Reaper's Angel [HIATUS]

[5] The Truth Untold

Diego felt like he was stuck in a constant loop. He woke up every day with this empty ache in his chest that never faded away and then the ache became an overwhelming pain. At first, he'd thought it was a heart attack as he'd never had such intense pain before even after being shot, twice. After a visit to Doc, the club's unofficial doctor, he was diagnosed with broken heart syndrome. He couldn't believe what he'd been told but Doc had reassured him he'd be fine with time.

The stress of losing the love of his life, her murder done by his own hands and losing his best friend, Skid, all at once was too much for him his heart to handle. He had no one. Nothing left. He deserved this though, he deserved so much worse than what he got.

He had made a mistake, gotten mixed up with some bad people and drugs. After Lincoln had taken over when his Pa passed away everything had turned to shit. They ran more than just guns and soon moved on to drugs, smuggling them in and out of the border. They were in way too deep now, there was nothing he could do to get out so instead, he embraced the changes.

He was in a constant downward spiral that triggered a side of him that hadn't come out since he was a teenager. That was when the voices began again, they hounded him telling him he was worthless, no good. And he believed them.

It'd gotten worse in the past months. He would be doing something one minute and the next he'd black out not remembering where he was or how he got there. He'd do and say things that weren't like him at all. He'd finally searched for an answer after a fight at a local bar had landed him in jail. He had nearly beat a man to death for spilling his beer. At that point, it'd gotten out of control and something needed to be done. No one could know what was happening to him. The club would call him crazy and cast him out like they had his father before him.

"Mr. Rivera." Diego snapped out of his self-pity party at the sound of his name. He looked to the doorway where his therapist, Dr. Truman, stood with a gentle smile. "Are you ready?"

"Yeah, let's do it." Diego sighed before he stood from his seat and made his way to the door. Everything was the same in the room since he'd last been there. White walls letting light from the open window bounce off and fill the room. The interior design was bright in contrast to the walls. Furniture in shades of yellow and orange whereas the carpet was an off shade of white. He'd asked before and Truman had told him shades of yellow, orange, and red induced a happy uplifting feeling. Fitting for a doctor's office.

Diego took a seat on the couch as he had done every week for the past two years. He fidgeted in place as Dr. Truman took a seat across from him before picking up a stack of papers he knew to be his file.

"How has your week been Diego?" Dr. Truman asked, looking up at him with a smile.

"Shit as usual. It happened twice this week." Diego replied in frustration. "It's happening more and more."

"Did anything unusual happen during these incidents?" Dr. Truman continued.

"Not at first. Then I killed a dog, deliberately. Well, he killed it. It was on the road and we had time to stop but he just....kept going. It was like I had no control like I was in the back seat. It was just a puppy, it didn't do anything to anyone and I.." Diego looked away in disgust. Dr. Truman hummed in reply, "There's no need to be ashamed Diego, it wasn't you. It's good that you get help before this gets out of control."

"Right," Diego cleared his throat before nodding for him to continue.

"Has the medication I prescribed had any effect?" Dr. Truman continued with his questions, observing Diego's reactions as he replied.