Page 88 of Pretty When He Bleeds

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “Yeah, well. I am now.”

I narrow my eyes. “What changed?”

His lips twitch, but there’s no humor in it. “You stayed.”

The words hit me straight in the fucking ribs. I swallow against the lump in my throat, glancing away for half a second before looking back at him. “I don’t want to leave you alone.”

Damon sighs and cups my face. “I’ll be fine, Hotshot. I took my meds, and I’ve got a session later today.”

I blink. “A session?”

“With my therapist.”

My brain stutters for a second. “You go to therapy?”

Damon scoffs. “You sound surprised.”

“I am surprised,” I admit, because I am.

I don’t know why, but I never pictured Damon in a therapist’s office. He’s always been so guarded, so closed off. It’s hard to imagine him sitting in front of some stranger, talking about… this. He must see something on my face because he lets out a low breath and looks away, his jaw tightening before he speaks.

“I had a psychotic break a few months ago,” he says in a flat tone. “That’s why I left for three weeks.”

My stomach fucking drops. I feel like my body is full of cement. Like I can’t fucking move. This is why I didn’t see him? Back when I thought he was avoiding me?

Damon shrugs like he’s talking about the fucking weather. “The voices were getting worse. I wasn’t sleeping. Wasn’t functioning.” He laughs, but it’s hollow. “Eventually, I lost it. Fully lost it. I called up my mom and she flew down, made sure I was actually getting help. When I got out, she got rid of my old apartment and got me this one.”

I can’t help but frown at this. Weren’t his parents obsessed with being perfect? “She knows?”

“About the voices? Yeah,” Damon tilts his head, smirking slightly. “About you? Not yet.”

I don’t smile and I hate the way my chest clenches, the way my pulse stutters. “Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask, my voice rough.

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Because I didn’t want you looking at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”

Like my heart is shattering? Like I don’t know whether I want to cry or break something? Because Caleb started hearing voices before he died, too.

I feel sick.

Damon watches me carefully, but I don’t know what he sees in my face. I don’t know how to hide this. “Roman?”

I shake my head, trying to gather my thoughts. “Before Caleb died,” I rasp, my throat so fucking tight, “he started hearing things.”

Damon stiffens and his hands drop from my face with widening eyes. My chest, on the other hand, feels like it’s caving in. “I—I didn’t realize it at first. I just thought he was having a rough time. But then he started saying weird shit. Started looking at me like he wasn’t seeing me.”

Just like you did in front of that canvas last night.

My voice cracks, but Damon doesn’t say anything, and I can’t look at him. Because if I do, I’ll see Caleb and I don’t want to fucking see Caleb right now. But I force myself to look at him. “You have to promise me you’re not gonna…” My voice cracks and I shake my head. “You’re not him, Damon.”

Damon sucks in a stuttered breath. “I know.”

“Are you sure?” I demand, my throat closing up. “Because I can’t—I won’t go through that again.”

His eyes soften, and suddenly, he’s reaching for me, grabbing my face between his hands again and forcing me to meet his gaze. “I know, Roman.” His thumbs brush over my cheekbones. “I know what this looks like. I know what you’re thinking. But I’m not him. I’m not going anywhere.”

I don’t know what to say. I want to believe him, but I also wanted to believe Caleb.

And I fucking lost him.

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