41. Saint
Saint
E veryone has a core memory they’d give their life to fucking forget.
A mistake they wish they could take back.
A moment in their life where they were convinced the world would be better off if they never existed.
Well, mine was made at nine years old…
“Quit being such a cry baby,” I groan, cleaning up the Connect 4 game chips off the floor and putting them back in the box.
“You cheated!” Theory crosses her arms.
Only because I let her beat me every time up until now.
“Keep up with your fit, baby girl, and you won’t get ice cream.”
Something I promised her if she was a good sport.
“I wanna play another round.”
Closing up the box, I tell her, “Can’t. I told you I need to shower. Levi and Riggs are coming over to play Xbox.”
“Another round!” she whines, stomping her feet on the floor.
Theory isn’t usually a brat like this, but when she is, she makes sure to give it her all until I cave.
“Quit it!” I order when she flips the game box over, spilling the pieces on the floor. “And now you can clean this up.”
“No.”
“Yes!”
“No!” Theory pushes my chest, but since she’s tiny I barely move. “I hate you, I hate you!”
I try telling myself Theory only acts like this when she’s missing our mom, or when our dad is busy with work, and all she needs is a little attention to get back to sweet and innocent.
But her attitude has been nonstop since this morning when she yelled at Darla, our housekeeper, for giving her apple juice instead of orange juice.
“If you chill the heck out, I’ll let you play a round of Madden with us, okay?”
“I don’t wanna play a stupid football game.”
Oh, the heck with this.
Jumping to my feet, I order her with my best stern voice to get up.
“No.” Theory turns her back to me, squeezing her favorite Doc McStuffins doll to her chest.
“If you don’t listen to me right now, baby girl, you’re going to your room. I mean it.” I’ve done it many times when Dad felt too guilty to punish her.
I don’t need to see Theory’s tongue to know she’s sticking it out. “You’re not my daddy. Just the meanest big brother in the world.”
“You haven’t seen mean, trust me. Now get up or I’m carrying you to your room and locking the door.”
“I said no!” she yells again, but this time while standing and kicking me between my legs really hard.
So hard it makes me dizzy…and I eventually black out.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Lavell, but I’m afraid this is our best option,” some doctor I don’t recognize tells my dad from the foot of the hospital bed I’ve been lying in for over twenty-four hours.
“I can’t.” My dad shakes his head, looking so tired you’d think he was the one who’s been drugged up with a ton of meds.
My body is weak, and my head is still groggy, so I don’t remember everything that happened after Theory kicked me, and a huge part of me is thankful for it.
Because finding my baby girl unconscious underneath me with my hands squeezing her neck, blood everywhere, and face swollen is more than enough to make me want to die.
How could I do this to her?
What kind of a monster am I?
I love Theory so much, I’d never want to hurt her.
I hate even yelling at her.
I love her. I love her. I love her.
My lips open and close to try and speak, but my throat is too dry to make words.
“It is my strong medical opinion that you reconsider. Your son has now become a danger to your daughter. Maybe even society.”
There’s a painful feeling in my chest as I listen to what he says, like I’m being squeezed from the inside. “You’re wrong… I’d never hurt my baby girl.” I cry, trying to shake my head, but it’s too heavy.
The doctor doesn’t seem to give a crap what I have to say and continues talking to my dad.
“Holy Trinity is a state of the art facility in Cypress, California, with world renowned psychiatrists and therapists. It’s private, secluded, confidential, and I truly believe your son will do well with a one year treatment plan. ”
Dad pinches his nose. “I…I need a little time. Please.”
“Of course.” The stupid doctor nods. “Just ring one of the nurses when you’re ready, and we can speak in depth in my office.”
I move my arms, but not a lot since they’re handcuffed to the side rails. “Dad…please…I didn’t mean to do this.”
I’m confused, ashamed, and sad over what happened with Theory, but even with the medicine brain I know any kid who tries to kill his sister should be locked somewhere far away.
I just can’t stop the feeling it wasn’t me who did it.
I heard a man’s voice. He was somewhere telling me to do it.
To paint her red.
But I didn’t want to.
Even though it was my body on top of hers.
My hands around her throat.
My knuckles full of her blood.
I didn’t want to.
Not that this makes me feel any less like a monster. Theory was still hurt and it was still in some way by me. The big brother who promised to protect her.
I can hear my dad whispering prayers not far from my bed, something he does before every big decision.
“Please…please…please,” I repeat, hoping he, or God, can help me. Even though an evil kid like me doesn’t deserve any help.
