Page 8 of Dragon’s Revenge (Irresistible Dragons #7)

Chapter Seven

O liver had spent a whole week debating it, but in the end, he saw no other way. He’d have to suck it up. If therapy was the only way he’d get to talk to Delton, then therapy it would have to be. Nothing else seemed to work.

Adar had talked to him. Even if the alpha hadn’t told Oliver, he would’ve found out through the pack’s gossip, which seemed to function extremely well. And Adar had certainly provided them with a juicy topic after collecting flowers for Delton and then walking over to offer them before holding Delton while he bawled his eyes out. All the omegas—dragons and wolves—had sighed at the thought of that big alpha trying so hard to win Delton back. Probably because they knew what it cost Adar to swallow his pride.

Hell, he’d even asked Sivney for help. Not that Sivney had blabbed about what they had discussed. The pack’s second-in-command never gossiped, which was as admirable as it was annoying at times. Like now. Oliver would’ve loved to know what Sivney had discussed with Adar, but Adar hadn’t wanted to share, and no one had even attempted to pry it out of the omega. It would only piss Sivney off, and nobody wanted to be responsible for that.

Oliver had wracked his brain trying to come up with something he could do to reconnect with Delton, to tell him how sorry he was, but nothing had come to mind. Nothing, except taking Delton up on his offer for therapy. They’d only done that one session with Adar present, and then everything had gone to hell.

The problem? He still had trouble using his voice. He’d managed a few words here and there with Adar and Fallon, but with everyone else, he was back to square one. Would he even be able to talk to Delton? Unfortunately, he wouldn’t know until he tried, so he’d texted him and asked for an appointment. He’d been sick with nerves that Delton would turn him down, but he’d agreed to see him two days later.

Oliver had taken his time dressing. He wasn’t sure what the appropriate outfit was for therapy, but he wanted something pretty without it being too obvious that he’d made an effort. He could hardly show up in full makeup with that blue shirt that made his eyes pop, no matter how much self-confidence that outfit would’ve given him. Instead, he’d opted for a dark-blue shirt and a pair of tight pants. According to Fallon, his ass looked amazing in them, so he’d have to trust his friend’s judgment.

He showed up right on time, practically shaking with nerves.

“Come on in, Oliver,” Delton said, opening the door wide for him. He sounded almost normal, except for that little hitch in his voice near the end. Somehow, knowing that this didn’t leave Delton unaffected helped Oliver feel better.

“Tea?” Delton asked.

Oliver nodded.

“I have your favorite, lemon tea.”

Oliver watched Delton as he used the electric kettle to heat water, then made a big mug of lemon tea for each of them. He brewed it exactly as Oliver preferred: so weak that you could still see the bottom of the mug. And no milk or sugar for him, please. Ew.

Then it struck him. He didn’t like tea with milk or sugar. That was a food and drink preference, wasn’t it? Like he’d talked about with Adar and Delton before. He’d told them he didn’t have any since he was still so grateful to even have enough to eat and drink, but here he was.

“Do you want to tell me?” Delton asked, and Oliver looked up to meet the beta’s kind eyes. “You clearly just realized something.”

The moment of truth. Oliver took a deep breath, swallowed, and opened his mouth. “I don’t like milk and sugar in my tea.”

Holy shit! He’d spoken. Actual words had come out. Tears formed in his eyes.

“I’m so proud of you, Oliver,” Delton said. “Not for speaking but for daring to try. It’s terrifying to even attempt it when you’re not certain you’ll succeed.”

“Thank you.”

“And thank you for sharing that with me about the tea. I call that progress, as silly as that may sound for something so trivial. It’s not trivial for you. You’re developing preferences, which is a critical step in discovering who you are.”

“It is?” Oliver frowned. “How?”

Delton handed Oliver his tea, then grabbed his own mug and sat across from Oliver in a reading chair. “One of the consequences of growing up in a traumatic environment is that you adapt to the circumstances. It’s a survival instinct to do whatever is necessary to stay alive, physically and psychologically. In a situation like that, you can’t be who you are. You can’t have preferences. You can’t make free decisions. You are who and what you need to be. You tell yourself what you must do to make it through to the next day. You survive. But you’re here now, and that necessity for survival is gone. So now you get to develop those parts of your personality.”

He was so good at explaining things. His lessons had always been Oliver’s favorites. Fallon loved everything about the law, but Oliver was intrigued by what Delton shared about the human mind. “What do you mean by telling yourself what you need to hear?”

“Good question. Well, let’s say an omega was raised by conservative parents who forced him to adopt strict role patterns. If that omega was forced to marry an alpha who embraced those same stereotypes, what would he tell himself to get through it? He has no choice, not legally, so all he can do is try to make it bearable for himself. So he tells himself that at least the alpha is handsome or that he looks virile and might give him lots of kids. Or that maybe underneath, he’s kind. That he’s rich and can buy him stuff. That maybe things aren’t as bad as they seem.”

“I didn’t tell myself anything,” Oliver whispered.

“No?”

“At first, maybe. When I was still a teenager.”

“You lost hope.”

Oliver nodded.

“Is that why you stopped talking?”

Was it? Funny, but Oliver had never asked himself that question, which, in hindsight, seemed silly. Something so monumental, and he’d never wondered how it had started. He’d simply attributed it to trauma, like everything else. “Maybe?”

“When did you stop? I think Fallon said it was about two years before you came here, right?”

The memory came out of nowhere. One moment, he was sitting in Delton’s room, and the next, rancid sweat filled his nostrils, and he gagged.

He couldn’t breathe, Dempsey’s hand on his neck, forcing his head down. He was bent over a desk, papers roughly sent flying, and Dempsey pinned him down with his body as he yanked Oliver’s pants down.

Pain.

