Page 49 of Forever My Saint

She flails madly, but I’m straddling her. She’s pinned with nowhere to go. “Get off me!” she bellows, but I can’t stop. Even when her flesh squishes under my blows and my stomach roils in disgust, I continue hitting her.

I barely feel Alek and Pavel loop their arms around me and attempt to drag me off her because with a strength comparable to being possessed by the devil, I shove them off and jump back on top of her. “You know nothing! Nothing!” I scream, slapping her cheek.

Her head lolls to the side as she’s on the cusp of passing out, but even that sight doesn’t have me showing mercy. I grip her hair and slam her head onto the carpet, the vibration pulsating through me.

I know what I’m doing is wrong, and that I should stop, but I can’t. She deserves to suffer for what she’s done. “This is all your fault!” I cry over and over as I continue slapping and punching her, needing to punish her.

Rage animates me, and the room spins violently. I can’t gulp in air fast enough. Zoey isn’t moving, but I won’t be satisfied until she’s dead. Just as I’m about to strike her once again, I hear a voice; my tether to this plane calls to me, dragging me from this darkness pervading my soul.

“?????, enough. She’s had enough.”

But I shake my head, refusing to fall victim to the deceits because I am done being weak. I should have done more; I should have saved him because that’s all he’s ever done for me.

“Shh, come now, stop.” When I feel his familiar warmth cradle me tightly, and his signature fragrance lull the noise, I have no other choice but to surrender. He was my master, and even though I never listened, sooner or later, I eventually submitted—just as I do now.

A relief swarms me when he pulls me from her body because I don’t think I would have stopped. He brushes the hair from my cheeks, sweeping the tears from my eyes as he silently assures me it’ll be okay.

My mind is clouded, but when I lock eyes with a chartreuse embrace, I sob uncontrollably. “I’m…s-sorry,” I manage to choke out between winded breaths, but Saint shakes his head as he wraps me into his arms.

I go willingly as he drags me onto his lap, never letting him go. I bury my face into the crook of his neck, weeping for everything we’ve become. “Forgive m-me,” I stutter, choking on my tears.

Saint rubs my back but doesn’t speak.

I’m seeking absolution for so much that sorry just doesn’t even begin to cover it. I need to find another word or, better yet, invent one to express this regret inside me. But for now, I allow this moment of kindness because I don’t know when I will be shown one again.

THE SILENCE ISdeafening. I suppose that’s because, sooner or later, I will be surrounded with nothing but noise.

As Pavel and Max carefully carried an unconscious Zoey to the infirmary, what I had done hit me, and I was violently ill. Sister Margaret helped me to the bathroom, but I didn’t deserve her kindness. I had disrespected her and her place of worship.

I promised to scrub the blood and vomit from the carpet and begged for her forgiveness, but she said she wasn’t the one I should be apologizing to.

And she’s right.

With that as food for thought, I went back to my room, head hanging in shame.

I am horrified by my actions. If Saint hadn’t intervened…

Thinking of him has me rubbing my arms because he hasn’t come to see me. It’s been hours since he pulled me, foaming at the mouth, off his sister. I know he’s probably comforting her, but I thought he’d be here.

I can’t blame him for staying away, though, because I’d want to stay away from me too. I don’t know what I’ve become. From the person I once was to the person I am now; I have died a thousand deaths and been reborn into…this. This malevolent person who only seems to do wrong.

There are many reasons I wanted to kill her, but the main one which drove my need for violence is because of what she said. I don’t…love Alek. The sentiment is almost comical.

Yes, I’ve always struggled with whatthisis with Alek, but love? I can’t accept that as truth. He is the reason I’m here, why I was able to beat Zoey with my bare hands without remorse. If I feel anything other than hatred toward him, what does that say about me?

Anyone looking in would tell me I’m a fucking weakling, a pathetic idiot, and they’re right.

I am.

Drawing my legs toward my chest, I hug them tightly and rest my cheek on my knees, unsure what tomorrow holds. I am so broken, and I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to be put back together again.

“Can we talk?”

I didn’t even hear him enter.

His voice is filled with hurt, anger, but most of all, uncertainty. It seems we’re both lost souls.

Pulling it together, I slowly raise my cheek and meet Saint’s eyes. He is clutching his side as he’s clearly still wounded. The bruises are fading, but what’s plaguing him internally is, no doubt, still raw. The thought has a newfound sadness sinking low.