Paladin, page 22
“What I mean to say is, you don’t have to be afraid to speak plainly here. I’m a good friend of the Mulvaneys. We share…similar interests. But that doesn’t mean anything you tell me will leave this room. I’m bound by law to keep your secrets.”
Ever blinked at him, twirling the lollipop over his tongue. “Okay.”
Dr. Jones shifted in his seat, taking a piece of chocolate and unwrapping it, chewing and swallowing before he said, “Jericho has given me a very brief description of your life up until now, but I’d like to hear it from you. Would you want to talk about it?”
“Does anybody?” Ever muttered, not really expecting an answer.
Dr. Jones smiled. “Not at first but, eventually, yes. Sometimes talking through the trauma is the only way to heal.”
The man’s question hung in the air between them, unanswered. Instead, Ever looked around the office as if his surroundings could offer some insight into the man across from him. It was as clean and tidy as the man himself, but a little shabby. Another contradiction.
The building itself was old, and the exposed brick was more from disrepair than an attempt at decor. The hardwood floors were marred by water stains, and the furniture all seemed second-hand, but Ever couldn’t shake the feeling it was all…fake. All designed to make people think he was one of them. Whatever that meant.
“Dr. Jones—”
“Jeremiah, please.”
Ever squirmed, not really comfortable using the man’s first name for some reason he couldn’t put his finger on.
“Jeremiah,” he conceded. “What if I don’t have any trauma?”
Jeremiah tapped his pen against his chin. “Do you think you don’t have trauma?”
Ever shrugged. “Everything I read tells me I’m supposed to be…spiraling. That I should be having nightmares and panic attacks. That I should be afraid of the dark or going outside. That certain sounds or smells should trigger me. I don’t have any of that.”
Jeremiah nodded. “When you think about your time before—before you were rescued—how does it make you feel?”
Ever shrugged once more. “It doesn’t.”
“Can you expand on that?”
Could he? Other than the initial fear he’d felt in the spare room the night he arrived, there’d been nothing. “It feels like it happened to someone else. Or maybe a different version of me. It’s not like I don’t remember or that I’ve blocked it out. It’s almost like I’m watching a movie. It just… I don’t feel anything when I think about it. There’s just before and after. Is that weird?”
“Have you ever heard of the term dissociation?” Jeremiah asked.
Ever shook his head, picking at a stray thread on the back of the sofa cushion.
“Sometimes, immediately after a traumatic experience, or sometimes even during years of prolonged abuse, your brain will…wall off the bad things. It’s a sort of self-preservation technique.”
“Okay?” Ever prompted, hoping the man would explain further.
“Did you ever feel like you were outside your own body? When you said it was like watching a movie, did you mean it was like watching bad things happen to another version of yourself?”
“Yeah,” Ever mumbled.
“Do you feel numb or detached when you think about it now?”
“Yeah. I guess so.”
Jeremiah nodded. “Dissociation is common, but when that dissociation disappears, that is when you can experience the effects of chronic PTSD. Right now, your brain is just protecting itself while you get your bearings, but it can also leave you with a sense of not knowing who you are.”
Ever gave a humorless laugh. “I don’t know who I am, Dr. Jo—Jeremiah. I don’t even have a name.”
He frowned. The first real crack in his cool facade. “Ever isn’t your name?”
“It is now,” Ever said, cheeks flushing.
Jeremiah twirled the pen over his knuckles. “What was it before?”
Ever watched, transfixed as the pen moved, spinning through his fingers almost like magic. “I didn’t have one.”
“No?”
Ever corrected himself. “I mean, I’m sure I had one when I was born. At least, I hope I did. It would suck if my mom didn’t even care enough about me to name me before she sold me or gave me up for adoption or let me get kidnapped…or whatever.”
Jeremiah nodded. “And the woman who held you captive? What did she call you?”
“On a good day, Boy, mostly. On the bad days, nothing at all. It’s probably easier to torture someone if you don’t think of them as actual people. Even dogs and cats have names. Her other victims had names. But not me.”
