"We die a little every day and by degrees we're reborn into different men, older men in the same clothes, with the same scars." - Mark Lawrence, King of Thorns

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Silas's POV

I never left the hospital.

Why would I know when I know she's in there, still in pain, still hurt? But I can't help the abandonment that seeped across my chest when she said she needed space.

I know what you're thinking. I know what anyone would think. That I was once again, being a selfish fuck. I don't why the fuck it triggered me for her to want some space, but I hated it. I don't want her to want space from me. I want her to be consumed by me like I am of her.

Why doesn't she get that?

Fuck.

I am so fucked up, I can't even respect someone when they want space from me. I don't know what the fuck is wrong with me, but I know I will never find anyone like her. I will never find anyone that makes me feel like this; like I am falling into a never-ending abyss of happiness. It's like a mix of excitement and fear and I never want it to stop.

I don't know what she's thinking. I know she probably wants to leave me. After my reaction last night, who wouldn't. I'm too broken to be fixed and too selfish to be with anyone who will give a single fuck about me.

My brothers adapted to me because we're brothers. They had to. But besides them, and besides my mom, I've never had anyone else to care about. Frankly, I didn't want to. I was too busy for any of that sappy shit; too busy to meet another person's expectations.

But, Caden... She just sprung up on me; blind-sighted me. Out of nowhere, this girl, this woman, who's already been through shit of her own, had more strength in her pinky toe than I had in my whole fucking body.

She endured whatever the shit her brother put her through, and by that, I can safely assume her parents or any other family isn't in the picture. And I didn't make anything fucking easier for her.

Rephrasing that, I ripped and scratched and clawed the strings of her life that were barely hanging on by a thread while she was trying to sew them back together.

I can't do this.

I can't be with her this like this; I can't be this broken. I can guarantee she was trying not to cry in front of me to be strong for me. For me. When she's in the fucking hospital. What kind of fucked up shit is that?

I can't be this broken; she doesn't need anymore broken shit in her life. I want to be better for her. I need to be. I just don't fucking know how.

But I will find out. I will find out and I will come back changed, and fixed. Or, at least, better than I am now. I don't want to be consumed by the self-hatred I feel right now. I don't want guilt eating me up alive for my past trauma and mistakes.

All I want is to fix myself so that I can see a future with her. A good one. She doesn't need anymore toxicity in her life, and I refuse to be the one to contaminate the happiness she deserves.

I am going to be better. I will be better.

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Two weeks later

I am finally moving out of my apartment. Yes, MOVING OUT. Moving out of this hell-hole that I've lived in for four years.

It feels like the tracks in my life were impaired by a dude named Cole and now maintenance has come and fixed it back to life.

Speaking of Cole. My once, loving brother turned abusive asshole. Yeah, he's awaiting his sentencing. Agatha, my sweet dear old Agatha, gave the evidence from the cameras to the police and documented the last year of his beatings into one.

It's safe to say there is enough evidence that Cole really doesn't even need a trial. However, he's adamant he's innocent, which is obviously a lie, and I will still be required to go to court and testify.

I don't want to think about that right now, though. I don't want to think of Cole, or his beatings, or the fact that Silas has completely disappeared. I don't want to think of the fact that I was fired from my PA position at Sanders Corp through an email. I definitely don't want to think of the fact that when I think of him, of Silas who left me in the middle of the hospital and didn't even bother to come see me when I was discharged, I want to take back all the things we've done together.

Nope, we're not thinking that. We're not thinking of him, or Sanders Corp, or the fact that I need a job soon.

Agatha is coming in about ten minutes to help me move. I've already bought a few boxes and began packing whatever I could find in the kitchen which mostly consists of paper plates and plastic utensils.

When I hear a rap on the door, I know Agatha is outside and scream, "It's open!" Her scent immediately meets my nose and again, she smells like freshly baked goods.

"Hi, sweet bean." I hug her with as much love as I can give her. I cannot describe in words what she did to me. How she quite literally saved my life, and then saved it again. But not only that, she was with me when I had to endure Cole. She gave me cookies when I was hungry, money when I needed to pay for the bus, and she was always there when I didn't have anyone else.

I am so beyond grateful for her, and I just wish to God she never forgets it.

"Hi! Thank you so much for helping me pack." I give her a warm smile. She reciprocates and replies, "Of course, dear. Are you feeling well? Have you been taking your medication? The doctor said you shouldn't be working yourself too hard."

I gave her a tight smile. "I am okay, I promise. I am following the doctor's orders to a tee." She's satisfied with my response and begins looking around the living room and kitchen. "Okay, I will start in the kitchen while you go pack your clothes."

I give a nod and head to my bedroom.

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"Agatha, did I ever tell you how you always smell like cookies?" Her scent, it's just so nostalgic and delicious. I would really like to know how to bake some of her delicious cookies. Maybe I can make them for my kids one day.

"No, dear, but it's no surprise. I love to bake." She gives me a warm smile.

