CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE #2
I regain my footing and step toward the kitchen, leaving Saint and Dr. Khadija in the living room.
I take a glass from the shelf and move to the sink, rinsing it first before filling it with water.
I move around to the kitchen island, the glass to my lips as I drink the water.
I stop beside the wall where I can overhear them speaking.
“...how are you handling this, considering,” she sighs and adds quickly. “Your mother.”
His mother? Did something happen recently to his mother that I didn’t know about? Is there something I should know?
“I’m fine, Khadija. My priority at the moment is Elio.”
“I understand,” she takes a moment before she responds. “I’ll keep in touch.”
“Of course, thank you, Khadija.” Saint leads her to the elevator. When she leaves the penthouse, I finish my glass of water and set it on the counter while Saint walks toward me in his gray sweatpants. “Aren’t you leaving for work today?”
“No, I’m not. I’m working from home today.”
“If you’re worried about me, I won’t hurt myself.” I force my gaze up to him. He takes my face in his hands and smiles.
“You’re taking a big step in your life, Mason. Not everyone is brave enough to sit and talk about their trauma. I’m staying here not because I think you’re fragile or broken, but because I care about you, and I never want you to feel alone, and I want you to know that I’m proud of you.”
I give him a nod. His reassurance sparks hope inside me. He doesn’t know how much his presence means to me. Having someone supportive and steady who does not expect anything from you.
“I’ll be in the study if there’s anything you need.” He drops his lips on my forehead affectionately.
“I’ll be upstairs unless you need help.”
“You don’t have to worry. I’ve got it covered.”
“Alright.” I say and head up to the bedroom.
Throughout the rest of the day, my thoughts dwell on the session I had today.
I have never stopped running, never stopped to process or get help.
I just kept moving, no matter what happened to me.
Dr. Khadija makes me see it for what it is and how it affects me.
This anger inside me isn’t vile. It’s a part of me asking for care he denied me.
It had, after all, started the first day he put his hands on me and left me in the basement of his cabin for almost a week.
And that feeling had spread and rotted inside me.
I thought it would stop. But every time he raised his voice at me.
Every time he put his hands on me. It worsened.
The fear. The anger. And at some point, I thought of it as a monster for being angry that a man who was supposed to care for me couldn’t show me common decency.
Because rage meant that I could do the ugly things he did.
And I hated it.
I didn’t want to see myself acting the way he did.
After a while, I roll out of bed and head downstairs to Saint’s study. He sits behind his desk, shirtless, eyes fixed on his computer. He’s so focused that he’s unaware of my presence. He looks so sexy giving all his attention to his work, and I loved watching him work.
Finally, he looks up from his computer, a glass of wine beside him. “Hey, what’s up?” He smiles. “Come here.” He says.
I exhale shakily. Rooted to the spot, I don’t look up from the floor. I can’t believe I tried to ruin all of this. Everything he’s worked for.
“If you don’t want to come, then I’ll come to you.
Work can wait.” He rises to his feet as he speaks and strides toward me.
He stops in front of me and puts his hand under my chin, lifting my face so I can look at him.
“I chose you over everything. I will always choose you.” His hand slides to mine and holds my hand up, so that he places it against his chest. “Feel that?” His voice softens, gaze meeting mine with intimate vulnerability.
“Yes.”
“It’s for you, baby.”
A smile I can’t stop tugs at the corner of my lips. The weight on my shoulders feels lighter. I swallow hard. “I overheard you and Dr. Khadija talking about your mother,” I mutter. “Is she okay?”
He sighs ruefully, shoulders sagging, chest expanding with the next inhale. His hand settles around the small of my back, and he lifts me into his arms. Muscles flexing, corded chest expanding, he presses me against him and takes me out of the study to the bedroom. “What are you doing, Saint?”
“Giving you all my attention.” He leans in and presses a kiss on my forehead.
My heart split in two from the soothing feeling of his skin against mine.
When I look into his eyes, something in me pops, an emotion I can’t explain, and God, I soak it up like a man starving for a drop of water in a scorching desert.
Saint’s the only man who sees my scars and doesn’t criticize them.
Instead, he adores them. He finds beauty in them, every jagged embellishment.
Saint’s the only man who knows the truth about me and didn’t turn me away.
He stayed for me even though it could’ve cost him everything.
He made me acknowledge the anger I felt within. He made me see myself. The mess. The order. Everything.
I still want him. Even though his world is dangerous. I still want to be with him.
My thoughts span back to reality when my back hits the soft sheets of the king-sized bed.
He slides underneath, so my head rests against his groin whilst he leans up against the headboard.
“My mother died when I was fifteen. She drove herself over a cliff. I never got an explanation from my father. He’d lied about it anyway, and I had to find out the truth from my father’s elder brother.
” The edge of his voice wears thin, even though his tone is calm.
A feeling I can’t explain stabs my chest. I let myself feel it.
I can’t imagine how devastating it must have been for him. Maybe that’s why he understands what I’m going through, why he’s been patient with me.
“Hey, Elio.” He rests his hand against my chest. My gaze flickers up to him, and he smiles at me.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” He continues.
“What happened made me realize I didn’t want to lose you, so I’ll be here for whatever you need.
I’ll be here until it gets easier.” His smile deepens.
He leans in and presses a swift kiss on my lips.
A tear drops from his face and lands on my cheeks. He chuckles and swipes it off. “Sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry for, baby.” I affirm.
“Your tears are my tears, darling.” He flushes again.
His face softens, his shoulders relaxing as his smile widens, and his hands circle my shoulders possessively.
He leans closer and presses kisses over and over on my head.
I giggle and wriggle against his arm whilst he keeps me steady against his body.
I never want this to end.
We don’t move for the rest of the evening.
Not until we both had to go downstairs and make dinner together, then eat under the low, cool amber light in the dining room with scented candles billowing in the air, and the flowers I bought the other night in the center of the table.
And through it all, I’m glad that I have him by my side.
I’m glad I was brave enough to open up to him.
I told him I needed help because not everyone meets someone who’s there for them.
I’m glad that I have Saint King, and I’ll forever be.