Page 148 of Terms of Exposure
Damien's voice, small and quiet. "Do you hate me?"
I stilled mid step, turning to look at him.
"What?" the word came on a breath. "Why would you ask that?"
He shrugged, the movement jerky. "I don't know."
I reached up, tracing my thumb along his cheek.
Sad.
He looked sad.
"What's going on?"
He looked away, throat working.
"When I was five, my mom left him," he said at last. "He'd find her. She'd go back. And the cycle would start again."
His eyes went glossy.
"He'd scream. Break things. Sometimes the walls. Sometimes—"
He shook his head, blinking.
"Sebastian was so young. I learned to fight. He learned to run." His voice cracked. "Maybe if I'd protected him better, he wouldn't have turned to—."
"That wasn't your job," I said.
"I know," he whispered. "But I still felt responsible."
He looked down at his knuckles, the blood crusting on his skin. "And now I do this."
I cupped his jaw, bringing his dark eyes to mine.
"You're not him."
He searched my face. "How are you so sure?"
"Because I've seen you. All of you."
He went still.
"You think your anger defines you, but it doesn't. What defines you is what you do with it."
I brushed my thumb along his cheek.
"You held Sebastian together in that hospital bed. You sat with Candace for hours. You calm me down when my head turns against me. You stay when I come apart."
His breath shuddered.
"You protect. You don't control or harm. You care."
"Emma…" His voice cracked.
"You're nothing like your father."
He leaned into me, forehead resting against mine.
