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Saint
All three of us fell asleep mid-movie last night. When I say mid-movie, I don’t mean the slasher one, since Ophelia got scared and wanted to change it to something happy and cheerful, so we were stuck watching old reruns of South Park. I push off my mattress, careful not to wake Ivy and Ophelia, who are both snoring peacefully in my bed. Cheetos are tangled in Ophelia’s hair, with a spoon of ice cream sticking to Ivy’s cheek. The glue courtesy of Ben and Jerry. We skipped di
I move through the day seamlessly. Starting with working out, eating lunch, and then Veronica pulls me aside for two hours to work on strengthening my “skill.” I ask her what this looks like, and she says I will know when I can harness the voices wherever I am and whenever I want. I make it very clear that under no circumstances will I ever want to do that.
She’s adamant.
I pick up the knife and fork on the table during di
I swallow a gulp of Pinot from my goblet to stop the vomit from rising up my throat, swiping my bottom lip with my thumb. I need something to take away the pain. To scrub off the sticky residue that clings to my thoughts. Anything. I’d do anything to wash myself clean of that. My heart thunders in my chest, though I’m sure it will be the last beats it will do. I know what I must do.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Silence.
I bring my eyes up to the person sitting opposite me at the di
Another.
Another.
Reaching for the wine decanter, I pour more Pinot into my goblet-style glass until it fills to the brink. Blood. Brantley’s blood. I take four gulps while maintaining eye contact with Sam.
I know what I must do.
I must move on.
Di
“So,” I say, trying one simple word, even though I don’t want to say anything at all.
Silence.
“So,” Sam urges, and his tongue drags over his bottom lip. “You feel like dessert tonight?” I don’t know if the table chatter has quietened or if I’m blocking everyone out.
I breathe in and out. Steady. Patient. Silent. “Yes.”
The corners of his mouth turn up as he leans back in his chair. “Impressed.”
I pick up my goblet. “If that’s true, Samael, then you’re too easy for my taste…” I reply in jest, hiding the half-smile behind my glass, but I know deep down it wasn’t entirely a joke. Thankfully, he does.
He laughs loudly, his head tilting back. He doesn’t recollect himself for a couple of seconds and, in my honest opinion, too long to be laughing at something that was an underlying insult. And it wasn’t that fu
I smile sweetly at him. “I’m sure we will.” I’ve never felt more like a Hayes than during this encounter.
This is my routine for the next couple of weeks. I work out, eat, work with Veronica, have di
Veronica is far too good at hiding her emotions. It’s why I’ve never been able to get a read on her. But what I’ve noticed, especially this last week in particular, is that her mental shields are begi
Desperation. She is desperate for me to trust her. That’s what I got.
I’m making my way up to bed after di
My routine bangs on the back of my head. The only consistency I’ve had since everything. Consistency I have relied on. In and out. “Ah…”
“I promise I won’t keep you past your bedtime.” His hands disappear into his pockets, his shoulders sagging. He looks vulnerable and at ease.
My shoulders relax. I’m being ridiculous. “Okay. I’ll just grab a hoodie.” I jog into my bedroom, take out an oversized Thrasher hoodie and zip it up, sending a quick text to Ophelia on my way out to let her know I’ll be a little late. I make my way back to a waiting Sam at the bottom of the stairwell. “Is there a reason for this late-night stroll?” I ask carefully, following him through the kitchen and to the back patio doors. The cleaners are still packing away our di