Jeremiah made a vague sound then asked, “Is that how you felt? Not human?”
“I felt…” Ever started, a sudden lump forming in his throat. “I don’t want to talk about this.”
“Okay. That’s fine. We don’t have to. But can you tell me why you chose Ever as your name?”
Ever trapped his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t really remember,” he lied.
Once more, Jeremiah made a sound that conveyed nothing. But Ever felt like he knew he lied. Which he had. But he was still offended Jeremiah thought he was lying, which was kind of fucked up.
But didn’t he deserve to keep some secrets to himself? He knew why he called himself Ever, he just didn’t want to say. It was too embarrassing.
“Do you remember when you started calling yourself that?”
He shrugged, hugging his legs tighter. “When I learned how to read, I guess.”
“How old were you then?”
“Eleven…twelve, maybe? When she needed me to be able to go out and run errands without her. At first, she would just send me with a list and her debit card, and the corner store would just take the note and pull her items, but as I got older, they became less interested in helping me. So, she taught me to read.”
“What else did she teach you?”
“Only things that would benefit her. She taught me to count. She taught me basic units of measurement because I needed to know how to measure ingredients when I cooked. Everything I learned from her was on a need-to-know basis and there wasn’t much she thought I needed to know.”
“She never taught you to count? To add? Subtract? Nothing?” Jeremiah asked, tone neutral, like he didn’t want Ever to think he was judging him.
Ever’s laugh tasted like bile on his tongue. “I wouldn’t say nothing. She taught me having an opinion got my mouth duct taped shut for days. She taught me burning food got me burned in return. She taught me that breaking things got my fingers broken. She taught me that being in her presence when she was in a bad mood was going to leave me needing a doctor. And she taught me that people who were supposed to help me—like those doctors—were the very same people who abused me. But no, math, history, science, that stuff I had to learn on my own.”
“You seem…angry.”
Was that the word for the hot, tight feeling in his chest? He shrugged, suddenly feeling like if he tried to talk, he might scream or cry instead, and he didn’t want that. She didn’t deserve his tears or his suffering. She’d done enough to him. “Wouldn’t you be?”
“Certainly. But when we started, you said you didn’t feel anything at all. Anger is a feeling.”
Ever didn’t want to be angry. “I just want to be happy,” he said, words thick.
“And are you?” Jeremiah asked.
Tears burned Ever’s eyes. “Am I…?”
“Happy?”
Ever blinked rapidly. “I—” He shook his head. “I don’t really know what happiness is.”
“What emotions do you know?” Jeremiah asked.
If anyone else had asked that, Ever would have thought he was mocking him, but Jeremiah was serious. “Sadness. Fear…”
“Anger.”
Ever swallowed hard then nodded. “Yeah.”
“Anxiety?”
Once more, he nodded.
“How about depression?”
Ever shrugged.
“What about love?”
What about love? Arsen’s face immediately came to mind. Arsen protected him and took care of him and kept him safe. Arsen loved him. He told him so every night and every morning before he went to work downstairs.
“Who are you thinking about right now?”
“What?” Ever asked, cheeks burning.
“When I said love, your face changed completely. Who were you thinking about?”
“Arsen,” Ever admitted. “He loves me.”
“And do you love him?”
Ever nodded. “Yeah.”
“I see.”
Ever’s gaze flicked to Jeremiah, and that tight feeling returned to his chest. “Don’t say it like that.”
“Like what?” Jeremiah asked, tilting his head in a way Ever found inexplicably infuriating.
“Like it’s not real. Like it’s just some fake emotion or trauma response. I love him and he loves me. Even if we haven’t known each other that long.”
Jeremiah frowned. “I didn’t think that at all. But it seems like you might.”
“No.”
“No?”
“No,” Ever said again, faintly. “People can fall in love at first sight. People can find their soulmates. People can have their happily ever after. Just because it happened fast doesn’t mean it’s not real.”