"I know. And your cookies are amazing. They taste just like the ones I used to eat when I was little. I forgot what they were called, but they were amazing." Her smiles grows even more, and before I can ramble on and on about how amazing her cookies are, she announces something that definitely busies the stresses in my life for a few hours.

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We have been baking for five hours. Hours of flour, and choclate chips, and eggs, and sugar, and a lot of flour. Like a lot.

We went to Agatha's apartment since she had the proper ingredients and supplies and have been making batters nonstop. It is amazing. It's like I'm in this little bubble outide of reality, and I never want to leave it.

I've already been apartment hunting for a few days and found one that I really liked. Thanks to Sanders- nope, nope. Thanks to my previous job, I have enough money saved that I can afford to pay the rend for a couple months.

And the apartment itself is not bad. It's more in the valley of San Fransisco since the city apartments would be way too expensive, but it's still nice.

I went to check it out last week, and knew this would be my new home. My new start. Away from my brother, and previous job; a fresh start.

The apartment doesn't have anything super fantastic that made me want to jump up and down. But just the idea of living alone, without any problems or stress; without my brother, or um... yeah. That was what appealed to me. And the fact that I could afford it.

Agatha offered to help me move in, but I declined. I don't want to continue bothering her with my problems. Besides, I don't have much to move in anyway. Most of the furniture in my previous apartment was thrown away; I don't want any essence of my previous life in my new home. NONE.

I went and bought a few minimal pieces of furniture including a couch, a dresser, a coffee table, and a TV just for funsies.

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Silas's POV

Session 1

For the first time in my life, I am going to therapy. Yes, therapy.

I've never been fond of spilling all my vulnerabilities and secrets to complete strangers and blindly accepting their advice, but after thorough research and questions from some of the best psychologists in San Francisco, I thought I'd give it a try.

I mean, I can't be worse than I already am.

The last couple weeks have been normal... That's a lie. It's been torture. I haven't even been sleeping in my penthouse. I'm not used to Caden not being there, and the fact that she's there and not there at the same time is fucking me up.

Even at the office. I am so adept to seeing her smiling at all her co-workers and coming to my office to give me papers, it's fucking weird not seeing her at all.

It killed me to fire her. I know I look like an asshole doing it. Sage and Sawyer did not respond well when I announced it.

But, as the older brother, my word reigns supreme.

I never knew how much I relied on her for everything. That's a lie. I did know how much she did for me, in the office and outside it. I just wasn't prepared to let her go as quickly as she had come.

It's not like I let her fend for herself. My salaries will pay rent for at least a month or two and as for a job, well, I've contacted some business partners of mine and made sure to contact her if any jobs open up.

I meant what I said. I am going to be better for her. I don't know how long it will take, and even if it will work, but it's worth it for her. I just hope to God she hasn't left me before I'm fixed.

I need this.

So here I am, outside one of the best medical practices in the city. My appointment was scheduled to 3:00 pm, and it is currently 2:55.

My uncertainty of going is drowned by the need to be better a man for the woman I love, so no matter how much my feet protest, I walk to the main front doors and to the psychology unit.

When I walk in, the doctor- sorry, my therapist, is there to greet me. She's well aware of my feelings towards being here, so I know she probably greeted me outside her office to make me feel better.

It did not. But I appreciate the gesture.

"Hi, Mr. Sanders. Come on in." She gives me smile she probably gives all her patients, but it just reminds me of Caden. How she used to smile at me. God, I miss her.

After I seat myself on her very comfortable couch, her on the seat in front of it, she gives me another smile. "I'm Dr. Meyers, I will be your therapist."

I really don't want to be here. I really don't want to confess all my vulnerabilities to a stranger. I mean, she doesn't even know me, how is she supposed to help me? She seems nice enough, but my guard around my personal life has always been up. Most of the time. Not with her. Not with Caden.

Okay. For her.

"So, Silas, what's been going on in your life that's been giving you trouble?" She has a notepad in her hand. Great, a chamber where all my secrets will be kept.

"Nothing much. The company's been doing great. We recently signed into a partnership with Nguyen Enterprises." My voice is as excited as I am to be here, but I answered her question so I don't care. All I keep thinking about is her.

She jots down the information into her notepad before asking another question. "And how long have you been running your company?"

"Ever since my parents died. Me and my brothers; we run it together." I can feel my palmy hands begin to relax on the arms of the couch. This isn't as bad as I thought.

"Are you the oldest?" I nod my head.

"Were you pressured after you parents died to keep the company running successfully?" This question takes a bit more thought. "No, I don't think so. I've always had a goal to run the company eventually. It just started earlier than I anticipated."

"Did you feel like you were ready for it?" As I am answering her questions, she notes each response in her notepad. "I'm not sure, it just kind of happened and I just rolled with it. My brothers helped me a lot, when I felt wary of stepping up to the plate, but it was nothing I couldn't handle."

"Did you have a good relationship with your parents?"

I begin to relax into the couch. These questions aren't hard. "Yes. Well mostly with my mom. I've had a strained relationship with my dad."

"Why is that?"

