Epilogue
clichè (sad version) - mgk
INDIE
One year later
Lightning forks beam up the entire front porch, white light glowing the acres of green land, and the bolts slice through the darkening grey sky as the centre of the storm slinks its way towards our house.
The rain is battering sideways. The wood on the deck is reflective with each strike with how soaked it is. None of it forces me to move from my favourite spot; I’d spend all day out here if I could.
Storms and clear starry nights, a total contradiction from each other, and yet each bring me the same feelings of calm.
My phone lights up, the number of unread messages dominating my screen, and I finally decide to pick it up from my lap and visit reality.
The first message is from Jenna, a photo of her and Rex somewhere out in Europe, picking up on the travel plans that were once thought to be a lost dream.
You can tell Rex is about to roll his eyes for the one hundredth picture she’s likely asked to take, but the smile tilting his mouth, gives away exactly how happy he really is.
The second is from Regina, showing off her new program she built for Ultio’s security and finally managing to crack it. Dawson’s intervened at the bottom of the group chat, adding that he was the one who should take the credit. It’s followed by a colourful choice of words from my best friends.
Saint’s company is still up and running, only this time it’s merged with his dad’s, and fully legal.
Well, fully is a loose term; he still has connections with the underworld, only this time there’s no society to chase. Though you just never know when evil might get too brazen.
The last is from my mom.
I texted her this morning asking how her day was. She’s only just gotten back to me, letting me know that she and Malcolm headed out into the city. It’s on the tips of my fingers to scold her for the late response, just like she used to do with me. Instead, I reply and say I hope she had fun.
Her response is instant and involves her newly formed way of communicating with emojis. This time it’s a thumbs-up. I’ve tried to tell her it comes off rude, but she doesn’t listen.
I laugh and lock the phone, placing it back in my lap. My mom and Malcolm have gotten closer over the last year—not in a romantic way, thankfully.
I don’t think Saint would be ready for a step-sibling trope entering our lives.
They’re just enjoying each other’s company, both working through their losses from the same evil force.
My head rolls in the lounger, feeling the bite of electricity in the mid-summer air as I look towards the tree-cladded driveway. Saint was due home half an hour ago, and I’m itching for him to get back so I can tell him about my last hidden secret.
We bought this place a few months ago; it’s far enough away from everything that there’s no haunting reminders of how our lives used to be, the focuses they were centred around. We’re still in Kingstone, just nestling in the borders of the next state.
It’s a stretch of land neither of us have been to. The grounds have only had the two of us walk on, making our own history on them.
Our home is a single story and all wooden facings, blending in with its natural habitat. There’s floor-to-ceiling windows that cast out the views of the dipping landscape, giving panoramic views so I can watch the sky glimmer with my favourite sight.
It’s usually his that does the trick.
It has enough widened corridors for me to think I can run from the devil, who loves nothing more than to chase me through them and into the woods.
It doesn’t feel the same as when we were younger; this time it’s two people who wear their own battle scars. Who’ve seen and lived through unspeakable amounts of darkness that most will never encounter in their lifetime.
And yet, they both bring nothing but the best out of each other, knowing just how sacred and precious the love is between them.
I let my eyes close over when the rain batters against the roof of the porch, the smell of the cold air bleeding through the rupture in temperature as the storm rages on.
Goosebumps prickle my skin. I’m only in one of his T-shirts.
Seeing as there’s no one around for miles, I can wear whatever the hell I want.
That’s when I feel it.
The skin bubbling against my nerve endings, the one my butchered heart calls out to, making himself known. Only because he wants to.
“Sorry I’m late, darling.” Saint’s warm hands cup either side of my jaw, tilting my head to look up at him standing behind me.
“You know how I like my apologies,” I whisper against his lips, tasting the menthol, his smile brushing over mine as he kisses me, deepening it whilst his hands angle me.
The thunder rumbling above us is no match for the rumble in his chest. “Wicked woman.”
When he lets go, he stalks around to face in front of me, his silhouette almost unnerving as he stands against the late evening storm, looking like my very own hellbent guardian angel.
His short hair is damp with the rain, the white shirt soaked and revealing the artwork of his tattoos as the darkened ink bleeds through the material.
And when the lightning cracks across the sky behind him, reminding me exactly who I have before me, my pulse skyrockets.
“You should be used to it by now,” I say, watching as he reaches up to drag his fingers through his hair, leaving it that messy way that makes mine burn to do the same.
He hums a laugh as he reaches for the packet, pulling out a cigarette and sliding it between his lips, the amber light sparking from his lighter against his handsome face. “Oh, I know how it goes, baby. You walk by my side; I kneel at your feet.”
The smoke curls around him as he slowly drops to his knees before me, eyes darkening when I open my legs wide for him to crawl to me, and he places a kiss against my inner thigh. That hungry gaze drags up to mine. “And there’s nothing I enjoy more than worshiping my fucking wife.”
When his palm snakes from my ankle all the way to my stomach, I hold it there, grabbing the cigarette from his other and pinging over the deck. “Maybe you’ll have two Queens to spoil soon.”
His brows bunch in confusion, and I give his hand a soft squeeze, watching those beautiful eyes go from mine to where I hold his hand.
Saint’s irises soften to a shade I’ve never known possible. He wets his lips, his voice like velvet when he struggles to speak. “You’re…”
I had my suspicions a couple of weeks ago. I got the IUD removed after we moved out of the Pit and never bothered to replace it. Mostly because my life was a busy blur after that, too caught up that I was finally getting the chance to truly live it.
That was months ago, and Saint and I having our own place in the middle of nowhere now, living mostly undisturbed? Well, we’ve had a hell of a time. “Apparently there’s another female to boss you arou—”
I don’t get a chance to finish. Saint silences me with a kiss that makes my heart explode, and it’s either the hormones, or the surrealness of this moment that fills me with a feeling I once thought I’d never experience.
He grips the back of my neck, pressing a harsh kiss to my forehead, then my cheek, and then my lips. “You keep blowing my expectations on just how much more I can fucking love you.”
He pulls me from my spot, swapping so that I’m straddling him, and kisses me from within an inch of my life. The butterflies escaping my chest at our shot of forever spread their wingspan to full capacity, and flutter harder with each rumble of thunder above us.
And it couldn’t be a more perfect way to describe our story.
We’re both dark, morally twisted creatures, moulded by the same forces who tried to conspire against us. We fight dirty for what’s ours; the love will never know any boundaries.
We’ll be the villains in others’ stories, but in ours, we’re the perfect blend.
All good has evil; every darkness has its light.
Every sinner needs their Saint.
The end.