Page 138 of Taint My Soul

“I’m not sure if I remember everything properly,” my shoulders relax with a heave. “But he snuck into the Sinclair’s wedding party, he told me about my parents. How he killed them, but he didn’t put his hands on me. Shortly after he left, I went back to the house with Saint’s driver, Bernard. I sat outside for a while and went inside to take off my clothes when Saint didn’t show up. That’s when he came, knocked out Bernard, and kicked the door in, even when I tried to stop him.” I clear my throat, eyes locked on the marble tiles. “We yelled at each other, and he had a gun. I was so sure he was going to use it, and I tried to knock it out of his hands…” My hands shake, and my breath scraped down my throat like finely ground nails.

“Take a deep breath, Elio.” Dr. Khadija says, reassuring me.

I shake my head and exhale sharply. My hands tighten around Saint. I can’t stop the tears gathering in my eyes from falling.

“We fought all the way to one of the bedrooms.” The sound of the door slamming against his hand and his wretched scream reverberates at the back of my head. “And we fell through the window and landed in front of the house…”

“Take a breath.”

“What I did…” I finally meet her gaze, red eyes and all. “It changed everything.”

“Changed everything? How?” she asks as she scribbles notes in her book.

“I’ve built my survival around never hurting anyone. Because using my anger and letting myself feel everything I’ve been trying to block out means that I’m just like him. A man who can’t control his reactions. But all that work didn’t matter because I killed him, anyway.”

“And your uncle David, I can tell your relationship with him wasn’t great.”

“He took me in when I was ten…” I rub my eyes with the back of my palm. “Living with him wasn’t terrible at first, but it slowly became something I couldn’t control. He started abusing me physically and psychologically. With lies and manipulation and promises that it’d never happen again.”

“But it did.” She utters. “In those moments, how did you feel?”

“Angry. Horrified and irritated by his behavior. I hated that my parents died so early and left me with him. I began to hate him, and I hated myself for hating him. For being so angry at him.”

“Because you thought your anger meant you were like him?”

“Yes.”

“Did it ever stop? The abuse?”

“No, not until he died. I had to leave with worry, even when I escaped him after I got a scholarship. I spent four years at a community college. It was my escape plan, but I didn’t really escape him.”

“And you never got help?”

“No. I just kept moving. I never stopped to process what happened to me. I thought maybe one day it’ll all just stop. All the ugly emotions.”

“But it never worked, did it?”

“I could say it did, but not entirely. The nightmares stopped. Being on edge. I got through college, got a job as an accountant in a firm, but all that progress collapsed the night they kidnapped me.”

“By your uncle?” She adjusts her prescription glasses.

“Yes, apparently, he couldn’t stay away for long.” A bitter, quiet laugh escapes me. She writes some notes in her book and looks up at me again.

“What happened when he kidnapped you?”

I look at Saint again, and he gives me a nod and pats my shoulder.

“At first, they tried to auction me off, then he forced me into a deal to set him free from debt. Set me up with Saint. I was supposed to stalk him, get information about his family, and what they do. Anything that would destroy them.”

“And did you? Get the information?”

“I did, but what I got wasn’t enough.” Betrayal stings my chest, so hard I wince.

She nods. “And the result of not getting what he wanted was more violence?”

“Yes.”

“Could you say the reasons for the suicidal thoughts were because of it?”