Page 89 of Vicious Saint
I’ve put in the work.
Kept up the charm.
The patience, damn it.
Managed to stay close enough to bask in her presence without putting her at risk of my insanity. To drink in her smiling eyes even though they were never for me.
I’ve got no shame in admitting to anyone that I’ve got an unexplainable need for this girl's attention.
To swallow her anger, disdain. Taste that smart mouth.
In fact, my actions leading up to our best friends getting together were driven solely by this need.
I’ve spent months behind thousands of different facades, and weeks behind newly sparked hatred for Hendrix. Which I was hoping would be enough to stop this yearning to be close to her.
It hasn’t. As a matter of fact, it’s gotten worse.
But even spoon feeding the monster is too fucking dangerous.
You see?Vicious mutters right next to my face.You’re weak. You need me to make you strong.
I can smell the scent of my cologne on him, the heat from his whiskey tinged breath. But, before I get the chance to respond, Theory is dropping to the floor in his place.
“Hey, big b-bro,” she calls out. “Think you can turn the lights up for me?”
She repeats the catch phrase, the same one she created years ago with Dr. Morris to bring me back. It’s worked in the past, but not so much in the present.
I need him gone. I need them gone.
I need the feeling of Vicious seeping in and out of my veins gone.
“I t-told you not to invite these people!” Theory shouts at my dad. “I told you they’d t-trigger him. But you never l-listen.”
“They’re members of our parish, Theory. I’ve grown close to this family regardless of who they’re related to. I didn’t think this would happen.”
Like I said. Vicious’ voice returns, this time echoing throughout the suite.Pathetic and weak.
I can feel the surface of my throat searing from another roar, the sudden burst of energy strong enough to break my father’s hold on me and knock Theory over.
I hate myself even more for it.
Guilt loses its battle against insanity as I jump to my feet, pacing back and forth in the room, chest heaving, saliva spitting like a caged beast.
Vicious follows right behind, then multiplying to circle me.
Take her. Make her ours to punish for what she said.
I can’t. I fucking won’t. Not the way he wants me to.
No matter how far she crossed a line Hendrix earnedmywrath, not his.
The pressure builds the faster my feet move, almost into a sprint as I hear Theory’s worries about how my meds are no longer working and my mood swings are getting worse. They eventually turn into background noise…along with my father’s usual prayer for the sick.
“Thy sick servant…” he prays out loud.
Ravage. Ruin.Vicious commands right after.
Smack in the middle of this room, there’s the ultimate fight between good and evil, the need to break free of both turning into blinding desperation.
