, and other days I wake up and want to tear my own skin off because everything feels wrong.