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"Mmm." Dr. Singh puts his journal aside and grabs a tissue box, handing it to me. I laugh harder, more tears falling down my cheeks. A sob vibrates in my chest. "You're being awfully hard on yourself for someone who has gone through what you have."
I sink further into the chair, wiping a tissue over my face.
"You're a good person, Casey. Give yourself a little grace. A little patience. You deserve it."
"Do I?"
Dr. Singh frowns. "Why wouldn't you?"
I drop my gaze to the Army logo on my chest, shame burning through my veins. My voice is tight when I admit, "I didn't fight."
"Fight who?"
"Any of them." I curl my hands into fists inside the too-long sleeves of the sweatshirt, wishing I could disappear inside it. Wishing Jake was here so I could disappear in him instead. Just curl up in his arms and drown in him until everything falls away. "My dad taught me that it was important to stay calm in situations like that. To watch and wait until I had a moment where I could act in a meaningful way instead of just blindly fighting. I mean, I fought at first, when they took me. But once I was in that cell with the others, I knew I needed to watch and wait. To keep calm."
"Smart man. Was he law enforcement or military?"
I smile. "Both. A veteran and the town sheriff."
"That advice most likely kept you alive."
"Yeah?" I almost laugh. "It also kept me complacent while they systematically ripped me apart until I was nothing but a slave who truly believed I wasn't human anymore. Who truly believed I was worthless. Who truly wanted to please them. Who ended up wishing they'd just-" I stop, dropping my head. Admitting that I wanted to die to a therapist probably isn't smart. I don't want to end up on suicide watch or something. Even if lately I've still been feeling like maybe…
"Do you still believe that, Casey? Do you still believe you're worthless? Do you still struggle with those thoughts of being less than human?"
"Sometimes. Yeah." I sniffle. "Maybe."
He nods. "You were conditioned to feel that way. To think that way. It's perfectly reasonable that it'll take some time for you to overcome that. But not impossible. It's very important that you understand that, Casey. Getting better is not impossible."
"Promise?" I ask, my voice wavering with the urge to cry again.
"I promise."
But he's not Jake, so how the fuck am I supposed to believe he'll keep it?
Chapter Twenty-Four
Jake
Casey and I awkwardly orbit each other after his appointment. I’m kept busy with tracking down leads and managing Travis remotely while he’s gone looking for Mica. He’s kept busy taking care of Carter while Travis is away, dragging him to meals and group therapy and the pool area. He even manages to get Carter to go for a walk outside once or twice.
We’re not upset or angry with each other. We share soft smiles in passing and say hello as we take our seats at shared meals. We're just… distant. He put up a barrier between us after his appointment and I'm doing my best to respect it.
But it's not long before the deep ache of longing and need in my chest feels unbearable, and the only thing that can soothe it is Casey. Which is why I find myself in the security office, pretending to talk to Ace about a side project we’re working on - tracking down a little boy named Elliot who Casey and Carter met in their cell and bonded with - as I watch the cameras over his shoulder to find Casey. He’s sitting alone outside on the wooden swing by the riverbank.
“We’ll keep looking,” I murmur, only half-listening to Ace as he tells me he still hasn’t found any leads on the little boy. “I’ll talk to Casey about him. Get more details.”
Ace nods, already clicking out of that window to start working on one of the dozen other projects he’s currently juggling. I excuse myself and make two side trips before heading outside – first to the bedroom for the werewolf book we’ll probably never finish at this rate and second to the kitchen for a thermos of hot coffee. Casey is thankfully still on the swing by the time I get there, his head resting against the back, his eyes shut.
“Hey,” I say softly, not wanting to wake him if he’s asleep.
He startles before giving me a sheepish smile. “Hey.”
“Can I join you?”
“Yeah. Of course.” He eyes the thermos, his smile widening. “Any chance that’s for me? I’m fucking exhausted.”
I hand it over immediately, trying not to let worry show in my expression. Is he struggling to sleep? Is there anything I can do?
