Page 359 of Vicious Saint
“I know…I fucked up! But I had no choice if I wanted to protect you.”
“Carlo died, Saint! He died because I didn’t know I was the target.”
“No, Jimi. Carlo died because of that sick fuck Nikolai Ivanov!”
“Who was chasing a vendetta against my dead sick fuck of a father!”
“If you would just give me a second to explain, you’ll understand why I couldn’t!”
A breakdown of Saint’s ultimate betrayal is not something I can bear as the world proceeds to crumble around me.
So, when a noise from the hallway distracts him, I use it as an opportunity to escape to the bathroom, locking myself inside just in time to avoid him getting in.
I can feel the rumble of Saint’s fists against the door as I lean my back against it, begging me to come out and talk to him.
But there’s nothing left to say.
I gave Saint everything: my trust, my heart, my body, my soul.
And he spent months slowly breaking each of them.
For a while we continue this way, with me swallowing tears and Saint unraveling apologies, pleas, even empty threats to break through the door. Then, after one final blow of his fist, a beat of silence falls from his side.
I wish I could say the same for mine.
Through fractured breaths, I slide down the door, not stopping until my ass meets the cashmere runner that leads to Saint’s shower. Not quite what I imagined rock bottom to feel like, but I’ll take whatever small mercy the universe is willing to give after eviscerating me.
I look around Saint’s immaculate bathroom, every corner of it haunted with days old memories that feel like a lifetime ago.
The shower at the far end, where he spent hours worshiping my body. His fancy “don’t you dare touch my towel” towel hanging off the hanger. The toothbrushes on the vanity where we’d brush our teeth and compare spit. Which, now that I think of it, sounds just as gross falling in my head as it did in the sink.
Another onslaught of tears makes their way past my clogged nose, dipping inside my mouth as I struggle for air.
Every kiss, laugh, his need to take care of me…
Was it all driven by Saint’s lies?
Or worse? His guilt?
The sound of a wooden thump, like Saint’s head pressing against the door, appears not far above mine.
“Please, Jimi, come out so we can talk.”
I shake my head, even though I know he can’t see it.
“The good, the bad, the ugly,” he adds. “You promised to remember.”
“And you promised no more secrets.”
“I was gonna tell you the truth about everything after your interview at Bromwell. But then Carlo died and I didn’t want to hurt you even more.”
“So you spent months guilting yourself into taking care of me?”
Offense comes through as a sharp laugh. “Guilt? You believe that’s what’s been driving me?”
“What else am I supposed to believe, Saint?”
“You believe me when I say I did all of this because I love you. Because Ichooseyou, above everyone else. That I fell so fucking hard, so fucking fast it literally drove me to madness. I’d die for you, Jimi. Without question I would lay down my life if it meant you were safe.”
