25. Saint
Saint
I ’ve been pacing the floors of Theory’s bathroom for almost an hour, trying to outrun the dark clouds in my head before the sky opens up.
“In like a balloon.” I squeeze my eyes shut, sucking in a long, hard breath, then exhale it slowly. “Out through a straw.”
I continue this way, using the technique as one last ditch effort to rid the images forever haunting me.
Doc McStuffins T-Shirt.
Matching doll.
Pink skirt.
They flash before me like bolts of lightning.
You really think Hendrix should trust you?
Want to be with you?
“Shut up,” I growl.
She hasn’t even seen the worst parts of you yet.
The atrocities you’re capable of.
“I’d never fucking hurt her.”
You said the same thing about someone else.
The storm rages on with the first roll of thunder.
Crack .
The walls in my mind shake.
Words are like splinters on my tongue when I beg him to stop.
To let me be free.
A small, lifeless body appears before me on the floor.
Black eyes, swollen cheeks, busted lips.
Crack.
“No…” I shake my head. “Please.”
Don’t bring me back there.
I’m rocky on my feet as I make my way to the sink, hand digging into my pocket to find my Motrin bottle. The room spins as I pop it open, swallowing a pill dry before shoving it back where it came from.
I stare long and hard in the mirror, repulsed by the person looking back at me.
No, the monster .
Because that’s what I am, everyone around me knows it.
No matter how hard I try to hide. Change.
Fix the things I break.
Nothing I do is right, or enough.
And I was fucking stupid to believe it would be for Hendrix.
A roar booms from the pit of my stomach, and I launch my fist into the glass, sending dozens of cracks to shoot out the center, leaving me defenseless as I face every broken version of myself.
“I fucking hate you,” I snarl at each of them.
“Hey, big bro…” Theory’s voice is subtle, and for a second I think I’m still hallucinating. “What’s goin’ on?”
The broken organ in my chest twists, making it impossible to turn and face her. Let her see me like this again.
Flexing my knuckles, I watch as blood drips in lines down to my wrist. “Just a glorious day in the life.”
“I heard what happened in class, you okay?”
“A dandy peach.”
Can’t say the same for the teacher who left on a stretcher.
Theory approaches my side, taking my hand to inspect it when I look away. “I stopped by your room after to make sure, but you weren’t there. Obviously.”
“Obviously.”
My blanket answers make her sigh.
“Wanna talk about it?”
“Not much to say.”
Moving on to dabbing my knuckles with a towel, she replies, “We could just hang.”
“You’ve got classes to finish.”
“Oh, please—”
Swiping the towel from Theory, I toss it into the hamper, then bring her head in for a kiss. “Not today, baby girl,” I say, and she latches onto my hand, refusing to let go until I’m walking out of the bathroom.
She follows, attempting to mask her worry behind her usual chipper disposition. “Okay, then you stay and relax for as long as you want. I was gonna head out after school anyway.”
I eye her then the front door she left open in an unsuspecting panic.
“Where is it you think you’re going…after school?”
She looks down at her pants.
“Theory,” I warn. “I barely made it out of my own head just now…do I really need to get in yours?”
Or lock her in this room with me.
A look of apology, or regret, passes her face before she says, “Shopping with Hendrix.”
The mention of her name is enough to have my bones twisting and cracking to life. “And how the fuck did this come about?”
“I don’t know…I texted her after I heard about your teacher. Asked if she was okay then got to talking. We’ve been saying all summer how we wanted to look for these boots, so I figured—”
“Stay the fuck away from Hendrix.”
“Not this again.” Her face falls. “I thought you two have been… making up .”
“What I do with her isn’t the issue here.”
“Oh, it’s not?” Theory huffs. “Let me guess…it’s what I do with her.”
“Exactly.”
“Hendrix is my sister, Saint! Do you hear yourself? You’re literally telling me not to hang out with my damn sister.”
“Sister or not, Hendrix isn’t good for you.”
“But she’s good for you? Give me a break.”
Theory reaches past me to grab her phone on the desk, but I snatch it before she can.
“Hendrix is necessary for me.”
The universe once again proves how much she fucking hates me, because my little sister chooses now, when I’m hanging by an existential thread, to stab me in the chest with her pointy fingernail.
“That’s a load of crap and you know it.”
“I don’t have the time, or the fucking patience to go through this again with you.”
“I’m not asking you to go through anything. Just leave my relationship with Hendrix alone.”
I slam my already bloodied fist into the wall above her desk, making Theory roll her shoulders in a poor attempt to hide her fear.
Stanley the loyal, tired old man, pokes his head in through the door, then out of it just as fast. A lesson in privacy Hendrix’s Italian should learn a thing or two about.
“What the fuck happened to you, huh? Why are you becoming so defiant?”
“Because you w-won’t stop treating me like a kid!”
“You are a kid.”
“No, I’m not, Saint!” She pushes me. “I’m only t-two years younger than you.”
The brat resemblance is uncanny to her sister’s .
Another brutal reminder how easily Hendrix can rub off on Theory. Along with people far worse if I’m not careful.
“I’m not talking numbers, baby girl.”