"I was a little nerdy growing up as a kid. I got bullied throughout my formative years and it didn't get better when I moved on to high school. But my dad, he never thought anyone else was to blame but me. He said that if I joined sports, worked out a little, focused more on my appearance instead of video games, I wouldn't be bullied."

"Did you try to meet up to his expectations?"

"No, not for him. During high school, I got pranked by a girl I liked and decided to change. I began working out, focusing on my appearance, just like my dad told me to. And, what do you have it, I stopped getting bullied. Yay, my daddy was right. Always right."

"Did your dad change after you changed?"

"Hell no. He was always able to find something else to nitpick. Always compared me to my little brothers and how much success they were doing, getting into varsity sports and bringing home championships while his eldest son stayed put to his room and rarely came out. I tried out a few sports when I began working out, but it never appealed to me. No one liked me for one, and I knew the coaches accepted me simply because I was the brother of two of his best players."

"Okay. And your mother, what was your relationship like with her?"

"I've always had a close relationship with my mom. She always knew what to say to calm me down, especially after just having an argument with my dad. She became my biggest supporter throughout my life; never made me feel lesser than my brothers for not picking up the same hobbies they had."

"I will be asking more personal questions if that's alright with you." I nod my head. I mean, I thought that was the whole fucking point.

"How did your parents die?" Oh.

I don't respond immediately frankly because I don't want to. But I shouldn't've been naïve. Of course she's going to ask more painful questions.

"My mom, she got diagnosed with breast cancer when I was 18. We caught it late, so the cancer began spreading when we got her to a doctor. She died when I was 21."

She writes this on her notepad. "Did your relationship with your father improve?"

"No. He became cold and distant. I mean, with me, that's usually the norm, but he just neglected my younger brothers as well. He spent all his time caring for my mother, making she sure she was fed right and whatever else he did. Overtime, my brothers began to rely on me for advice because our father was failing his job in actually being one. We began college while he coddled my mother. I knew overtime she was going to die, but my dad, he didn't accept that. He switched her between treatments and doctors; traveled to other parts of the country hoping for better results. And when he finally came to terms with her eventual outcome, he took her home, and stayed with her until her dying breath." I feel something wet fall onto my hands, but I ignore it.

"There was this one time, he bought her a grand piano. Out of the whim, when he noticed my mother listening to it on her TV. So he bought it and spent weeks learning how to play. He even created his own piece; a rendition of the Up theme song, with lyrics and everything. He sang that to her every night, even on the day of her funeral."

I take a pause to catch my breath. Dr. Meyers opens her mouth to say something else, but I cut her off. "I hated that song. I hated that piano. I hated my father for stealing the last few years my mother was alive. Me and my brothers; we became an afterthought to him. We didn't matter anymore. And when I tried to steal a moment with my mom, he'd yell at me, told me she needed to rest. I knew he was grieving over the loss of his wife but it's like he became oblivious to the fact that me and my brothers were losing someone too. And he didn't fucking care."

She takes a pause to assess if I am going to say anything else. When I don't, she asks, "And what happened between you and your father after she died?"

"My father didn't change. He was still a neglectful father. He was grieving, but he didn't allow anyone else to grieve with him. He shut everyone out; even failed to run his own company. When me and my brothers began college, we helped ourselves, while he was at home, doing whatever the fuck he did. He died of a heart attack seven months after my mother died."

"How did you feel after your parents died?"

I look at her, unsure of what to say. But then my mouth opens, and words spill out again, uncontrolled. "I didn't give a flying fuck about my dad. He wasn't a good one to me even when my mom was alive. But my mom; I don't know, I felt sad, obviously. I tried to grieve her loss, but the anger towards my dad blinded me from grieving properly."

"Did you feel abandonment after your mother died?"

"Yeah. The one person who didn't judge me or belittle me, was leaving. Was dying. And I couldn't do shit about it."

"How do you think your brothers felt after your parents died?"

"My brothers are strong, I knew they would get through it better than I did. But still, they lost their parents too young. My mom died through cancer, but my dad, he died the moment hospice care began to visit our house. My brothers always had a father figure to look up to, but that person died years before my mother took her last breath. I don't think I'll ever forgive him for making my brothers go through that."

When I finish talking, I look up at her, waiting. Waiting for the advice I was supposed to get. But she doesn't say anything, just writes onto her notepad.

She looks down at her watch and stands up. "I think this was a good starting point. How about you come next week and we'll continue."

I look at her dumbstruck. "What? I thought you were supposed to give me advice?" She looks at me, unbothered, as if she's been asked this question before. "I'm sorry, Silas, but we've been into your past. I need to learn both your past and present to give you proper advice and treatments. It has already been an hour and I am expecting my next patient soon."

I nod my head, but anger and annoyance is starting to creep in.

What the fuck! I come here, expecting to be fixed, and instead, I'm told that she needs to learn more about me. Fuck this shit.

I can tell she's reading the anger in my face because she says, "Therapy is a long process. One session won't be enough to address everything. I'm sorry you didn't come here to get immediate advice, but I am hoping to see you next week?"

I nod my head, and exit without saying goodbye.

I am never coming here again.

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