Page 133 of Taint My Soul

We arrive at the penthouse after a long drive through heavy traffic. I’m so relieved he didn’t take me back to that house. I couldn’t bear the idea of reminiscing about what had happened, or worse, spotting a drop of blood on the ground or a fragment of bullet lodged in the wall.

“Mason, we’re home.” Saint’s voice pulls me out of the chaos. I lean off the leather seat just as he gets out of the car and circles the back to my side, unlocking the door for me. He leans forward and fastens his arms around my waist and lifts me up, striding toward the elevator.

The door claddings open into Saint’s apartment, and we enter the expansive living area. For a moment, it’s just us standing in the space until Saint’s siblings appear from the kitchen to the living room.

“You guys are home. Perfect. Lunch’s almost ready.” Olivia says. I remember her from Saint’s thirty-ninth birthday party.

“Is Virgil here yet?” Saint asks.

“No.”

“We’ll be upstairs.” He says shortly after we take the stairs to the bedroom. He sets me down against the sheets and tucks me into the bed. “Is there anything else you’d like?”

“I want to go to the bathroom.” I look up at him and bite down on my bottom lip. “Alone.” His worried expression drops, and he smiles at me even though it doesn’t reach his eyes. I get out of bed and walk toward the bathroom, leaving him behind.

As I step into the empty, quiet space, I take off my shirt and stare at my naked chest. Hands shaking, exasperated breath spilling out of my lungs, I move to the marble vanity and grip it, looking up at my reflection. A low, broken grunt drags out of me. I can’t even bear to look at myself. Not after what I’d done.

Two scars.

I have two scars from him. One from a knife wound. The other from a bullet.

The memories storm in beyond my control. My reflection fades away. The room tilts around me. Recessed amber lights shine above my head. When I look in the mirror again, it’s not my reflection I see, but him.

Grotesque face. Broken skull. Eyes void of life.

“Monster.” His voice comes out like a whistle. Sickening. Even in death, he still haunts me. He took my parents, took my childhood, took everything from me, and the one time I tried to protect myself, he used that against me.

I thought maybe fighting back would get rid of the anger I feel. But it still sits fresh and heavy in my chest. It lingers. Slithers like a venomous snake. Tears stream down my cheeks, and my hands tighten around the marble vanity. I let out a shaky grunt, eyes snapping back to the mirror. He’s still there, right behind me.

My fist collides with the glass. Red splatters on the cracked frame, and his image disappears. The door swings open, and I snap my head toward the entrance. Saint storms in and skids to a halt when he sees the blood on my fist. “I said I wanted to be alone.” I yell at him.

“You’re bleeding.”

“It’s quite frankly annoying that you’re everywhere.” My body vibrates with frustration. “I mean, what is it about me that makes you want to stay? Can you not see what I see when I look at myself?” I point to the mirror.

He stays still. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t move.

“Are you not going to say anything?!” The pressure building behind my eyes finally explodes. Hot tears trail down my cheeks. I move toward him and shove him in his chest. “I killed a man!” My voice trembles with equal parts fear and regret. A chill rushes down my spine. “I’m a monster. I’m just like him.”

“If you’re a monster, then you’re my monster.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying.” I shake my head and turn away from him.

“If you’re worried about the crime scene, I called a cleaner. Besides, you were defending yourself.”

“But I killed him.”

“He would have killed you.”

“That doesn’t—”

“You protected yourself, you did what anybody would have done to stay alive. Are you not relieved that he’ll never get to hurt you again?”

Relieved? I was. I felt it everywhere in my body, even in my soul.

But I still felt anger and disgust, and pain.

“You know what I see when I look at you. The man I fell for the moment I laid my eyes on him. The man who saw me break apart and didn’t shame me for it. The man who made me see beyond my blindness and made me accept the truth I’ve been running from my whole life. You’re beautiful, Elio.” He steps closer. “I’m grateful that you killed him. I’m grateful that you survived. That you’re standing here with me, and I can look at you and feel the things I feel. Because I don’t want to imagine what it’s like to hold you and watch you slip away from my arms again.” His voice is firm and certain. “If it makes me a bad man that I see every part of you, that I’m happy that you got rid of him, then so fucking be it,” he finally closes the gap between us. “If he could have survived, I’d make sure he did, and I’d fucking torture him and break his skin bit by bit for everything he’s done to you until all that’s left are his bones.” There’s an edge of possessiveness and rage in his voice. Not directed at me, but everything that had happened.