Page 58 of Sin of the Saints

She plays with her fingers and says nothing. I wait patiently for her to be willing to let out what I feel is stuck on the tip of her tongue. She lets out a fairly long breath, she wants to let it out.

When she opens her mouth again, I’m already reviewing punishments for the person responsible in my mind. It must be Valentina; her recent instability worries me. If the administrator had any sense he’d target her rather than Belle, but I believe he’s a pawn in the twisted game she’s playing as well. Which proves again that the administrator’s focus is not on healing, but fulfilling his own devilish urges.

It seems she has a change of heart at the last moment and shuts her mouth, and I feel the twinge of disappointment in my heart. Despite all our time together, and the journey we’ve taken, she still doesn’t trust me.

“Would you prefer to write it down?” I ask hopefully, but she shakes her head. The line I’d usually give her is that we have time to find out, to go in-depth and dive into what’s blocking her, but unfortunately her treatment is scheduled for tomorrow. Belle’s out of time and she doesn’t even know it.

I struggle with myself whether to tell her. I don’t know what the repercussions would be. Will she go berserk and stir up chaos? Or worse, will she completely submit? Both options are equally terrible.

Belle runs her tongue over the wound on her lip, and my eyes focus on the slow motion. She releases her fingers and runs them up her thighs. I hold my breath and my eyes focus between her legs. I should curse myself for looking, but I can’t help myself.

“I don’t think my words have the power needed to properly get my story across.”

“Try, Belle, that’s all I ask of you.”

She sighs and looks away to the window. The rain has only intensified, and the skies grow bleaker.

I look over her profile. A round nose, long lashes framing her dark eyes, full and inviting lips, despite – and perhaps because of – the wound.Fuck.

I lower my eyes and see Belle’s notebook on my desk. God help me, that makes it worse. I know what her words have given birth to.

My ruin.

Transference isn’t unusual in therapy, but I’ve sinned in encouraging her to give free reign to her passionate urges rather than suppress them. But how could I not? She captured me with the first words she wrote, and the more she continued handing in chapters, the more often I’d forget that I was entrusted with her recovery, and was drawn into the plot she’d created. Maybe I fell in love with the Bartimaeus she created, his determination, the strength he’d displayed. On the one hand I was curious at the way she saw me, until she incorporated hints that she wanted him,that she wanted me.On the other hand, all the warning lights lit up like a Christmas tree, but the greedy son of a bitch in me only wanted to taste more of everything she was bringing me. Until the moment I became blind in her story, until the warning lights went out around me, until I fell into her abyss, her sharp eyes never spared me until she also gave the demon within me a name. And once he had his name, he existed for me in reality as well.

I wonder if that was her plan all along.

Belle’s aware of her sexuality, and uses it to get what she wants, though she’s declared more than once that she has no control over it. But Belle is a manipulative liar. She dances between the innocence and seduction in her. The apple of lust revealed to be the trick of a devious, venomous snake. If she only knew the fantasy wasn’t just in her head and might lead to fateful consequences. Because her poison is so sweet, so intoxicating, and it’s hard to resist its temptation.

Although there is someone who knows. Someone watching me, aware of every filthy thought that runs through my head, even in the small hours of the night, when I give in to my urges and my hand reaches out to my erection, pulsing with her name. It’s always just Lilith. Because I’ll never be able to pronounce the name of the girl sitting across from me, not even in the forbidden thoughts that take me over when I let Hillel come to life in my imagination.

“Libretto,” Belle says, pulling me out of the chaos raging in my mind.

“What did you say?” I ask, my heart skipping a beat. She’s never spoken of him outside her writing. This is unprecedented.

She slowly looks away from the window and her black eyes meet mine.

“Libretto,” she repeats his name again.

“I don’t understand,” I reply, confused.

She lowers her gaze and stares at her thighs as though they hold the answers to the questions running through my mind, but there’s no truth to that because it’s far from reach in the mystery named Belle.

“Can I go now?” Her voice is almost inaudible.

I clear my throat to break the shock that’s taken hold of me. “I’d like us to talk about Libretto. Why bring him up now?” This might be my last chance to crack his character.

She doesn’t raise her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about him.”

“Who’s Libretto, Belle?” I ask with as much gentleness as I can muster. It’s dangerous to push her, but I have to risk it.

Her eyes turn to the door as footsteps come from outside, and fear stirs in me as I suspect Libretto is someone within the institution. “Is he here now?” I ask, my voice betraying me as it trembles.

Belle’s eyes are fixed on me and welling up with tears, and that sight turns something in me, so deep I can’t move a muscle.She opens her mouth to answer, but heavy thunder strikes and she jumps, her gaze locked on the window of my office.

“Belle, are you alright?” I ask.

“Can I go now?” Her gaze is still locked on the window.

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