Page 62 of A Sinner's Saint

“You what?” Gio presses.

“I was having a nightmare. She tried to wake me up, and when I came to, she was underneath me and I was choking her,” I admit. “I didn’t know… I didn’t know it was her.”

“You’re not responsible for what you do in your sleep. You’re not even conscious. Anyone who knows you knows you wouldn’t hurt a woman on purpose.”

“It doesn’t matter. I hurt her, Gio. Her neck was fucking red. I did it, asleep or not,” I grunt, before inhaling another lungful of smoke.

“What does she say about it?” he asks.

I roll my eyes. “I could probably kill her mother in front of her and she’d find a way to forgive me, Gio.”

“Sounds to me like she’s a keeper then.” He chuckles.

“She is. But I can’t do it to her. I can’t strap her down to a life filled with my bullshit. I will just keep hurting her.”

“I’m no expert, but don’t you think you leaving herishurting her?”

“But she’s alive. I could have killed her.” The thought of draining the life out of Cammi’s eyes makes me physically ill. I can taste the vomit at the back of my throat, ready to spill over at any moment.

“You didn’t though,” Gio says. “I don’t know the girl very well, but from the one encounter I’ve had with her, I can say that I like her. And I think she’s good for you. You smoke less when you’re with her and you hang out with those loser friends of yours less when she’s around.”

“Dash and Marcus are not losers.” They are my friends. The two people who have always been there for me.

“Sure, they’re not.” Gio pushes to his feet. “Ellie expects you at the dinner table. Get ready for the inquisition. She’ll want to know everything about Paris.”

“Perfect,” I groan. “Just how I wanted to spend my night.”

“Better than sitting out here feeling sorry for yourself, little bro.” Gio walks back through the door without sparing me another look.

I finish my blunt and walk straight into my bathroom. I need a shower. I can’t go to dinner smelling like weed. I don’t need that kind of lecture from El.

Chapter Twenty-Eight

A year later

If you’ve ever wondered if it were possible to die of a broken heart, I’d say it is. I’m just not there yet. I’ve been knocking on death’s doorstep for a year and the fucker won’t let me in. If he had, I wouldn’t be here today to tell this story, so I guess it’s probably a good thing.

Twelve months ago, I lost him. Completely lost the man I loved. After we returned from France, he wouldn’t answer my text messages, wouldn’t return my phone calls. And like the idiot I was, I kept calling and messaging. Every day. For six whole months.

I’d wake up with renewed hope that things were going to change. That he’d come to realise he needs me just as much as I need him. It was a really long time to hold on to that hope, but I thought our love could overcome anything.

Until somewhere along the six-month mark, I found myself sitting in the middle of a lecture and it hit me. It was really over. I don’t know why it took so long. But when that knowledge came tumbling down on me like a ton of bricks, my heart stopped. Literally stopped.

One minute I was sitting in a lecture theatre; the next, I was waking up in an ambulance, being rushed to the hospital. The doctors never could find a reason as to why my heart gave in that day. My parents flew up from Melbourne, and I was made to undergo all kinds of medical tests.

None of it mattered. I knew why. And it was because of him. Vin really did give up on us. On me. I’ve accepted that now. I’d love to say I’ve moved on, but I haven’t. I can’t imagine dating anyone. Maybe I’ll spend my life like my Aunt Stacey. A free spirit. Alone.

I’ve made peace with it. With him. I hate what he did, but can’t bring myself to hate him. I just have to remember what he did, how he left without even a backwards glance. I won’t be hurt like that again.

Now that I’m back in Melbourne, I’m sure it won’t be long before I run into him. Especially once classes start next month. I’m ready for it… I think. It’s not like he’s going to try to talk to me or anything. He’s going to do what he’s done for the past year. Ignore me.

“Okay, you’re all set,” the lady behind the counter at student services says to me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Thank you.” I take the envelope full of useless information I’m probably not going to need.

There’s still a month before classes start. I returned to Melbourne for my parents. They both came up to Sydney a month ago to tell me they were divorcing. I didn’t ask why, nor did they offer up an explanation. It was a shock. I honestly thought my parents’ relationship was solid. It wasn’t until two days ago, when I came home to stay with my mum, that I found out my father had cheated on her with his receptionist.

My mum was in tears. She’s still trying to come to terms with everything that’s happening. I was just angry. So angry that my dad would do that to her. Why would he do that? I want to ask him. I have so many questions, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I don’t want to be caught in the middle of my parent’s divorce, and I don’t want to have to take sides.

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