Page 83 of There Are No Saints

“I trust you,” he says.

I’m a hot mess. Nobody has ever trusted me, especially not with something as irreversible as this.

But I don’t argue. Taking a deep breath, I fire up the gun.

By the time I’m finished, the first morning light is streaming in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. It illuminates Cole’s skin, turning marble to gold.

I’ve fallen so deeply into the design that all I can see is those flowing black lines, running like a river down the right side of his back. With a little practice, I’ve even figured out the shading.

He’s bleeding in a couple of spots. He never flinched. Never asked me to stop. He hardly seemed to feel it at all.

I clean his back with the green soap, just as he did to me.

Then I say, “It’s finished.”

Cole stands with his back to the mirror. He looks over his shoulder to see the design.

Two snakes: one white, one black. Twisted and entwined with one another—their alternating coils tightly wrapped, but their mouths open to show their snarling fangs.

I branded him just as he did to me.

* * *

23

Cole

The tattoo's complete, and I feel strangely peaceful.

The sun is rising. The sky outside the window looks transparent as glass.

Mara notices the same thing, pressing her palm flat against the window, as if she could reach through and touch the clear space beyond.

“No fog today,” she says.

“Do you want to walk with me?”

She turns her head, dark hair sliding across her bare shoulder in a way that makes me want to trace my fingers over the same spot. The light illuminates her profile, a burning line down her forehead, the bridge of her nose, the indent above her upper lip . . .

“Yes,” she says. “I do.”

We leave the building together.

I tore off her top, and the overalls barely cover her tits. Mara doesn’t seem to notice. I’ve never seen someone so comfortable in their own body, or so careless of other people’s opinions.

Her attention is entirely consumed by the world around her. She looks at everything we pass: the vintage mustang pulled up to the curb, top down to show off its creamy leather seats. The laurel dropping its leaves onto the street in slow, lazy drifts. A raven breaking open a snail by beating its shell against the cornice of a bank.

This is why Mara is so easy to stalk. When I’m outside, I’m constantly scanning the street. Watching for cameras, cops, anyone who might be following me. Looking for people I know, people I don’t know. Watching everyone all the time.

Mara is consumed by whatever catches her attention. Anything beautiful, anything interesting.

lovely — Billie Eilish

Spotify → geni.us/no-saints-spotify

Apple Music → geni.us/no-saints-apple

She points it all out to me. A rose-covered trellis on Scott Street. The stained-glass window of a church. A girl gliding down the hill on roller derby skates.

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