Page 39 of Desecrated Saints
I bite the soft flesh of her neck. “T-Talk?”
“Tell me what you need. I wasn’t there. I’m sorry that you had no choice but to isolate yourself from everyone just to survive. I’m sorry that I couldn’t hold your broken pieces together.”
Tracing my tongue over the dark bruise blooming on her skin, I take a deep inhale of her scent, a combination of all our essences in one. Hudson’s musky aftershave. Phoenix’s flowery, apple-blossom shampoo. Kade’s citrusy deodorant. Even Seven, with his newfound love for freshly ground coffee.
It brings sweet relief, the scents of home she carries, suffused in her skin. Like warm apple pie and fresh linens, the flavours unfurling from the deepest pits of my mind. I’ve tasted nothing but despair for so long, I forgot what it feels like to belong.
“Please,” I whisper, lost for words.
Brooklyn presses her forehead to mine. “Speak, Eli.”
Clearing my throat, I summon the spark of courage buried deep in my mind and breathe in the comfort of her scent again, a reminder of family and home that’s been lost to me for so long. It gives me the strength to force out the words that have haunted all my years of silence.
One question.
“Tell m-me… how t-to… exist.”
I can feel her hot, relentless tears against my cheeks as the boundaries between us melt into insignificance. She’s curled around my heart like a cancer, poisoning my cells and twisting my entire persona into something unrecognisable.
“You have to be here with me,” she murmurs, lips ghosting over mine. “Live in this moment, no matter how shit it is. Not in that house fire. Not in Blackwood. Here, right now, in this bathroom. Destitute fugitives on the run. Losing our minds and cast out from society. But fuck, we exist.”
A hateful laugh breaks free. “H-How?”
Her sigh glides over me, a soothing balm on frayed nerves.
“Like this.”
Reaching into the pocket of her leather jacket, she slides a wickedly sharp knife free. The exact same one she used to claim Jefferson’s and Augustus’s lives. My mouth waters as she studies the blade, holding it in her palms.
“Why?” I struggle out.
“Because you don’t have to hide from me or pretend to be something you’re not. Hurt yourself, Eli. Cut, bleed, scream and rage, if that’s what it takes. Do whatever you need to until you can exist too.”
Clasping the knife in shaking hands, I shove my shame and resentment far out of reach. She’s seen me, the real me. Time and time again. I don’t have to hide the broken parts of myself that need to hurt just to get through the day. Rolling up my sleeve, I expose healed cuts and countless scars.
Her gaze burns a hole into me, but I focus on the pearlescent veins begging to be sliced. My hand is trembling so badly, I can barely hold the blade, let alone press it deep enough to bring relief. The need to laugh bubbles up at the irony of it. Now, I’m the one asking for help, not her.
“Fucking h-hand.”
Brooklyn bites her lip. “Been there. Let me.”
She takes the knife to my inner arm, below the healed cuts from a few weeks back. The bite of pain follows her precise cutting, dragging the serrated metal over porcelain skin. Brooklyn slices me six times with the precision of a surgeon expunging a deadly infection.
Crushing her lips against mine, she claims my heathen soul while painting her name in blood and sickness. The anxiety gushes out of me with the crimson flow, leaving me weak at the knees. I draw my first easy breath since leaving the safety of the cottage.
“Welcome back,” she murmurs. “Better?”
Feeling unsteady, I manage a nod. I’m too busy studying the fascinating artwork painted by my blood. Each trail drips on the bleached floor, blooming red against dirty white. The need is still there. More. I’ll always want to cross that line just one more time, no matter the risk.
“We should go. The others will be worried.”
Rinsing the knife off in the sink, Brooklyn slips it back inside her pocket. My fingers twitch with the urge to steal it from her, sink the tip deep into my wrist and slice my way far from this place. Even if that means leaving her, Phoenix, and my whole family behind. The temptation is so strong.
“W-Wait—”
She stares, unnerved by the sound of my voice.
“Thank y-you,” I rush out.