He hadn’t recovered yet from the last time. Dempsey would fuck him till he bled. He took a perverse satisfaction out of that.

Oliver screamed and screamed, but no one listened. No one came.

No one ever did.

And so he stopped screaming. Stopped talking. Stopped…being.

“Oliver.”

He blinked.

A firm hand covered his. “Oliver, honey, stay with me. Stay in the present.”

The present. Delton.

He swallowed, then took a deep breath. No smell of sweat. Instead, he smelled flowers. No one was holding him down. He was safe.

He was in Delton’s room. Delton sat in front of him on his knees, holding his hand and watching Oliver with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry, I was?—”

“You had a flashback,” Delton said softly.

“I can’t tell you.”

Delton squeezed his hand. “I don’t want you to talk about it. In this phase, talking will only make it worse.”

Oh. Delton had mentioned that before, but Oliver had thought the beta only said that ‘cause he didn’t want to scare Oliver. “Then how…?”

Delton took both his hands. “Honey, you have PTSD, post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s a well-known reaction to severe trauma, and many of you suffer from it.”

Oliver nodded, tears filling his eyes. He’d known it. Of course he had. He wasn’t stupid. But like with so many things, he’d figured he’d try denying it as long as he could because the alternative was admitting that he was…crazy? Damaged. Broken.

“I’m gonna be honest with you. Few people completely recover from it. For most, it will always be a part of them. But they learn to manage it, to not let it rule their lives.”

“Is that hard?”

“Yes. It’s a challenge for someone with as complicated a trauma as you have. It’s easier if it’s a one-time event, like surviving a car accident or getting assaulted once. Your trauma was repeated, varied in intensity and situations, and took place over a long period of time. From what I’ve heard, one could even argue your entire life up until you arrived here was traumatic. That makes it much more difficult to learn to deal with it.”

“B-but I’ve been fine so far.”

Delton slowly shook his head. “No, honey, you haven’t been. You’ve been in denial. You’ve been numb. And both are understandable and valid reactions, but you can only keep them up for so long.”

Tears trickled down Oliver’s face. “I don’t want to be broken…”

“I know, honey. No one does. But you’re not broken. You’re a survivor and one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

“How?”

“You’re still here, aren’t you?”

He was, and yes, sometimes he realized what a miracle that was. Oh, he’d contemplated taking his own life, but something had always held him back. Knowing how much it would hurt Fallon. Fear of what he’d encounter in the afterlife. And even after all that time, the inexplicable hope that things would get better. No matter how bad things had gotten, that spark of hope had never been extinguished. As if he’d somehow known he’d be offered a way out.

“How do I…?” He swallowed. “How do I live with this? With PTSD?”

“We start by trying to figure out what triggers you, and then we come up with techniques that will help you. When you had your flashback, what came first? Was it a sound, a sensation, something visual, or?—”

“Sweat.” Oliver gagged.

Delton squeezed his hands. “Stay with me, honey. You’re safe with me.”

He was safe. How many times would he have to tell himself that?

“Tell me a scent you love, one that you associate with something positive.”

“Flowers. I love the smell of flowers.”

“Okay, good. So what we’ll do is we’ll make a little pouch you can carry with you, and we’ll put some dried flowers in there, maybe find a perfume or some essential oils with a strong flower scent. And then, whenever you get triggered, you can use that to bring yourself back. It’s called grounding.”

Something that simple could work? “That’s it?”

Delton smiled at him, then cupped his cheek in a way that made Oliver feel deeply seen. “No, but it’s a start. I’m so honored you’re asking me to help you.”

“I trust you.”

Now that he’d said the words, he realized how deeply true they were. He really did trust Delton, even after everything that had happened between them.

“I’m glad our personal…challenges haven’t changed that,” Delton said softly.

He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t start again based on a lie. “I came here because it was the only way I could think of to see you,” he whispered. “I miss you.”

Delton’s eyes widened, and he let go of Oliver’s hands. “You miss me?”

“Yes. I’m not lying.”

“I would never accuse you of lying.”

“I lied to you before.”

Delton hesitated. “I wouldn’t call that lying, but let’s not get into that again. It’s in the past, Oliver.”

“Is it?”

“You don’t think so?”

Oliver shook his head, tears burning in his eyes again. “I think about it every day. How sorry I am for fucking it all up. How much I wish I could turn back time and make a different choice. It’s the biggest regret of my life.”

“Oh, honey, I don’t want you to feel that way. That’s not… That amount of guilt isn’t healthy. I told you I’m not angry with you anymore.”

“But you still keep your distance!”

They both froze. Oliver wasn’t sure who was more shocked by the fact that he’d raised his voice, Delton or him. What the hell? He’d never in his entire life yelled at anyone.

Then, a wide smile spread across Delton’s face. “You raised your voice at me.”

“I’m so?—”

“Don’t be. This is amazing, and I’m so proud of you.”

“You are?”

“Being angry is a normal emotion, and there’s nothing wrong with raising your voice as long as you don’t make a habit out of it. But I’ve never heard you talk like this. I didn’t even know you had it in you.”

“Me neither.” Something broke free inside Oliver, and he smiled back at Delton. “I should be proud of myself, right?”

“Very proud.”

“I think I am.”

“Good. Let’s celebrate. I have chocolate.”

“We’re gonna celebrate that I yelled at you?”

“We sure are.”

When Delton moved to get up, Oliver grabbed his hand. “Delton…”

“What is it, honey?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For everything, but mostly for listening even after I?—”

Delton placed a finger on Oliver’s lips. “We won’t mention it again, okay? Let it go. Don’t carry that burden of guilt with you. You apologized. I accepted. It’s good, baby.”

Baby.

Delton had called him baby.

Not honey, but baby.

Oliver smiled. “I’d love some chocolate, please.”