Page 153 of Psycho Gods
The warm water sprayed between us, and I frowned at the melancholy in her voice.
“I’m tired too,” she whispered dejectedly. “If you’re the blind, mean guy, then I’m the depressed bitch who can’t be what anyone wants her to be.”
I curled my fingers around her hand.
“You’re not a bitch,” I whispered.
“And you’re not the weak, blind guy.”
I dug my nails into her skin, like I did for Corvus when he was spiraling. I squeezed to let her know I wasn’t letting her go.
“We’re quite the pair,” she laughed hollowly. “The angel who can’t fly and the assassin who can’t see.”
“I don’t need to see to kill,” I said honestly. “And you just haven’t learned to fly yet.”
She made a noise of disagreement under her breath but didn’t argue.
Silence expanded between us.
“What was it like growing up under the mad fae queen?” I blurted out, then sighed with relief when she didn’t try to pull her hand away.
It felt wrong that I’d lived through her heinous memories but had no idea what her current perspective was on anything.
How had we never asked her about her past?
Just when I thought she wasn’t going to answer, she whispered, “I think it broke me. Permanently.”
My heart twisted in my sternum, and a volcano of rage engulfed me.
Long minutes passed before I could speak. Since she was being so honest, I said, “I used to not like pain. But in the devil realm, the weak males are culled. There’s no such thing as a blind devil because any who make it to adolescence are killed off in the brutal school systems.”
My words hung between us.
She didn’t gasp or give false platitudes like I expected. She squeezed my hand with hers like she was telling me she understood.
After all, with how she’d grown up, she probably did.
I didn’t need to explain to her how cruel childhood could be.
There was something about the cramped tub and scalding water that made it easy to bare my soul.
I spoke words I’d never revealed to another person, not even my mates.
“I don’t know exactly when it happened. All I know is that one day after a beating, I licked the blood off my lips and reveled in the pain. I found myself craving the violence and dreaming about hurting them back. I wasn’t born a monster—I became one.”
The intoxicating icy scent intensified.
Emotions swirled between us.
She whispered back, “I hated my mother, but I never wanted to kill her, and I find myself thinking about her constantly. She was horrible, but I still don’t know how to cope with what I’ve done. What I’ve become.”
The rage intensified inside me, and I scowled.
“You did what you had to do,” I said harshly. “You survived, that’s all you did. You’ve become who you needed to be to live in a cruel world. It’s something to be proud of—not something to be ashamed of.”
Water sputtered off her lips.
She squeezed my hand like we were tethered together. “Then that applies to you too,” she whispered. “You survived despite the bigotry of the devil realm. If I’m not broken—then neither are you.”