Page 321 of Vicious Saint
I spot the tears in Dad’s eyes through mine, and I know he’s made his decision.
“The doctor thinks you may be sick.” He clears his throat. “And so do I.”
“I’m not sick! I feel fine. I promise!”
“You broke your sister’s jaw. Ripped hairs out of her head. Choked her so hard her brain was deprived of oxygen. Does that sound like something you would do if something wasn’t wrong?”
Horrible images flash by, all of me doing exactly what he said.
Theory’s head shooting side to side as I punch her.
Blood and teeth spurting from her mouth. Bones cracking.
The doll she chose to keep squeezing instead of fighting back.
Why didn’t she fight back?
Why didn’t I fight the strange voice?
My throat burns as vomit flies from my mouth all over my hospital gown. Leaving me hanging forward by my wrists until whatever acid is left in my stomach rolls down my chin and neck.
Dad is right. Something’s wrong with me.
Why else would there be a monster living in my head?
“So, big day coming up, Hendrix,” my father comments from the end of the dining room table, finishing up the last piece of meatloaf. “You excited?”
Hendrix’s got an elbow on the table, resting her head against her hand as she picks at uneaten mashed potatoes. “I am.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” her mother chimes in, thanking Darla for taking her empty plate before adding, “You barely said a word during dinner.”
“That’s not true, June.” The aunt winks at Hendrix. “She did mention that hideous shirt you’re wearing.”
A few bickers get tossed between the sisters, who I swear to fuck I wouldn’t be able to tell apart if Hendrix’s mom didn’t constantly walk around with flowers all over her clothes.
Hendrix chuckles in a failed attempt to perk up. “Sorry, I forgot about dinner tonight and ate leftover pizza earlier.”
I keep the truth to myself like we agreed on, even though I fucking hate being the reason she’s been mentally drained all day.
Let’s just say I wasnotprepared for what happened last night. Mostly because I never planned on Hendrix finding out the truth about Theory.
It was hard enough to trust she wouldn’t leave me for almost killing a little girl. But my sister? There’s a reason people say some secrets are too fucked up not to be taken the grave.
Or some shit like that.
The universe wasn’t on my side, but luck sure fucking was, because not only did Hendrix not leave me at rock bottom, she stayed up all night trying to prove her opinion of me hasn’t changed.
It took me a while to open up, but when I did she listened to every gory detail of my confession. Cried a lot. Which I wasn’t mad about since focusing on her allowed me to keep most of my shit together until the bitter end of the story.
I’ve gotta be honest and say as much as I was convinced telling Hendrix the truth was a bad idea, now that she knows, there’s a weight lifted I didn’t realize was holding me down.
Because she did exactly what she said she would—faced my demons unafraid—but made sure I did it with her.
“It’s a shame. Vic had the chef make your favorite. You should’ve at least tried to enjoy it.” Hendrix’s nag of a mother decides to open her mouth again.
Big mistake.
“What part of she’s fucking full do you not understand?”
