Page 344 of Vicious Saint
“Just…put the gun back in the box, Jimi. Okay? We don’t even know if it’s loaded.”
“Don’t…care,” I tell him in between sniffles.
“Well I fucking do. And so would Carlo.” Saint raises two cautious hands in front of him. “Please, baby. Before you hurt yourself.”
At this point my chest burns, nose is clogged, and my entire face down to my neck is drenched with tears. I’m drowning in sadness, yet somehow Saint’s fear is even more palpable.
So, after deliberating with my emotions, I decide to do what he says, barely getting the lid closed before Saint’s got the box headed for the nightstand. “This doesn’t make sense,” he comments after a few heavy seconds of silence.
A sad chuckle leaves my lips. “Of course it does. Carlo was nothing if not a pathological neurotic.”
“So you think he, what? Told Salvini to give it to you if he died?”
I find the letter from Carlo on the bed and pick it up to read again. Finding myself smiling,again, but this time a little less heavy.
“That’s exactly what he did.”
“He cared a lot about you, Jimi.”
I huff, then tilt my head to face him. “Almost sounds as if you liked him.”
“Like is a stretch. Respected, maybe. Especially since he’s the only reason you were able to come home to me.”
My gut twists with the reminder, but seeing the lengths Carlo has gone to secure my safety, it no longer feels right to dwell on survivor’s guilt. Instead, maybe it’s time for me to thank him.
Celebrate his life…
Starting with never taking mine for granted.
45
Hendrix
“Are you sure you wanna do this, Jimi?” Saint questions from the bed behind me, where he’s been sitting and pouting for over a half hour. “Fuck what our parents said. There’s no rush for you to come back to Riverside.”
Securing the final button on my blazer, I tell him, “I’m not doing this for them, Saint. I’m doing this for me. Staying on track for BU is exactly what Carlo would’ve wanted.”
“BU is yours with or without returning to Riverside. You know that.”
I spin around to face Saint, who’s got the same downcast look he had the entire ride to the dorms. “Did I ever tell you why Carlo agreed to stop at the grocery store?”
He shrugs. “I assumed it was ’cause he was happy for you.”
“It was because he wasproudof me, Saint. Proud. Not happy. There’s a very big difference.”
Something looking a lot like remorse washes over his face. “You’re right.” He pauses, cursing. “Fuck, you’re right, baby. I’msorry.” Saint reaches for my arm, pulling me to stand between his legs, then with his hands on my hips he looks up at me. “I wasn’t thinking straight.”
Can’t fault the guy for thinking exactly how I’ve been for so long. The only difference with Saint’s thoughts is when and where the worry in them seems to be coming from.
When—three days ago.
Where—my room…the second after announcing I wanted to come back to Riverside.
But even outside our talks about returning to the Royal Heathens’ kingdom, Saint’s defense has been moving on autopilot.
About me inviting my friends over, who I barely wanted at the mansion, and how a crowd may be too overwhelming for me.
Vic’s Sunday dinner being too hostile of an environment.
