Page 14 of No Saint

Amelia

I hold Lincoln tightly, inhaling his familiar, warming scent. It was home. My heart. My soul. He snoozes soundly, his light little snores like music and the steady beat of his heart patters against my chest. He was perfectly fine, no injuries, no signs of neglect or abuse which I had been worried about.

How could I trust these people knew how to care for a child they just stole!?

The bleeding at my wrists has stopped but they were sore, I could feel the skin rubbing underneath, the bandages chaffing against the raw flesh. I had to get out of here. I had to take Lincoln and run. Run far, far away so they could never find us again.

I’d never have to worry about the Saints or about my own family.

We could just disappear. Leave the country and start fresh.

I hold Lincoln a little bit tighter, my soul eased now I have him here, but I couldn’t wait. We had to leave as soon as possible.

But for now, I sleep. I keep myself curled around my boy, holding him as closely as physically possible. And while my sleep is restless and light, I manage to claw back some of the energy this last twenty-four hours has sucked from me, and if I wanted this escape to be successful, I needed all the rest I could get.

I wake to glorious sunshine beaming through the window, the warmth of the rays breaking a sweat across my brow. Lincoln sits next to me, his grin instant when he sees me wake. He pokes my face, dimples popping into his cheeks as he smiles wider.

“Hi baby,” I whisper, bringing him to me. I wasn’t stupid enough to believe it would be easy, my life had been a reel of bad things happening but no more.

My stomach growls loudly and I knew Lincoln would need food soon. I couldn’t tell what time it was, but it had to be early, and silence surrounded us. Slowly, I climb from the bed, tiptoeing to the door. It was of course locked, but I press my ear to it. Behind it I hear muffled footsteps but no voices.

“Hello?” I call.

Footsteps stop.

“Hello?” I yell again when a minute passes.

Hushed whispers greet me before those footsteps run off, further away from me.

I sag and glance back to Lincoln who plays with a feather that’s fallen out of the pillow.

The door suddenly opens, and I jump back with a yelp, finding the doctor entering.

He glances over me and then to Lincoln. “I thought I told you to stop fighting.”

“As if I’ll listen to you.”

He smirks, “I’ll get the kit, are you hungry?”

“Please,” I nod.

He smiles gently and exits again, locking the door.

I sigh, food, treatment, escape. We could do that.

It isn’t Devon that brings the food, but a woman I assume is employed by Gabriel. She slides a tray of food through the door and promptly closes it before it is once more locked.

I collect it and bring it over to Lincoln, separating the toast and jam to the porridge and passing him the neon green plastic spoon. He scoffs it down, along with the milk while I eat the toast slowly and sip from the orange juice they provided.

It’s after we’ve finished when Devon turns back up, his medical kit in hand.

“Good to see you have an appetite,” he comments, placing the kit at the side of the bed. I don’t speak, not even as he lifts my bandaged wrists and begins to unpeel the gauze. I hiss when the material snags on the skin fused to it, ripping off the scabs that had formed over the cuts.

Devon doesn’t wince or speak, just mops up the trails of blood and cleans them quietly, rubbing ointment and cream into the cuts.

“He’s looking a little flushed.” Devon mentions quietly while working on the other wrist, “Do you mind if I check him?”

My brows tug down, “Excuse me?”

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