Page 82 of Bad Saint

I sterilize the area with the boiling water, washing the weeping mess. I then use the antiseptic wipes to ensure the wound is as germ-free as I can get it. Hoping I’m right, I place some of the molokhia leaves in the boiling water and place them over the cut.

Saint did say they helped speed up the healing process. I don’t know if he meant ingesting them or applying them directly to the source, so I’m going to do both. Once the wound is lathered with the juices of the molokhia, I dry it gently, place some ointment on there and then apply a fresh bandage.

I don’t know if any of this will help, but I’ll try anything.

I really wish I could force more than a trickle of water down his throat because the Tylenol would help. But the boiled molokhia juice will do just fine.

Placing Saint’s head against my thigh, I blow on the concoction, ensuring it’s not too hot. When it’s cool enough, I gently cradle his head, lifting it slightly and pressing the coconut shell with the juice to his lips. I feed it to him in small doses. Most of it runs down his lips, but surely, he’s swallowed some.

Not wanting to go too fast, too soon, I position myself so I can lean against the wall and still have his head on my lap. His chest rises and falls lethargically, but when I place my hand over his heart, I sigh in relief because it beats strong.

I didn’t think to ask him how his wound was or even offer to dress it because Saint is so…Saint. He is so strong and independent, and I never thought about him getting sick or being vulnerable, but being stuck here, I’ve now seen both.

Instantly, the urge to comfort him overcomes me, and I run my fingers through his hair. He would never allow me to touch him this way if the circumstances were different. Or would he?

My exhausted mind demands sleep, so I close my eyes for a few seconds and welcome the quietness once more.

“Zoey…”

My eyes snap open as my groggy mind takes a second to adjust to where I am. I’m still stuck on this island.

Peering down, I see that Saint’s head still rests on my lap. I touch his forehead, and even though he’s still hot, he’s not burning up. A small bubble of hope rises. Maybe he’ll pull through.

I have no idea of the time and being cooped up in this dark cave doesn’t help. I decide to try to feed Saint more of the molokhia concoction as I’m hoping this has helped with his fever. Without moving him from my lap, I reach for the remaining juice in the coconut shell and swish it around. Drawing the shell to his lips, I gently prop his floppy head forward.

“Saint, you need to drink this.” I can only hope he can hear me. Most trickles down his chin but when I see the slow swallow of his throat, I cry in relief. “That’s it. Drink.” I don’t want to force too much down, so once he’s had a few small mouthfuls, I pull the shell away.

He sighs and nestles against my leg.

“Can you hear me?” I ask gently, brushing the hair back from his face. He looks so weak and vulnerable.

His shallow breaths are a welcomed sound because a few days ago, I didn’t even know if I’d hear them again.

“Zoey?” he mumbles; his eyes are still squeezed shut.

“No, it’s me. Willow,” I whisper, continuing to stroke his hair.

“I’m sorry I didn’t protect you,” he says sluggishly.

“Shh, it’s okay.” I don’t want him thinking like that. I just want him to focus on getting better.

“I should have come sooner. I’m sorry, Zoey.”

My stomach drops because he thinks he’s talking to Zoey and not me. I can’t hide my disappointment, but I disregard it quickly.

“But I’ll fix it,” he slurs while I hold my breath. What is he about to confess? “I’m going to make it right, and then you can come back home, and everything will go back to normal.”

Fix what?

“I’ve got what Popov wants.”

My stomach drops. Is he, is he talking about me?

Saint has succumbed to sleep, but I’m wide-awake, stunned by his admission. I don’t want to believe I’m involved in Saint’s plans, but deep down, I know that I am. My attention drifts to his journal. The answers I seek are no doubt buried within those pages, but the question is, when I uncover what he has planned for me, will I turn into him? A murderer? Because if I’m proven wrong, and heisthe bad guy, then I have no other choice but to fight.

It’s survival of the fittest, and right now, Saint’s survival depends on me.

Sighing, I lean my head back against the rocky wall and close my eyes. He is my foe, so why do I keep treating him like my friend?

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