Page 53 of Sin of the Saints

Bellcolor

Dr. Abano is standing in front of the window of his office as I enter for our usual evening session. He seems to be pondering something, and I silently sit in my chair.

As the last remnants of light are forced to admit defeat, and darkness covers the night skies, he tears his gaze from the window and sits down as well. He organizes the items on his desk with such precision, and when he’s satisfied he leans back.

I take a deep breath and wait for the verdict.

“Shall we discuss the last chapter you wrote?” He opens his desk and removes the notebook I’ve been writing in from the day he realized I’m no good at talking. He suggested I write my story, and I did until writer’s block hit me. I’ve been stuck with the story I made up just like I’m stuck in real life.

“There’s nothing to discuss, there’s no new chapter, I’m not good at endings,” I confess, lowering my head and playing with my fingers.

“That’s alright, it means you haven’t reached the end of your journey.”

I sigh in frustration. “Sometimes I think I never will,” I whisper, focusing on the scars on my thighs. Even if I wanted to move forward, they’ll always be mementos of my past. They’ll ensure it will haunt me forever.

He flips through the notebook and I wince. Even though I know he’s read my words thoroughly, I can’t get used to this exposure. I hadn’t thought about it too much when he’d suggested it. I thought it’d be easier than talking to him, but damn was I wrong.

He pauses, perusing what’s been written there. “Maybe because you see it as nothing more than a fantasy?”

“If it’s not true, is it not fantasy?”

“For many people in the world the questions you’re asking are true, and they spend their whole lives seeking the answers. Demons don’t just live in shadows, and angels walk among us, isn’t that true?”

I snort derisively in response and he laughs, but it’s not an amused laugh at all. “I suggest you don’t disregard the faith of others. You never know when you’ll need faith yourself.”

“They disregard me enough themselves. The administrator, the staff, my father, even you sin in that sometimes… why shouldn’t I pay you back in kind?”

“Because you shouldn’t be comparing your faith to the faith of others. Test your own, and ignore the rest. It’s not a competition.”

“So you say.”

“If you’re competing with anything, it’s with the devil living inside you. If you defeat it, God will come to you.” I’m sick of hearing the same thing in every fucking session. He doesn’t like my indifferent reaction and leans over towards me. “But you’re not interested in that, are you? You claim you resent Him, but your resentment is actually directed at yourself, because you’re not interested in turning away from the devil living inside you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I stifle the chuckle in light of his piercing glare.

“It’s time to wake up, Belle. You can’t keep running from this forever. Eventually, if you don’t choose, the choice will be made for you.”

His knuckles have gone white as his grip on the notebook tightens, but I look away and ignore him. I have no response to that.

Dr. Abano hums something, clears his throat and says: “Let’s return to the task at hand. I meant it when I said your words contain truth. I see it within all the chaos you create. And not just because of my professional training.”

“You say that to all your patients? Because some of them have been here forever. Maybe you should change tactics,” I taunt him. Sometimes he thinks too much of himself. He may be my therapist, but that doesn’t make me inferior or more foolish than him.

“No.” His voice hardens and he pauses for a moment. His gaze tells me he’s deliberating what to say. “I only say that to you, and you know it.”

I contort my face. “And Valentina,” I correct him.

“I’m just a toy for Valentina, like the rest of us. She’ll grow bored of the game she thinks she’s playing with me, just as she’ll grow bored with you. You should keep your distance, the relationship with her isn’t good for you.”

“Not always,” I hurry to defend her. “It hits her at certain times. You know that better than anyone. I can’t turn my back on her.”

He holds his pen and drums it nervously on the table. “She’s unstable, and she’s undermining you. She’s gotten under your skin in a way that could be devastating for you. I’m not trying to isolate you, despite what you may think, but she’s not a good friend for you, not in your delicate condition.”

“Because she reminds me of my mother?” He brought up that speculation more than once in the past, and I still think it’s a ridiculous notion.

“Because you get confused and think her concern for you is maternal, and you feel the need to return the same. She, like you, lost her mother under tragic circumstances, and you feel a need to fill that absence. You’re projecting your pain onto her, and it’s wrong.”

“Whatever.” I don’t want to talk about Valentina. He can talk to her instead of behind her back. It’s pretty hypocritical to bring up my projection towards her, especially when that’s what’s happening between us. And I don’t need his training to see that.

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