Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125037 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 625(@200wpm)___ 500(@250wpm)___ 417(@300wpm)
“Before we get into anything else, we’re going to address your mental health, Diego,” Rubin said. “I know you’re going to tell me you’re fine now, especially because you found Leila, but you aren’t. You’re a doctor. You’re intelligent. Depression is a real illness and has to be acknowledged and addressed. You have to remain vigilant the rest of your life if you’re going to survive. And I need you to survive.”
Diego stared up at the stars, knowing everything his brother said was the truth. He would have times when he had to fight the destructive thoughts in his head in order to stay alive.
“Just because I have Jonquille doesn’t mean you get to leave me. I have as many issues from our childhood as you do,” Rubin continued. “Maybe they aren’t the same, but I have them. It’s always been the two of us. You don’t get to decide you’re not going to be here because you think I’ll be fine. You don’t get to make that decision.”
Diego wisely didn’t argue with his brother. Rubin needed to state what was on his mind, and Diego had always listened to him. He detested that he’d hurt Rubin—and he had. He hadn’t meant to. He should have gone to his brother and talked things over with him. He hadn’t because he knew Rubin would insist on him getting help. How? Diego had never been able to figure that one out.
Who did a man like him talk to? Would he be pulled off the team? When he was working, he was perfectly fine. It was the downtime that was the danger zone. He wasn’t about to go to a therapist and have them declare him psychotic. Given his lack of emotion when he pulled the trigger, he knew that very well could be a diagnosis.
He’d trained himself from early childhood not to feel anything—at least, he believed he’d done that. His mother thought he’d been born psychotic, but he wanted to believe Luther—that she’d programmed him to think the worst of himself.
“Having Leila isn’t going to make it easier in the long run. This is something you have to address head-on, Diego. Especially if you’re going to allow this woman and any children to rely on you. You can’t suddenly take yourself out of their lives because you’re having a bad time.”
Diego waited, but Rubin had fallen silent and was regarding him expectantly. Diego shoved his hand through his hair. “You’re right, Rubin. Absolutely right. I’ve known I needed help with this, but I wasn’t certain what to do. If I take medication, Joe could easily pull me off the team.”
Joe Spagnola, their commanding officer, was a fair man, but he had to follow protocol. If he knew one of his men was suicidal, he would have no choice but to pull him from the team.
“If I talk to a therapist, I’m in the same boat,” Diego said. “They’d report me, and Joe would have to act. Working is what keeps me going. When I’m working, I feel I have purpose. When I have no one to look after or protect, that’s when the demons start talking in my head.”
“What do your demons say, Diego?” Rubin asked quietly.
Diego shrugged, but he knew Rubin wasn’t going to let him off the hook. And he didn’t want his brother to just let it go. He wanted to survive for Leila. For Grace. He wanted to have Leila keep looking at him as if he were someone worthwhile.
Rubin didn’t push him. He waited in silence, but Diego could feel the weight of his eyes. That penetrating stare. Rubin knew what he was going to say, but he didn’t relent; he made Diego admit it aloud.
“I’m worthless. I’m a killer, born that way. My only use is to protect you from harm. That when Whitney enhanced me, he enhanced every killer trait I had and added to them. That I’m a danger to others.”
Rubin nodded. “So, essentially, everything our mother programmed you to believe, and then Whitney took over her bullshit to reinforce every bullshit thing she said to you.”
Diego knew that was the truth. He’d like to believe he’d overcome the things his mother had drilled into him daily—not only verbally, but she’d used a switch and a belt to try to beat the devil out of him. She hadn’t managed to do so, no matter how hard she tried. She prayed constantly around him. She did her best to convince his sisters he was a “bad seed.”
Diego nodded his assent. “Her voice is forever in my mind.”
Rubin leaned toward him. “She was as mad as a hatter. I tried to tell you when we were kids, but she was so focused on you, and the moment my back was turned, she was on you.”
Diego was shocked at the guilt in Rubin’s voice. His brother was only ten months older, yet it was clear he felt responsible for the things his mother had done to Diego.