“Nobody’s saying it isn’t real, Ever. Nobody but you.”
“I love him,” Ever said fiercely.
“I believe you,” Jeremiah assured him. “But at some point, we’re going to have to examine why you’re so sure nobody else does.”
Ever glared at him. “I didn’t say that.”
“I think this is enough for one day. No? Why don’t we talk again in a few days?”
Ever nodded, miserable, feeling like he’d failed a test somehow.
“What does your name mean?”
Arsen looked up at Ever in surprise. He didn’t blame Arsen. It was a strange non sequitur. They’d been lying in bed, Arsen’s head on Ever’s belly, talking about fairly mundane things. The part for a ‘65 Shelby that hadn’t come in on time, the pasta they’d made off a YouTube tutorial an hour ago that had somehow tasted like rubber soaked in lemons, Felix’s diatribe in the group chat about proper post-sex etiquette and the cleaning of sex toys.
They’d talked about anything and everything…except Ever’s therapy appointment that afternoon.
“My name?” Arsen echoed.
Arsen hadn’t pushed Ever about his session at all. He appeared perfectly content to let Ever act like the whole thing had never happened. And Ever was grateful. Arsen treated it as if it was any other night. He’d let Ever control everything, from dinner to the shower sex, which was how they’d ended up eating pizza naked in bed with damp hair and a movie playing on Arsen’s laptop in the middle of the mattress.
The pizza was long gone, the movie was over. Now, they were lying there, Ever’s legs twisted in the sheets, Arsen lying sideways, head heavy on Ever’s slightly bloated tummy.
Ever nodded. “Mm. What does it mean?”
Arsen grinned, his cheeks turning a bit pink, then he lifted his arm and flexed, the muscles popping in a way Ever found…pleasing. “Virile. Strong,” he said in an exaggerated deep voice before deflating back to normal. “My father had high expectations for me.”
Arsen’s father. He rarely talked about him. Not that Ever blamed him. Who wanted to talk about the man who killed your mother?
“Your father’s in jail, right?” Ever asked.
Arsen nodded. “‘Til he dies.”
“Do you ever go visit him?”
Arsen’s lip curled. “I tried. A couple of times after I turned eighteen. Jericho thought it would be a good way to give me ‘closure.’ Whatever that means. But…it just made me angry.”
“Angry?” Ever repeated. He was hearing the word a lot.
“Yeah. My father… He’s never apologized. I know that seems like a ridiculous thing to say. How does someone apologize for killing your mom? But I thought he’d be…remorseful at least. But he wasn’t. Not even a little bit. If anything, he blamed me. Took every opportunity to tell me he was ashamed of me, even during our visits. It was always, ‘Sit up straight, stop holding your hand like that. Why are you wearing pink? Are you trying to embarrass me?’”
“He was ashamed…of you?” Ever said, breathless.
How could anyone be ashamed of Arsen? He was perfect. Smart. Sweet. Hardworking. Funny. Sexy… Ever’s hand moved by itself, his fingertips skimming over Arsen’s jawline, his cheekbones, his lips.
“He couldn’t handle having a gay son. He said he was embarrassed we shared a last name.”
“What an asshole,” Ever muttered.
Arsen chuckled, his features shifting beneath Ever’s fingers. “I’ll never get used to you swearing.”
“Should I not?” Ever asked.
“You should do and say whatever you want. I’ll always find you adorable.”
Ever grew hot until the tips of his ears felt like they were on fire. He steered the subject back to Arsen. “But you kept his last name anyway?”
“Mostly for spite, partially because a name change is a really difficult process. Expensive, too. Especially for someone who’s immigrated here.”
“What does your last name mean?”
“Lebedev?” Arsen said. “It means swan.”
Ever’s lips twitched. “So, your full name means horny swan?”
“Hey!” Arsen scraped his teeth across Ever’s stomach until he flinched away with a laugh. “It means…well, yeah, I guess it kind of does. My dad said it meant ‘swan bringer’ after a man who used to raise swans for the nobles. But my father was often full of shit.”
