We'd deal with the trauma tomorrow. Deal with the aftermath. Deal with healing.
Tonight, I was just grateful to be alive. Grateful to be safe. Grateful to be in Elio's arms where I belonged.
Tomorrow would bring challenges. Nightmares, probably. Trauma processing. Recovery.
But tonight, I was safe.
CHAPTER 20: ELIO
ONE MONTH AFTERDante Caruso's death, I sat in my car outside Dr. Pavel Stoyanov's office and waited for Julian.
This had become our routine. Three times a week, I drove Julian to therapy. Waited in the car or walked the neighborhood. Picked him up when he was done. Drove him home. Didn't ask questions unless he wanted to talk.
Some days he came out looking lighter. Unburdened. Ready to share insights or progress.
Other days he came out exhausted. Wrung out. Needing silence and space.
Today looked like a good day. Julian emerged from the building with shoulders straight instead of hunched. Face calm instead of strained. He got in the car and actually smiled.
"Good session?" I asked.
"Really good. Pavel helped me work through some things about agency and control. About reclaiming parts of myself." He buckled his seatbelt. "I feel... lighter. Does that make sense?"
"Completely."
"He says I'm making excellent progress. The nightmares are decreasing. I'm processing the trauma in healthy ways. Still a long road ahead but—I'm getting there."
Pride swelled in my chest. "You're doing incredible work. I'm proud of you."
"Thank you for being patient with me. For not pushing. For just—being there."
"Always. That's not changing." I started driving toward our apartment. "What do you want for dinner?"
"Can we cook? I feel like doing something normal. Domestic. Just us."
"Sounds perfect."
The past month had been hard. Harder than anything I'd experienced. Watching Julian struggle with trauma. Watching him wake screaming from nightmares. Watching him flinch at sudden movements or loud noises. Watching him fight to reclaim the confidence and strength Dante had tried to destroy.
But I'd also watched him heal. Watched him get stronger day by day. Watched him refuse to let trauma define him. Watched him choose to survive instead of just exist.
His resilience amazed me. His determination to not be broken. His commitment to healing instead of hiding.
I'd made changes too. Increased security—but carefully. Trying not to smother him. Trying to find balance between protection and freedom.
Julian had gone back to work after two weeks. Helping with the corporate restructuring. Reviewing legal documents. Contributing his skills. But with accommodations. Flexible hours. Ability to leave if things got overwhelming. Security always nearby but discreet.
Our relationship had changed. Deepened. We'd been through crisis and trauma and come out stronger. More connected. More honest. More committed.
We were partners in the truest sense. Equal. Trusting. Supporting each other through healing.
At the apartment, we cooked pasta together. Something simple. Normal. Just two people making dinner.
Julian chopped vegetables. I handled the sauce. We moved around the kitchen in comfortable synchronization. Talking about nothing important. Just existing together peacefully.
"Pavel wants me to work on reclaiming intimacy," Julian said while stirring the pasta. "Says it's important that I don't let trauma create barriers with you. That I actively choose connection instead of letting fear dictate my physical relationship."
I kept my voice careful. Neutral. "That makes sense. But there's no pressure. We move at whatever pace feels right for you."
