Page 38 of Forever My Saint
But there is no denying it. The reason I can’t remember is because my brain has gone into self-preservation mode, attempting to save me from…this. This horrible, empty feeling inside me which will never go away.
“You will always remember your first kill. I’m sorry.”
That’s what Saint said, but I didn’t appreciate his words until now.
A torrent of tears spills from me, and I’m not sure if they’ll ever stop. My shaky legs won’t hold me up any longer, and I surrender, crumpling to the floor. I drag my knees toward my chest, hugging them tightly as I sob uncontrollably.
I killed someone, and it was all for nothing because Saint still isn’t free. If anything, he is more imprisoned now than he ever was. Another memory smashes into me, one so vile, a soundless scream rips from my throat.
It’s of Oscar kissing Saint, of him basting him, preparing him for a meal for one.
I dry heave, the images too sickening to keep locked inside, but I have no right to behave this way because I wasn’t the one chained to a torture device, broken and abused.
“Oh, Saint,” I cry, covering my face and sobbing into my hands. I don’t know what happened, and indisputably, my imagination couldn’t even begin to fathom the heinous things done to him.
The perverse things inflicted on his body would have surely broken him because that’s what Oscar wanted—to break his mind, body, spirit.
Sitting here crying is doing no one any good, so I sniff back my tears and come to a stand. I don’t bother looking at myself in the mirror because I don’t need to see my reflection to know I look like utter shit. Stripping out of my clothes, I work on autopilot as I step into the shower. The scalding spray burns my skin, but I hardly feel it. This is what defeat must feel like.
I failed the one person who never failed me. How am I supposed to live with that fact?
Bracing my hands against the tiles, I hang my head and wonder what comes next. Saint sold himself to regain my freedom, but it was all for nothing. How can I go? Leaving him here was never part of the plan.
The water rolls over me, but the warmth does nothing to soothe my anguish. It hurts to breathe. Once I’ve washed the blood from my hair and body, I switch off the faucets and dry myself. Wrapping the towel around me, I walk into the bedroom and rummage through my bag, not caring what outfit I find.
Once I’m dressed, I peer around the room, desperately needing divine intervention more than ever before. When I fix my gaze on the bed, I decide to do the only thing I can because right now, he is my savior.
Walking over to it, uncaring if anyone is watching or listening in, I sit near the pillows and turn toward the headboard. “Pavel, please come,” I whisper. “I failed. I failed epically.” He would have heard what happened last night in that basement. “I can’t leave him here. I won’t. But even if, and that’s a big if, we leave here, he’s broken. We might leave here physically, but emotionally and psychologically, he will be lost within these walls.”
Taking a deep breath, I swallow down my grief. “I’m losing him. The things that have been done to him.” I close my eyes, shaking my head slowly. “He won’t survive. Oh, God. Please help h-him.”
When the lock clicks, and I hear someone, no guessing who, whistling happily, I quickly scrub a hand down my face, not wanting Oscar to know how I’m feeling. He would only thrive on my pain.
His cheerful greeting only validates my theory. “Good morning. I brought you some juice.”
The second I see him, the need to vomit arises once again.
There is way too much pep to his step as he saunters toward me, offering me a tall glass of OJ. I eye the glass as though it’s a live grenade, and in his hands, it may as well be. If I wasn’t so damn thirsty, I’d throw it into his face. It’s probably drugged, but I can’t feel any worse than I already do.
Reaching for it, I don’t say thank you before I gulp it down.
Once I’m done, I place the glass onto the side table, not bothering to engage in small talk. Or any talk for that matter. That doesn’t stop Oscar, though.
“I don’t know about you, but I slept like a baby.”
I grit my teeth together. He’s baiting me, but I won’t bite.
“You’ll be happy to know that in just a few short days, you’ll be back home.”
“I don’t want to go home,” I spit, unable to keep up the silent act. “I want what I came here for.”
Oscar shakes his head. “That’s no longer possible. A deal’s a deal.”
Shooting up from the mattress, I shove his chest, catching him off guard. “I’ll give you the supplier. I’ll have him here in an hour.”
Oscar combs the sides of his damp hair with his fingers, appearing ruffled by my violence. “A promise is a promise,” he says, ignoring my offer and presenting me nothing but clichés. “I’m just getting the papers sorted.”
My patience is no longer existent. “Fuck the papers!” I exclaim, clenching my fists by my side to stop from hitting him. “I’ll tell you everything.”