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Another pause. He shifted slightly, and I could see him from my peripherals, trying to catch my gaze.

“The truth would be a good start, Noah.”

My jaw tightened.

“Damian—”

“No,” he cut in, firmly. “I’m not going to drag it out of you.”

That surprised me enough to look up.

There was that look again. That disappointment I was so used to. Not convinced. Not satisfied. But… letting it go.

For now.

Damian rubbed a hand over his face, tension slipping through in the motion. I could tell that this was getting to him. For a moment, I was able to see the impact my choices were having on him physically. And it only fueled the hatred I felt for myself.

“Whatever it is,” Damian continued, “We’ll deal with it. But not like this.”

Guilt twisted in my chest.

“I said I’m sorry,” I muttered.

“I heard you.”

Another pause. Then, softer, he added, “I just don’t think that’s all there is.”

I couldn’t respond.

Damian watched me a second longer, like he was weighing whether to push harder. Had he kept pushing, I just might have told him. A huge part of me wanted to.

I was weaker now, and living was hurting like hell.

It wasn’t hard to break down the defenses of someone who was already damaged.

Fractured.

But there was another part inside of me battling against my better nature. The scorned part. It was the child who felt abandoned. The child who knew that no one helped the first time. The child whose mother continued to live with, kiss, and make breakfast for the man who raped him.

I couldn’t push that part of me to tell the truth. The last time I did, it didn’t solve anything. Just tabled the problem. Sedated the monster for nearly a decade behind a façade of white picket fences and fake smiles.

I wondered if Damian ever really understood the severity of what David did to me. Being as young as we were, and so frequently separated, I wondered if he understood just how bad it was.

Maybe he was lied to. Just like me.

Damian let out a brisk sigh, taking me out of my thoughts. By the look on his face, he hadn’t gotten much rest. Maybe he had even waited up for me.

“You look like hell,” he said, shaking his head.

I resisted the brotherly impulse to tell him that the feeling was mutual.

I huffed weakly. “Feel worse.”

“I believe it. And…where the hell are your shoes?”

My head pounded in tandem with my heart. Each throb sounded like his name. Silas’s, I thought bitterly. That’s where my shoes are.

Damian abruptly straightened in his seat, decision settling into him. The irritation in his tone had dulled down, and he was sounding more so like his practical, decision making self.