Bren's words echoed in my mind,'You're Diablos. My brother Diablos. Don't be ashamed, and don't hide your struggles from me. Don’t let the pain fester in you till you can’t breathe anymore. I’m here for you.’
“Dagon?”
“Yes, love?”
“I want to find a psychologist when we get home and start therapy."
The words were out before I could weigh them. They had been sitting in my mouth since the bathroom floor. Probably longer. Probably since the day my father called me Diablos for the hundredth time and I realized I had started to believe him.
Dagon went still.
I felt the bond thread go taut, not from worry. From attention. He was listening with his whole body.
"I've never done it before," I said, quieter. "Not therapy. Not seriously. I tried twice in college and quit both times, because the moment they asked me to do something hard, I bolted, and mostly because I didn't feel safe with them. I didn't trust them. I told myself I didn't need it. That I could manage on my own. That this was my curse I needed to bear. That telling someone the real shape of what was in my head would make me a monster in their eyes."
I swallowed.
"I don't think I can manage on my own anymore. I don't want to. I want to actually try. I want to learn how to live with this instead of just survive it. And I want to do that work because… because there's something now that's worth doing the work for."
I looked up at him.
"You. Us. The version of me you've been telling me exists.I want to meet that version of me.I want to know him."
Dagon's eyes were wet.
He didn't say anything for a long moment. He just took both my hands in his and pressed his forehead against mine.
"Then that's what we will do," he whispered."If you want me, I can ask Andras to recommend someone."
"That would be good, yeah."
"And Dagon," I added. "About what we talk in the therapy, I want to share some of it with you. Not all of it. Some things might need to stay just for me and the therapist. Is that okay?"
"That's exactly okay," he said immediately. "Your head stays yours. Your healing stays yours. I'm here for whatever you want to share, and I'm here for what you want to keep. Both are right."
The bond went warm. The kind of warm that meant yes, this is the version of us I want.
"I'll be there for you every step. And when you just want to curl up with your books, I'll be right there."
"You won't read with me?" I teased, voice playful despite the fears.
"Fine, sometimes."
"If you're not the perfect boyfriend, I don't know who is."
"Well, your perfect boyfriend needs to pack. But first, dinner?"
“Sounds perfect to me.”
He turned toward the kitchen.
I stayed where I was for one more breath. The sky was beginning to dim into evening over Adam's woods. Somewhere in that direction, in a house I had grown up in, my father was waiting. He didn't know yet what his son had become. He didn't know about the pledge or the bow or the eyes that shimmered gold-red when I was angry or feeling a strong emotion. He didn't know that the boy whose palm he cut did bond to an infernal-celestial object and pledged that object and his soul to Hell. He didn't know his other son had been all along a demon.
He would know soon.
Today we packed. Tomorrow we drove.
And then, then we went home and revealed the truth.