I’ve spent years sheltering Theory from the brutalities that come from our way of life. And it’ll be over my stone cold, dead fucking body that I allow someone else to undo the progress.
My ways of going about it may be a bit over-the-top.
Not ideal or rational.
But I made a promise to my sister.
That no one will ever hurt her again.
So if I have to spend the rest of my life playing the villain in her story, so be it.
“You won’t s-stop me.”
“Yes…I will,” I growl through my teeth, snatching her arm.
“N-no…you won’t.” She rips herself away.
“Why are you so fucking hellbent on being friends with Hendrix?”
“Because she’s the only one I h-have!”
“How the fuck can you say that? You have me. Cray. Riggs. Levi.”
Theory scoffs. “All your b-best friends.”
“That ain’t true and you know it. The guys always loved you. I mean shit…you and Levi were closer than any of us as kids.”
There’s an unreadable expression on her face…a little happy, a little sad.
But not enough of either to start crying so I’ll take it as a win.
“It’s just n-nice to have another person in my life who gets me.”
“And I don’t get you?”
“Of course you do,” she says through a half-hearted laugh. “B-but only in the ways you can.”
“So what is it you need? A sleepover? Fucking spa day? What?” I hold up my bruised hand. “’Cause I could totally use a mani.”
“As much as I love a good girls’ day with you…it’s not the s-same as having one with an actual girl.”
Sadness steals whatever bit of happiness is left on Theory’s face, and it would be a fuck ton easier to fix if I wasn’t the asshole holding the bag.
“So I’ll find you a girl, Theory. Just not this one.”
She shakes her head. “You don’t g-get it.”
“So help me fucking get it!”
“I want Hendrix, Saint! N-nobody else. Especially n-not one of the Royal Heathens.”
“Hendrix is a nobody,” I grit out, unable to shake the sting that comes with the lie.
“Yeah, w-well, not to me.”
Motherfucker.
Why do these girls insist on making me do shit the hard way?
Theory may be the more docile one between us, but she shares my stubbornness, and like me, her stubbornness will only intensify the more I demand she stays away.
It’s human nature to want what you can’t have.
I’ve been a prime example for over a year.
So if there’s any shot at keeping my sister out of the Salvini-Ivanov crossfire, it’s going to have to be by choice.
The hatred I felt toward myself in the bathroom pales in comparison to what I know I’ll have to do to keep them both safe.
I can’t risk being forced to choose between Hendrix and Theory—because there would be no question who it’d be.
And right now, the thought of losing Hendrix is enough to trigger pitch black thoughts nobody dares to speak out loud.
Something I’ve only ever felt for Theory.
Which is why I have to keep them apart until me and my dad sort this out.
Earlier I mentioned I don’t like hurting people…or making irreparable mistakes. What I didn’t mention?
Is how I won’t hesitate to do both if I need to.
“I don’t want you getting hurt…”
Consider the proverbial bait tossed…and caught by Theory before it even hits the water.
“Hendrix would n-never hurt me.”
“You sure about that?”
“What the hell are you t-talking about?” Theory folds her arms.
“Saint…don’t,” the frantic demand comes out of nowhere, straight from the source.
Theory and I twist our necks to find Hendrix in the open doorway, tears shining in her eyes.
“H-hendrix. Oh my God. Are y-you okay?” Theory springs to her aid, but Hendrix is too focused on putting together the pieces of my face to pay her any attention.
“You said you wouldn’t…”
“Wouldn’t w-what?” Theory questions.
When neither of us answer, she darts eyes between us. “Someone n-needs to tell me what the heck is g-going on.”
“Can we talk outside, Saint?” Hendrix insists. “ Please ?”
I shake my head slowly, ignoring the tears streaming down her cheeks and how they’re choking me like a vise.
Hendrix will never forgive me.
Theory will never forgive her.
And I’ll never forgive myself for what I’m about to break between them.
Hey, who the fuck knows, maybe it’ll be a good thing that Hendrix goes back to hating me.
No more quiet moments for us to latch on to.
“Please, Saint,” she tries again, but I shoot her down just as hard by sucking air through my teeth.
I watch in silence as every ounce of hope drains from Hendrix’s face…until all that’s left is a look of tragic acceptance.
One that my sister has no trouble reading.
Theory glares at Hendrix, and along with her stutter comes a bite as nasty as mine. “Why d-does Saint think you’ll h-hurt me?”
“I would never hurt you, Theory.”
“B-but my brother doesn’t lie.”
“Well, neither do I.”
Hendrix doesn’t say this in challenge, but that won’t stop me from trying to find one.
Or anything to speed up the war of self-loathing yet to kill me.
“Guess you really meant it, then.”
“You know that I didn’t!”
“But you just said you never lie.”
She shakes her head. “Whatever, man. Fuck you.”
“Been there, did that. More times than I should’ve thanks to your lack of self-respect.”
Hendrix looks at me like I just punched her in the face…and a sick part of me would prefer it if I did.
Physical wounds heal, emotional ones? They destroy.
“Are you g-gonna try and h-hurt me?” Theory asks Hendrix, the pain in her voice obvious.
“I promised you the day by the pool I never would.”
“Just curious,” I interrupt, narrowing my eyes. “Was that before or after you called her a whore?”