Page 142 of Taint My Soul

“I’m not sure who I am. Going to college was a way to leave him behind.”

“You have all the time in the world to figure that out.” She says just as her alarm rings. She picks it up and taps her screen, and the sound dies off. “Take your time. Find something you’ll love. This is a new chapter for you, Elio, and the only way for you to feel better is to try new things.”

“Alright, thank you.”

“Of course, you’re welcome, and I’m here for you.” She pulls out her contact from her bag. “In case you ever want to speak with me, call me.”

“Thank you.”

“I’ll see you next week.”

When she leaves, I take my time to sit through the emotions I’m feeling before I join Saint in the dining room. He’s setting up the place for lunch. He looks up at me with a smile while I move to the cabinet to get clean plates. I rinse them in the sink and circle the counter to the dining table. “Here.” I say.

“How was your session?”

“It went fine.”

“I made stew, eggs, yams, and potatoes. It’s not perfect, but…” He rambles off, but I stop him in his tracks.

“It doesn’t have to be. I love everything you do, darling.” I hold his cheeks, and he smiles at me. “Can we drive out later in the evening? To a guitar shop, maybe?”

“You want me to learn how to play again?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“Hmm, come here.” He pulls me closer and presses a kiss on my forehead.

My pulse stutters as a heavyweight settles on my shoulder. “Um, Saint?”

“Yeah.”

“I know we haven’t touched each other in a while.”

“Hey, you’re not only important to me for sex. I need you to feel better, to heal, and to find yourself again. Seeing you working toward getting better is enough.” He promises.

I bob my head and smile at him.

We sit around the table and eat in silence. When we finish, I take my medication while he clears the dishes, then we head upstairs to shower and get ready. After taking our time in the shower, he replaces my old bandage with a new one. We get dressed and head out of the penthouse together.

The drive around the city is soothing. I have the window wound down and my hand resting against the door, the cool air billowing against my skin as music plays from the stereo. The sun sits at the edge of the dark and dreamy horizon when we arrive at a guitar shop in the suburbs. Saint and I exit the vehicle together and step through the glass door entrance.

The place is perfect. The air carries the scent of old leather and polished wood. Guitars line the walls from floor to ceiling, their lacquered bodies catching the light.

Saint and I approach the old man standing behind the table. “Hey, how can I help you?”

“We are looking to buy a guitar.” I say, voice bubbling with excitement.

“You play?”

“No, he does.” I point to Saint, who has his eyes on the several acoustic guitars on display.

“Come on, let me show you what I’ve got.”

The man shows us around until Saint finds what’s perfect for him. He fastens his hand around the red acoustic guitar and lifts it off the display. 38 inches of gleaming red wood, smooth beneath the fingertips. Perfect. “This one.” He looks at me with genuine enthusiasm. I have never seen his eyes light up the way they do in this moment. A gentle smile spreads across my face before I can stop it.

“This one’s perfect.”

We return to the counter, and he pays for the guitar, then we leave through the doors and get in the car. He carefully put the guitar in the back seat. He turns on the engine, and we drive back to the penthouse.