Page 92 of No Saint

“Amelia, baby, listen to me.” His voice. “Listen to me!”

I thrash, my heart thumping so hard inside my chest it feels as if it will jump right from my ribcage.

“Listen to me, Amelia,” his voice is at my ear, “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

“It hurts.” I whimper.

“I know baby, but nothing can hurt you anymore. Ever again. I’ve got you.”

The weight lifts from my chest and I suck in air, dragging it down into my lungs. “That’s it, breathe for me. Breathe, I’ve got you. You’re safe.”

“Gabriel,” I cling to him, tears wetting my cheeks, wetting his shirt.

“Shh,” he holds me on his lap, tight against him, smoothing hands down my hair, down my back.

I don’t know how long we sit there for, how long he holds me while I quietly sob into his chest, but he doesn’t let me go, not once. He whispers and soothes, stroking me as I calm, my breathing returning to normal.

“I’m okay,” I whisper.

I push off him, getting my bearings, trying to figure out why that happened. I try not to think too hard, I felt fragile, like it wouldn’t take much to push me back over the edge. Feeling Gabriel behind me, I reach for the table, using it to pull myself up. I balance there for a minute, centering myself, sucking clean air into my lungs.

I hear Gabriel stand behind me.

I was thankful for him, thankful he was there but I didn’t know how to explain it.

I didn’t know.

Every hair rises on my body, goose bumps chasing across my skin at the sound of his voice. It was a tone dripping in violence, in rage, his voice low and dangerous and all he says is, “Who?”

I swallow.

“Who did this to you?” He asks.

I don’t move and then realize why he could now see the scars. The marks that litter my skin across my back and arms and stomach.

“Amelia?” He growls out, “Who the fuck hurt you?”

Slowly, as if he were a dangerous animal, I turn to face him. His thunderous expression takes the wind out of me. “Gabriel…”

“Who!?” He demands.

“My stepfather.”

His jaw tightens, “Is he still alive?”

“Yes.”

He spins to walk away. I lunge after him, “Gabriel wait!”

“I’m going to kill him.” He states, in a tone so calm you can’t miss the promise of violence coating his words. My blood runs cold.

“Don’t leave me!”

He stops dead.

“Please, don’t.”

“You want to protect him?” Gabriel asks, back still to me.

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