Page 2 of The Saint

“You have no right to say that to me, Adrien.”

Bastien stood there and let us have it out in the middle of his living room, his clothes caked in mud and smelling of dirt and rain.

Adrien winced at my words. “I’m so sorry?—”

“I don’t forgive you.”

“I should have told him what you are to Bastien. That would have fixed everything. But in the moment?—”

“I’m done with this conversation.” I was exhausted, physically and emotionally, and my throat was so raw from coughing, it hurt to talk. The world continued to spin, and I needed it to go still, needed the world to go quiet. “I want to be with Bastien right now and for you to leave.” It was hard to believe Adrien had ever been my husband when my brief relationship with Bastien felt more like a marriage than ours ever had.

Adrien looked defeated, clearly wanting to fight on but knowing his time was up. He started to turn away, also covered in dirt from shoveling the mud off my coffin. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“I’m not okay.” It was hard to believe I would ever be okay after that.

He stilled, his eyes on the floor, and then walked out.

When the door clicked shut, I closed my eyes and released a strained sigh. After a beat, I looked at Bastien.

His bright eyes were locked on mine, the only part of his body that wasn’t covered in filth. Even his hair had mud in it, like he’d dug me out of that grave with his bare hands. “It’s okay not to be okay, sweetheart. But you will be.”

Bastien tossed his muddy clothes and mine in the trash then cleaned off in the shower.

I waited for him in bed, the curtains drawn closed to block out the sunlight. The doors to the living room were closed too, shutting out the light that came in from the terrace. I should sleep, but a part of me wondered if I’d ever be able to sleep again.

I knew the nightmares would come.

Bastien joined me a moment later, sliding into bed in just his boxers.

I was on him right away, circling his neck with my arm, hiking my leg up over his thighs, laying my forehead against his chin with my eyes on his throat. All I wanted was to be close to him,our bodies and souls touching, and once that happened, I felt better.

And worse.

His fingers lightly played with my hair as he lay with me. Didn’t ask how I felt, didn’t ask what I needed. Just comforted me with his strong silence.

My lips started to tremble as the emotion seeped through the cracks in the door of my heart, just the way the rainwater had dripped through the openings in the wooden coffin. My heart cracked, and the emotion poured in like a waterfall. I attempted to stifle my tears, but whenever I tried, it turned into sobs.

Only when I felt safe could I accept the violence. Only when I was in Bastien’s arms could I confront my own death.

He didn’t hush me or silence my cries with kisses. He just let me cry, let me shed the rainwater that had absorbed into my pores. Let me explode with terror and pain and fear. Let me feel everything I needed to feel so it would pass.

My eyes remained on his throat, and I watched him swallow more than once.

I cried until I was spent, cried until the physical and emotional exhaustion built to a crescendo…and I fell asleep.

When I woke up, he was still there, but wide awake like he’d been alert for a while. I turned to look at the crack in the curtains to gauge the time of day by the light. It was dark, so the day had passed while we’d slept.

I immediately thought of what happened the day before, but knowing it was officially in the past made it a little more bearable. Processing something that had happened a few hours ago was just too hard to do.

“Hungry?” he asked.

“Not really.”

“You should eat something.”

“The only thing that sounds remotely good is pancakes…but it looks like it’s dinnertime.”

“That can be arranged.” He grabbed his phone off his nightstand and texted Gerard, his private room service.

---