Page 27 of No Saint

The woman Lincoln was sat with at the ceremony walks in. Gabriel’s mother.

We stare at each other for a few seconds. She was a beautiful woman, dark, almost black hair, streaked with silver and white from age hang in a straight curtain around her face. She had deep brown eyes, creases around them but they hid a wealth of wisdom and some kindness. There was sternness there too, especially around her mouth. She was slim, dressed elegantly in a pale blue dress and white heels, her skin tan.

“Hello Amelia.”

“You must be Camille Saint,” I say.

“I am.”

“Thank you for keeping him safe,” I look to Lincoln.

“I will always keep my grandson safe, Amelia.”

I nod and go to move past her, “Excuse me.”

“Why did you hide him?” She asks before I can escape.

I swallow, “I didn’t hide him, I just didn’t reveal him either.”

“Lucas would have been a good father.”

I shake my head, “No, Camille, he wouldn’t have.”

“Excuse me?”

“How can anyone purposely force this life upon their children?” I look over my shoulder to the older woman. “This violence. Lucas did Lincoln a favor by not coming looking for him, seeing as he knew all about him according to Gabriel.”

“And you didn’t want Lincoln to have a father?” She asks, a slight bite to her tone.

“It wasn’t about having a father. I fell pregnant by accident and when I found out, I knew I didn’t want Lincoln to be a part of this.”

“He could have had a different upbringing so far if you did.”

“Don’t judge me for how I lived.”

“I’m judging you for what you could have given him and didn’t.”

I chuckle, “And if I could do it again, Camille, I’d still choose what I had to this.”

“You’re foolish.”

“Perhaps,” I agree, “But better foolish than dead.”

I leave, feeling her watch me. My dress drags behind me, my heels clipping against the marble. I feel eyes turn to me, I feel them watching as I make my way to the stairs but one set burns harder than the rest. I turn to see Gabriel at the door, the cut on his face cleaned but his suit is covered in blood, his hands too. He looks me over and then dismisses me, turning back to whatever conversation he was having.

Everything within me felt raw, tight. I knew it was only a matter of time before I broke.

I carry Lincoln to my room, cradling and rocking him until he falls asleep and then I lay him down and shut myself in the bathroom. I strip from the dress, leaving it in a puddle of white and red on the floor and begin to scrub my skin at the sink while a bath runs behind me. I scrub the blood off until my skin turns red and claw at my nails but the blood there, it doesn’t come out.

There was a lump in my throat, a burning behind my eyes. It’s only when I’m in the bath, my injured arm elevated to stop it getting wet that I break.

The sob echoes in the bathroom, bouncing back to me from the tiles.

My shoulders heave with each inhale of breath, my cheeks wet with tears that drop from my chin and into the water around me. Those shots echo inside my head, the screams of the dying like a sick song ringing inside my ears.

How anyone could live like this, how anyone could look at death like it was nothing, they were truly people to fear.

They did not care for the living or the pain of loss. It simply just was.

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