Page 62 of Savior

The truth I’ve been evading overtakes my brain and causes dread to churn in my gut.

“Listen, things have happened between us, yeah? But, consider them a thank you for saving me. I will tell no one. You don’t have to worry about that. And once Matteo dies, I’ll be out of your hair.”

When she turns and storms from the room, I want nothing more than to follow her and grovel at her feet. To repent to her for what I’d said and beg for forgiveness.

But the truth keeps me rooted to the dining room floor.

We can never be more.

But I can’t deny that my faith is shaken now that I’ve tasted Sloane Collins on my tongue.

It was like touching pure sin, and anything in its purest form is addictive. More potent.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

SLOANE

He thinks I’m just toying with his affections for some fucking reason. What reason would I have for doing so? Oh, I don’t know, maybe that he saved me from Matteo Barone? I answer the internal question, making myself feel even more on edge.

The water from the shower above cascades down and tickles my flesh. I locked Luca out of my room, even though I was sure he had a key. Even though my door being shut in the first place is a huge statement.

He’s massive enough. If he wants to get inside, he will.

My tears mix with the water, blending in like they don’t exist.

He thinks I’m like my mother; I realize.

The truth slams into my chest like a fucking wrecking ball. I’m nothing like my mother. But in his eyes, I’m giving into the attraction I feel for him because he saved me. Like I owe him something.

I’ve never felt as if I owed anyone anything.

Early on, I learned that life is short and one should live it with all their might. I’ve seen too many people fall victim to drugs, alcohol, and violence. Fuck, I saw my first dead body at the ripe age of fourteen.

She was a known user who was always held up outside the convenience store down the street from my mom’s apartment, Mary. Who knows if that was her real name? One day, I came out of the store to hand her a honey bun, like I always did, and she was slumped over.

I called her name and shook her a bit, but she didn’t respond. She only slid over. Her eyes were wide open, fear etched into their pale, lifeless edges.

Guilt still chews at me at how I’d run away, not telling a soul that she was dead. The next day, her body was gone.

Another tear falls for Mary and her life that was cut short. I sniffle, letting my head fall back, the water spray beating over my face.

I’m so torn. I’m in a world I don’t understand, safe for once, with nothing of actual substance to return to in the real world. Could I be latching onto him because he’s my savior? I guess it’s possible. However, I’ve always prized myself for being stronger than that, for being able to carry myself through the world. But I’m so fucking tired, if I’m honest with myself.

I could leave this place and chance it out there on my own. But the thought of crawling back to my apartment, to a dead-end job at a strip club I know I don’t want to go back to, makes my stomach churn.

Even though I can’t drink legally at the club I work in, I’ve been stripping there since I was eighteen.

Realization blossoms in my stomach when I realize this week is my birthday.

Even though I never thought I’d make it to eighteen, soon I’ll be twenty-one.

My stomach sinks when I think about how my birthdays don’t truly matter. Sure, I’ve survived, and they matter. But no one honestly cares if it’s my birthday.

I sit back into the curvature of the bathtub, water still spraying down in hot beads as it massages my flesh.

Some things I’ve done to stay alive are etched into my dirty soul, but somehow, what I’d done with Luca in that confessional makes me feel dirtier than I ever have. Not because it was with him, his age, or who he was, but because God was watching, looking down, and shaking his head at the next immoral thing I’ve done.

Not that what I did with Luca was for survival. However, it felt as though if I didn’t let him touch me, I’d die.

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