Page 90 of Vicious Saint
No monsters, no saints.
Or at least any that can save me.
There’s only one way out of this hell I’m in, and it’s far down from here.
A door opens behind me, a fourth, then fifth, and sixth body enters the room, one of which has a familiar collectiveness to his voice. Words are muffled until they blend into the same distorted hums as my father and sister’s.
I know exactly why my father called Dr. Morris. He’s part of the Royal Heathens’ medical chain of command. But chains, even discreet ones, were always meant to be broken by someone.
Alcohol and desperation make for easy bad decisions, and the second mine is settled I dart toward the open window, ready to embrace the fall. My feet move like air, but I don’t make it far before my plans, along with my body, is being pummeled onto the floor by two angry giants. We’re in the midst of a wrestling match, adrenaline doing the trick to fight them off. That is, until a fist nails me in the cheek, rattling the inside of my head.
The room is spinning too fast for me to stop the hand shoving down the back of my pants—the sound of Vicious’ roar too loud to avoid the needle I’m jabbed with.
Within seconds, my muscles begin to relax, lungs begin to deflate, mind begins to slow.
Vicious begins to fade.
Then…lights go out.
10
Hendrix
“Ican’t fucking believe this!” Storming into the kitchen, I head straight for Mom by the island, still wrapped in her silk robe as she retrieves an espresso from Darla, the housekeeper.
“Oh my goodness! Right?” She places the cup on the counter to hug me. “I was just watching the update on the news. Thank God nobody was in the building.”
My head is still reeling as I recall what I woke up to hearing on Bex’s TV. “The fire took out the entire first floor.”
“I know, Vic told me. So, so sad.” Mom pouts, lifting the cup and taking a sip.
“Uhm, yeah. Because now the dorms are closed for the rest of the summer.” I should know, I was there…screaming to be let in.
After yet another night of getting wasted at a house party with Archer and Bex, I stayed over at her house instead of heading back to the dorms. Then, when I did return, I was stopped by aguy in a hazmat suit and told to pretty much to fuck off when demanding entry to my room.
Most kids go home for the summer in Riverside, which is something I did until my mother decided to up and sell the fucking condo two weeks ago. Yup. Sold it—from right under my nose—to a sweet old couple from Georgia.
Said she didn’t see it as an issue since I dorm at the school all year, and I keep insisting I want to do the same when I’m in college.
So the only time I’d ever really be at the Lavell mansion is for the holidays and summer—the second of which is over very soon.
Mom struts over to the dining table with me right on her tail. “Oh, this is not good. I’m sorry, baby.”
“Sorry?” I scoff. “Really? That’s all you got?”
“What do you want me to say?” She sits down. “It’s not like you don’t have anywhere to go.”
I can smell the crazy in that sentence from a mile away.
If my mother thinks for one second I will move my stuff into this ancient mansion-slash-bunker like some rags to riches to evenmoreriches, she’s got quite the news flash coming.
As if being hit in the face by surveillance cameras and an endless gallery of Patron Saints isn’t enough to give me the ick. Imagining myself stuck in a house with Saint, in aroommade up of vintage wallpaper andcartouches,or whatever Vic calls the naked angels, is so much more than enough to have me gagging on the fresh lemon scent in the air.
And oh my fuck.
Someone please tell me what. The heck. Is with. The Lavells. And citrus?
“I amnotstaying here.” Mom opens her mouth to rebut but I cut her off. “Don’t start. You promised not to force me on this. Especially after what happened the night of the wedding.”
