39. Sandro #2
Brannigan taps his finger against his lip before leaning back.
“I’ll be honest with you. You need to talk to Javi about this.
Because while I can help you with grief—the loss of your position, etc—I don’t generally specialize in this type of trauma.
Most therapists handle several disciplines, but Javi gathered specialists.
It’s good in the sense that we are very good at what we do, but at the same time, you will likely need to speak with a few people. ”
I shudder, distaste rolling through me. Shit. I’m that much of a fuck up that I’m going to need even more help? Jesus. What’s the point? I keep fighting, but fuck… Maybe I shouldn’t.
“Let me stop you. I can see you’re spiraling.”
I glance at him, startled, only to notice that I’ve curled in on myself, and my breathing is faster. Forcing myself to relax, I mutter, “Sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. I just have a feeling you’re beginning to shift into negative self-talk, and we’ve discussed this before. So, tell me what the thoughts are, and let’s strategize, see how we can reframe them.”
I wince, not wanting to be on suicide watch again. Huffing out a breath, I say, “First, I want to make it clear. I’m not suicidal. I just…had an initial reaction. That basically I’m so fucked up that I should just give up.”
He nods thoughtfully. “That’s fair. You have habits that you have to unlearn.
Give yourself grace on that. You need to remember, you’ve undergone significant trauma.
Not just with how you were raised, but then the kidnapping, and from the sounds of it, what happened to the Martelli Family was a direct assault of essentially a psychotic break.
And your mind hasn’t recovered—yet. We’re getting there.
You are getting there. One step at a time.
I wouldn’t suggest you see others if I didn’t feel you weren’t strong enough to do so. ”
I inhale sharply, shock overtaking me. “You think I’m strong?”
He smiles at me, even though it’s tinged in sadness. “What else would you say to someone who lived through a very traumatic childhood. Based on what we’ve talked about, that trauma includes emotional, physical, and sexual abuse. You then were thrust into a position of power without being ready.
“And while you replicated some of what you were taught, your relationships with your Boys were all genuine. Enough that they’ve all continued a relationship with you—and still defend you.
Some even refuse to call you Sandro. Not as a slight, but because they recognize that in your heart, you are worthy as Allesandro.
“You dealt with those same Boys being attacked. Some of them betraying you. And if you were your father, you would have killed them, but you didn’t because you do know love and mercy—you’re just struggling to give it to yourself.”
A sob catches in my throat as I shake my head, wanting to defend why I don’t deserve love or mercy, but he pushes on, refusing to let me yield.
“And then, when things were finally going well, when you were engaged and planning to be married, you were forcibly ripped away. Then you were stuck waiting for rescue, when this whole time you’ve always been the one to rescue others.”
I shudder, hating the words that pelt at me. Fuck. It’s so damn accurate, and so damn frustrating. The tears overflow my ability to choke them back, because I know what comes next. The sins. The fucking unforgiveable sins. But as much as he talks about mercy, Brannigan doesn’t give me any.
“You came back changed. You bonded with Cristian, and in your absence, the Families melded together. Betraying everything you were taught, what you believed in. The strength you relied on your whole life…your motto and the way you lived… Gone.
“At that point, you broke. It’s reasonable. Would you blame Lio if he broke?”
I shake my head, because he’s right. I wouldn’t. But I’d never blame Lio, even if he hurt me, because I know his heart. It’s not black like mine.
“And I can feel you putting up walls, but Sandro, what you did during a psychotic break was wrong, yes. It was hideous, absolutely. And should there be consequences? Of course. But there’s a reason the courts even recognize an insanity plea.
You were so desperate for control, so much under the control of your father’s words and delusions, that you were not acting sane.
If any of your Boys did that, you’d forgive them. Now? Now you have to do the hard part…”
“Don’t say it. Please. Don’t ask me to do it,” I whimper, curling into myself as I try to block him out.
But suddenly, he’s there, his fingers pressing against mine.
“Forgive yourself, because if others deserve that, so do you. Maybe especially you, because you’ve carried not just your sins, but the sins of multiple generations on your back.
And you’ve carried the sins of others as well, those of your Boys.
You’ve held it in for too long. So, that’s what you need to focus on.
Finding a way to forgive yourself. Because that’s when the pieces you feel are missing will finally fall into place. ”
I break. Shatter. Give in to the storm that takes over. Emotions pelt against me, tearing the last of my sanity away. Again. Stripped of the dignity I fought to claim again.
I barely hear the commotion around me. Or the needle sliding in. When the darkness spreads, and the numbness hits me, I merely fall. Fall into the bliss of the void, where there’s no pain, no struggle, no guilt, and no pressure to do the impossible…
Forgive the unforgivable…