“Saint…” My dad places his hand on my shoulder, the room too blurry from my tears to even know when he got here.
I squeeze my eyes closed. “Please, Dad. Don’t give up on me.”
Don’t make this nightmare real.
“I would never give up on you, son. I just don’t have the means to protect you from something like this. Only a professional can get down to the bottom of why you had such an episode, and how to make sure it’ll never happen again.”
“You can’t send me!” I cry out. “Theory needs me!”
If I’m not around, who’s going to brush her hair, pour her cereal how she likes it, or help squeeze the arms of her Barbies through their shirts? Theory always breaks them off, and I’m the only one who can get them popped back in their sockets.
Not Dad. Not Darla. Not even Riggs or Levi.
Just me. Only me.
How could I abandon her?
I can’t. I won’t.
“I’ll never do it again, I swear! You know I’d never hurt Theory. You know it, Dad! This is all some crazy mistake.”
It has to be.
“I know you love your sister, Saint.”
“Then you know I’d never let this happen again!” I plead, breathing so hard my chest hurts. “You have to believe me.”
“I do believe you.”
“Then please don’t send me away.”
“I don’t think I have a choice, son.”
“You can choose to trust me.”
I spot the tears in Dad’s eyes through mine, and I know he’s made his decision.
“The doctor thinks you may be sick.” He clears his throat. “And so do I.”
“I’m not sick! I feel fine. I promise!”
“You broke your sister’s jaw. Ripped hairs out of her head. Choked her so hard her brain was deprived of oxygen. Does that sound like something you would do if something wasn’t wrong?”
Horrible images flash by, all of me doing exactly what he said.
Theory’s head shooting side to side as I punch her.
Blood and teeth spurting from her mouth. Bones cracking.
The doll she chose to keep squeezing instead of fighting back.
Why didn’t she fight back?
Why didn’t I fight the strange voice?
My throat burns as vomit flies from my mouth all over my hospital gown. Leaving me hanging forward by my wrists until whatever acid is left in my stomach rolls down my chin and neck.
Dad is right. Something’s wrong with me.
Why else would there be a monster living in my head?
“So, big day coming up, Hendrix,” my father comments from the end of the dining room table, finishing up the last piece of meatloaf. “You excited?”
Hendrix’s got an elbow on the table, resting her head against her hand as she picks at uneaten mashed potatoes. “I am.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” her mother chimes in, thanking Darla for taking her empty plate before adding, “You barely said a word during dinner.”
“That’s not true, June.” The aunt winks at Hendrix. “She did mention that hideous shirt you’re wearing.”
A few bickers get tossed between the sisters, who I swear to fuck I wouldn’t be able to tell apart if Hendrix’s mom didn’t constantly walk around with flowers all over her clothes.
Hendrix chuckles in a failed attempt to perk up. “Sorry, I forgot about dinner tonight and ate leftover pizza earlier.”
I keep the truth to myself like we agreed on, even though I fucking hate being the reason she’s been mentally drained all day.
Let’s just say I was not prepared for what happened last night. Mostly because I never planned on Hendrix finding out the truth about Theory.
It was hard enough to trust she wouldn’t leave me for almost killing a little girl. But my sister? There’s a reason people say some secrets are too fucked up not to be taken the grave.
Or some shit like that.
The universe wasn’t on my side, but luck sure fucking was, because not only did Hendrix not leave me at rock bottom, she stayed up all night trying to prove her opinion of me hasn’t changed.
It took me a while to open up, but when I did she listened to every gory detail of my confession. Cried a lot. Which I wasn’t mad about since focusing on her allowed me to keep most of my shit together until the bitter end of the story.
I’ve gotta be honest and say as much as I was convinced telling Hendrix the truth was a bad idea, now that she knows, there’s a weight lifted I didn’t realize was holding me down.
Because she did exactly what she said she would—faced my demons unafraid—but made sure I did it with her.
“It’s a shame. Vic had the chef make your favorite. You should’ve at least tried to enjoy it.” Hendrix’s nag of a mother decides to open her mouth again.
Big mistake.
“What part of she’s fucking full do you not understand?”
Enter a pissed off Victor Lavell.
“Saint!” he booms. “We spoke about this.”
He spoke about this.
I took the liberty of ignoring it.
The same way I am right now.
Listen, I’m not saying the stepmother is a horrible bitch, she’s not.
And in a world where she doesn’t hate me for being in love with her daughter, I may even say she’s good for my dad.
But she does hate that I’m in love with Hendrix.
I’ve got the scowls to prove it.