Page 55 of Sin of the Saints

I look at the desk in my room, the pen placed on the stack of empty papers, and no words come to me. I’m too overwhelmed, and I know I need something else. I throw the notebook onto the desk and snatch my shower kit and towel, hoping I’ll find him there.

I enter the locker room, but it’s empty. Disappointed, I approach one of the empty shower stalls, turn on the faucet, and don’t bother waiting for the water to heat up. I choke back the shriek of shock as the cold water hits me, counting the seconds until it gradually heats up. I press my forehead to the old tiles and give in to the flow, though the water pressure is never enough. Dr. Abano’s words float through my mind. His behavior was atypical. He was cold to me, like I was another case to be handled with alienating professionalism. I haven’t been ‘anothercase’ for a long time. Something’s changed, and I’m sure it wasn’t unilateral. The more I opened up to him, the more he opened up to me, and then the change took a new shape. It’s my fault… I went too far.

That which has a grip on me played me good and well this time. He demanded more and more, and I couldn’t not give in to the feelings Dr. Abano’s proximity stirred in me, the forbidden passion that continued to bubble within me as our sessions became more frequent, as most of the residents were still asleep and unaware of what was going on. And more so in their moments of waking, as footsteps were heard outside the door of Dr. Abano’s office.

I hear the door to the locker room creak, and open my eyes without daring to turn and see who it is. Privacy’s a right we’re not entitled to here, and the shower stalls have no doors or curtains. Privacy’s a concept I don’t know either way. My demons would never give me that privilege.

“I thought I’d find you here,” the voice approaches. He knows me too well, better than anyone.

He doesn’t enter another stall. I hear footsteps approaching, stopping right behind me. I shut my eyes tight and detach my consciousness, feeling sturdy fingers directly between my legs. I try to stifle the whine, but I’m too weak, too in need of release.

He lays his forehead on my back and the warm air slipping out between his lips sends chills across my skin.

“Was it that bad?” he asks in a cold tone.

I never know what I’ll have to give up when I meet him, and for some time I’ve known that I have no choice but to give in. He always finds me when I feel I’m on the verge of losing control, and he waits for it. I know it’s dangerous, and yet I still wait for him to come.

Another hand caresses my breasts, and my nipples grow stiff beneath its touch. Soft kisses dance across my shoulder bladesand neck, and I tilt my head to one side to give him comfortable access. A tongue runs up my back and I feel the vein in my neck pulsing strongly.

“Belle…” he whispers my name hoarsely, and I arch my back in anticipation for what’s coming. He chuckles with satisfaction, his fingers between my legs massaging my clit, and I let a bestial growl just like the demon within me. He hushes me, the other hand abandoning my breasts and covering my mouth before one of the staff hears us.

A single finger slips inside me and I wince in pain. Despite my wetness I’m not ready yet, but he doesn’t ask permission – he’s here to take. My inner walls convulse and protest, but they have no choice but to give in to him too. And at the moment of submission another finger penetrates me and the hand on my mouth tightens. My guts churn with the understanding that I’ve given free rein to the demons sinking within me. I gasp as the fingers slip inside me at a dizzying pace I can’t keep up with, and freezing air blows into my ear, a challenge to see if he can get more growls out of me, but all that emerges from me is just a pitiful whine. He’s testing to see if I become a nameless beast, just like he was for me. It’s his private revenge.

I try to stop the movements making free use of my body, but the hand slips out of me and grabs mine with an aggressive grip, pulling it and fastening it to the wall above my head. “You don’t fight. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. Understood?” the voice commands by my ear, and I choke out another whimper.

Satisfied, his hand finds my clit again between my folds, and slowly runs his fingers over it, but this time I don’t dare make a sound. I move my hips and press my legs together, while my fingers uselessly dig into the tiles. “If you make a sound, it’ll go poorly for you,” the voice whispers to me, and I hurriedly nod energetically even though I know nothing will leave a more bitter taste than that.

I’m twisted. I’m fucked up. I’m once again proving that I deserve the curse I bear. The moment I close my eyes I’m caught in the flames of passion, my body moves at the rhythm dictated by his hand, which increases its movements into a merciless dance. I press my forehead to the tiles and bite my lip so hard I’m sure I can taste my own blood as I release all my inhibitions. I fold, making fists of my hands as though seeking for a handhold in my doom, but my hands slip across the tiles. The moment of climax attacks me from every possible front, and a scream rips out of my choked throat. His hand clamps over my mouth before I can give away what we’re doing.

As the waves of orgasm reside, he releases me from his grip and withdraws as I fall to my knees, gasping for breath. I only glimpse him for a moment, seeing him lick his blood-slicked hand with satisfaction and disappearing in a terrifying silence without saying a word. I watch the blood drip from my mouth and be washed down the drain. It’s a spectacular sight that’s emblazoned in my mind. The longer I look at it, the more the need to write grows, and a familiar tingle in my fingers comes to life.

My face is flushed and I’m panting, having trouble sorting my breathing. I turn the faucet to the lowest temperature, letting it cleanse me of the filth that will never wash off.

When I’ve gotten what I wanted, and the thoughts finally drain out of my head, I wrap myself in a towel and head out of the locker room. Ellis runs up to me in the hall with a grumpy expression. “What the hell was going on over there?” His gaze locks onto my wounded lip.

“I slipped,” I answer, batting my eyelashes.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Belle. Don’t play games with me,” he chastises me.

I look right into his eyes and say nothing. A long silence lingers and I start trembling.

“Can I go get dressed now, Ellis? Or do you want to keep staring at me while I’m naked in the hallway?”

Ellis’ neck turns red and he hurriedly looks away. “Go. But the administrator wants to see you in his office immediately.”

“Fine,” I answer, and head to my room.

He murmurs something unclear and heads in the opposite direction, towards the locker room. He opens the door and yells: “Who’s there?” But I know he won’t find anyone.

Chapter Thirty-Three

Bellcolor

Ifeel the nearing sunrise even before the light pierces the room. I couldn’t fall asleep for a moment. Maybe I should’ve swallowed the sleeping pill Dr. Abano prescribed for me after all, the staff makes sure I take them every evening. But I hate the pills. They dull my senses and thoughts. They make me fade.

While I do manage to sleep when I take them, because the demons finally fall asleep too, I also lose my appetite, and then the staff’s hawklike eyes pick up that I’m not eating. And when I don’t eat, the real mess starts. It’s an endless cycle of destruction.

So I decided to play the game, the same game Valentina taught me to master well: to open my mouth and stick my tongue out as proof I’ve swallowed the pills, then immediately spitting them out as soon as they leave, swallowing down the bitterness they bring up in me and keeping the pills for when I want to get high and disconnect a bit from my ugly reality.

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