Page 95 of Sinful

His bottom lip quivered for a moment as he held the pen. I wasn’t even sure he was going to write back before he finally put the pen to the page.

I’m so fucking sorry I hurt you, Siren. I will punish myself every day for my sins against you and the guys. Until my dying breath. I pray every night it’s my last night in this perpetual hell. And each day, I awaken, forced to bear the pain another day. I only hope someday you can forgive me. If you can never do that, then I accept it.

I watched him finish writing. He wiped quickly at his eyes before handing the notebook and pen to me. Quickly, he got to get to his feet and walk away. My chest clenched at his words, and my heart filled with pain.

I didn’t want him to punish himself. He was sick like the rest of us, and it wasn’t a good enough reason to be punished. It wasn’t our fault. It was the monsters before us.

Everything fell into place in that moment. I was seeing him. The real Sinclair Priest. The lost boy who was struggling to find his way out of despair.

Carefully, I got to my feet and went to him in the kitchen, where he was banging around, pulling pots and pans out to cook the macaroni and cheese.

I went straight to him and took his hand in mine.

He paused what he was doing and looked at me, his blond hair hanging in that shaggy way I liked around his face. It was the look in his eyes that sealed the deal.

He was a man with very little hope or happiness in the world.

He wasn’t a danger to me. Not really. Maybe he’d stomp on my heart someday, but I didn’t see that day being today.

“Siren,” he started, a pained look on his face.

“I forgive you, Sinful.”

A breath whooshed out of him, and he stared me down, so much turmoil on his face.

“You shouldn’t have to. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have done what I did. If I’d have just given you a chance. . . or given myself the chance.” He let out a breath and stared up at the ceiling before looking back at me. “Bells fucked me up. I loved her. Or believed I did. It was the only kind of love I knew, I guess. The love from my mother seemed to have come to an end after my dad tried to kill us. I was violent and unpredictable. Angry. I pushed her away, and I guess it probably worked because she walked away from me one day, and now I’m here.”

I watched him, wishing there was something I could do to make him feel better.

He sighed. “What I felt for Bells wasn’t what I thought it was.” He visibly swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. “I-I thought that was love. She was my entire world. We were going to have a kid.” He rubbed his eyes. “I still deal with that. Knowing my kid was killed by her out of her anger and sickness. She betrayed me and worked for Church’s old man. She never even loved me, even though she told me she did. Led me on. Made me feel like I had a chance at happiness only to rip it away from me and leave me like this.” He looked away from me, his hands trembling.

I stepped forward and reached for him, taking his face gently in my hands and steering his attention back to me.

“I’m a fuck up, Siren. I’m afraid it’s all I’ll ever be. I-I even ruined my family. I want to come home. I’m not the same person I was then. I swear I’m not. Church doesn’t believe me, but it’s not like I blame him after the shit I did.”

“You’re just lost,” I murmured.

“Who would even care to look?” His gray eyes flashed with his pain, making me hurt even more for him.

I went for it. I wrapped my arms around him, earning a soft cry from him, his body jerking.

Quickly, I pulled away, feeling like I’d done something wrong.

The twisted look of agony on his face made my heart jump.

“S-sorry,” he managed. “I-I punish myself. I’m just a little sore.”

His words sickened me. I’d heard he was doing that, but I didn’t realize it was to the extent that he couldn’t even be hugged.

I reached for him again, but he jerked away.

My words failed me, so I tried again, backing him into the corner of the kitchen counter. My words didn’t work, but my body sure as hell did.

I reached out and began unbuttoning his top. He stopped fighting me on it, his breathing shaky.

I’d never had the chance to take Sin’s shirt off, but when it finally fell open, it was to see beautiful planes of corded, thick muscles and bruises. So many painful bruises in different levels of healing. And the cuts.

They were deep and weeping with little trickles of blood. He hadn’t even bothered to bandage them.

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