Ever laughed, his finger tracing the bridge of Arsen’s nose. “Why do you call me besenok?”
Arsen grinned, reaching up to boop Ever’s chin. “Because it suits you.”
Ever rolled his eyes. “But what does it mean?”
“It means little demon.”
Ever’s mouth fell open. “You think I’m a demon?”
“You did hiss at a girl just yesterday,” Arsen pointed out. “Besides, I mean it like…a term of endearment. Like baby or honey or sweetie.”
Sweetie. Ever loved hearing certain words in Arsen’s accent. It made them sound special, even when they were very generic. “Should I call you something? A term of endearment?”
“What do you want to call me?” Arsen asked gently.
Ever frowned. Nothing he thought of seemed special in any way. They were just names he heard thousands of times, in a million different romance novels. “I don’t know,” he said, flopping back against the pillows.
Arsen took Ever’s free hand, playing with his fingers. When he finally spoke again, his voice sounded unusually shy. “Back in Russia, my friends and family called me Senya. It’s not exactly a term of endearment but more like a family name. Something only the people closest to you use.”
“But nobody here calls you that,” Ever said. “And you think of them as your family.”
“They are. True. But once we got to the States, my mom was the only one who continued to call me that. After she died, hearing anyone else say it was…painful. But now…” He kissed Ever’s palm. “It would be nice to hear you say it.”
“Senya,” Ever repeated, noting the way Arsen’s eyes went soft. “Senya,” he said again, liking the way it felt dripping off his tongue. “And nobody else calls you that? Not even your dad?”
Arsen rolled onto his side, burying his face against Ever’s stomach, his words muffled. “No. Here, everybody calls me Arsen. Even my father. He said it sounded tough. That it commanded respect. That it would help me toughen up.”
“I’m sure other people think you’re pretty scary,” Ever assured him as he carded his fingers through his hair.
“Do you think I’m scary?” Arsen teased, rubbing his nose against Ever’s skin until he squirmed before blowing a raspberry, making Ever squeal.
“No,” he said around a giggle.
Arsen rolled back to look up at Ever. “Good. I don’t ever want you to be afraid of me.”
Ever’s heart caught in his throat. He couldn’t remember a time where he was afraid of Arsen. Even in the beginning, he was far more afraid he’d give him to someone else than he was of Arsen harming him personally. He was still afraid, if he was being honest, and the reason hadn’t changed all that much.
“I’m not afraid of you,” Ever admitted softly. “I’m afraid of being without you.”
Arsen looked into his eyes. “That’s not something you need to worry about.”
“Mm,” Ever said, noncommittal. Was that something Arsen could promise when someone had already threatened Ever twice? But he didn’t say that. He didn’t want to ruin their night.
“Why did you want to know about my name?”
Ever shrugged. “Something Jeremiah said today. He asked why I’d named myself Ever. It got me thinking about names.”
“And…what did you tell him?” Arsen asked carefully.
“I lied,” Ever admitted. “I said I didn’t remember.”
Arsen frowned, taking Ever’s hand once more. “Why did you lie? You’re not a liar.”
Ever sighed. “I don’t know. ‘Cause it’s embarrassing.”
“What is?”
Ever closed his eyes. “Why I picked my name. Or how, I guess.”
“Will you tell me?” Arsen asked softly.
Ever chewed on his bottom lip, his stomach churning with pizza and anxiety. “I didn’t learn to read until I was old. Like, when most kids were thinking about their first year of high school, I was sounding out words like cat and hat. Up until that point, my world was really small. The size of a closet, really.”
Arsen squeezed Ever’s hand.
Ever just stared at the opposite wall. “Jennika kept the blinds closed, but, sometimes, when she wasn’t home, I would look outside and see kids playing. Watching them play was really all I knew about the outside world. Until she started bringing home these picture books and workbooks. They were for little kids, preschoolers. But I didn’t know that. Once I mastered those, I learned how big the world really was, how big the universe was.”
